she gasped, then giggled, Logan grinned. “Why do I have a feeling I caught you in the middle of something? Buster’s not one of the men on your date list, is he?”
She chuckled. “Not hardly. He’s my dog. I’m giving him a bath and he decided this was a good time to shake.”
Even though he didn’t have a clue what she looked like, Logan could picture her on her knees next to the bathtub as a big shaggy dog shook water all over her and her bathroom. Most of the women he knew wouldn’t dream of bathing their dogs themselves, and they certainly wouldn’t laugh when they got soaked, but Abby couldn’t stop giggling even as she warned Buster to behave.
“It sounds like you’ve got your hands full. I can call back later, if you prefer.”
“Oh, no!” she protested quickly. “Now that this mangy mutt of mine has soaked me and the bathroom, he’s curled up on the bath mat, cleaning his paws. Let me throw a towel over him and we can talk.”
A few seconds later, she sighed in relief. “There! What a workout! I hadn’t planned to bathe him tonight, but he loves water, and I forgot to shut the door when I was filling the tub for a bath.”
Moving into the living room, Logan sank down into his favorite chair, a recliner Faith had bought for him on his thirtieth birthday, and popped his feet up in one smooth motion. “When I was a kid, we had a German shepherd that used to do that. He drove my mother nuts. So what kind of dog is Buster?”
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