her in-house yoga class.
It was all about prioritizing.
She stepped inside, instantly recalculated everything as instead of working in his office, Eli stood at the counter pouring coffee.
“I thought you’d be working.”
“I was. Am. I needed a walk around to think through . . .” He trailed off as he turned and looked down at the big brown dog currently sniffing at his pants leg. “What’s this?”
“That’s Barbie.”
“Barbie? Seriously?” Automatically, he scratched the wide head between the ears.
“I know. Barbie’s blond and busty, but dogs don’t really get to choose their names.” She watched him out of the corner of her eye as she put groceries away. He’d stopped what he was doing to pet the dog, and had that easy appreciation on his face people who enjoy dogs tend to wear around them.
So far, so good.
“Well, she’s pretty. Yeah, you’re pretty,” he said, rubbing as Barbie murmured in her throat and leaned against him. “You’re dog-sitting?”
“Not exactly. Barbie’s a sweetheart. She’s four. Her owner died a couple of weeks ago. The owner’s daughter tried to take the dog, but her husband’s allergic. There’s a grandson, but he lives in an apartment with a no-pet clause. So poor Barbie lost her best pal, and couldn’t go with family. She’s been fostered for the last week or so while the local organization tries to find her a good home. She’s been really well trained, she’s healthy, she’s spayed. But people usually want puppies, so an older dog takes a bit longer to place, especially since they’re trying to stick with Whiskey Beach. It’s her beach.”
“Beach Dog Barbie?” He grinned, crouching as Barbie rolled over to have her belly rubbed.
Nearly there, Abra calculated. “‘Beach Bitch Barbie’ would’ve given you the alliteration, and have been accurate. But she’s so sweet, it’s hard to use the B word. Actually, I thought of taking her myself. I volunteer off and on at the shelter. But with my schedule I’m just not home enough. It didn’t seem fair when she’s used to companionship. She’s a Chesapeake Bay retriever with a little something else mixed in. Retrievers love being around people.”
Abra closed the last cupboard, smiled. “She really likes you. You like dogs.”
“Sure. We always had a dog growing up. In fact, I imagine my family will bring . . .” He straightened as if shot out of a rubber band. “Wait a minute.”
“You work at home.”
“I’m not looking for a dog.”
“Sometimes the best things you get you weren’t looking for. And she comes with a strong plus.”
“What?”
“Barbie? Speak!”
Sitting again, the dog lifted her head, obligingly sent out two cheerful barks.
“She does tricks.”
“She barks, Eli. I actually got the idea thinking about how Stoney’s dog barked when we walked him home. Someone’s been getting into the house, past your high-tech alarm. So go low-tech. Barking dogs deter break-ins. You can Google it.”
“You think I should foster a dog because she barks on command?”
“She barks when she hears anyone coming to the door, and stops barking on command. It’s in her bio.”
“Her bio? Are you kidding me?”
“I’m not.”
“Most dogs bark,” he argued. “With or without bios and head shots or whatever else she has. It’s not a qualified reason to foster a dog.”
“I think you could try fostering each other for now. Because she barks, and needs a home in Whiskey Beach, and you’d be company for each other.”
“Dogs need to be fed and watered and walked. They need a vet, equipment, attention.”
“All true. She comes with bowls, food, toys, her leash, her medical records—she’s up-to-date there. She was raised from a pup by a man in his eighties, and she’s very well behaved, as you can see for yourself. The thing is she really loves men, is happier around men as she bonded with one as a pup. She loves playing fetch and tug, she’s great with kids, and she barks. If you needed or wanted to go out for a couple hours, someone would be in the house.”
“She’s not someone. She’s a dog.”
“Hence the barking. Listen, why don’t you try it for a few days, see how it goes? If it just doesn’t work, I’ll take her, or I’ll talk Maureen into taking her. She’s a soft touch.”
The dog sat like a lady, watching him with big brown eyes, her head slightly cocked as if asking: Okay, what’s it going to be?
And Eli felt himself sinking. “A guy shouldn’t have a dog named Barbie.”
Victory, Abra concluded, and stepped to him. “No one will hold that against you.”
Barbie