didn’t think this was the time to try to explain that he hadn’t had much choice—the dog had decided. He wasn’t sure quite how that had happened. After the wedding reception the dog, still wearing his bow tie as a member of the wedding—ring bearer, a role he had executed flawlessly—had trotted over to his car and simply refused to move.
“Oops,” the bride had said. “I think there’s been a change of plans.”
“Looks that way,” Quinn had agreed, with remarkable patience given the way he was looking at his wife, whom he was about to spirit off to parts unknown for a month of newlywed bliss. Bliss Brett had no doubt would last. You could feel it rolling off them.
Next thing he knew, Foxworth’s Teague Johnson, who had been going to watch the dog while they were gone, was loading up dog stuff into Brett’s car, grinning widely.
They all said it had been Cutter’s idea. He’d laughed that off until, after waiting politely, the dog had jumped into the car the moment he opened the door, wiggled into the backseat and settled in comfortably.
And so far, he couldn’t deny he’d sort of enjoyed it.
“His owner must be a good friend,” the older woman said.
“Yes,” Brett said.
“I don’t know,” the younger woman said, watching Cutter, who was watching her in turn. “He seems quite the gentleman.”
“He can be. He can also be the most stubborn critter on the planet. And that’s a direct quote from his owner.”
“It must be interesting, then,” Green Eyes said.
He couldn’t help smiling at that. “He’s an interesting dog, all right.” Then, not sure why, he added, “And more company than I expected.”
It was nothing less than true. The dog had been a quiet but solid presence, and even he couldn’t deny that the occasional nudge of the dark head or the warmth of the dog curled up beside him on the couch was...comforting. He didn’t like admitting that he might need comforting, but there it was.
“May I?” Green Eyes asked, reaching toward Cutter. “Is he all right with strangers touching him?”
Brett looked at the dog, whose attention had never wavered. “I’d say you’ve passed muster,” he said. “Or he wouldn’t still be sitting there.”
She laughed once more, and he was glad she was focused on the dog, because he couldn’t help smiling at the sound of it. It took him a moment to realize that the strange tightness in his face was the result of smiling so much in the past few minutes, something he’d grown long unused to.
“Hello there, boy,” she said, petting the dark head. “What’s his name?”
“Cutter. At least, that’s what his tag said when he showed up.”
The woman looked at the boat-shaped blue name tag that hung from the dog’s collar, then up at him. “He was lost?”
He nodded. “Hayley—his owner—tried for months to find where he belonged. And by then he’d made it pretty clear he intended to stay.”
Green Eyes smiled as the older woman spoke. “Your girlfriend takes in strays, does she?”
“My—” He stopped short. Girlfriend was not a word he’d used in reference to himself for a very long time. “No. No, Hayley’s not... She’s on her honeymoon. That’s why I’m dogsitting.”
“Well,” Green Eyes said, straightening up from her attentions to the dog, “congratulations to her. And her new husband.”
“They deserve it. They’re good people.”
“I’m Connie Day,” the older woman said abruptly. “And this is my niece, Sloan Burke.”
“Dunbar,” he said automatically, as if he were on duty after all. “Brett Dunbar,” he amended awkwardly. Should he offer to shake hands? That was always iffy with some women. And if this was how out of it he was when it came to non-work-related contact with other people, he should probably give it up altogether.
“We should be on our way,” he said, letting the fact that he was still a bit sweaty decide the shaking-hands question. Not to mention that he was going to start stiffening up here if he stood around in the chilly air much longer. “It was nice meeting you.”
“You, too,” Green Eyes—Sloan—said.
“Come on, Cutter. Get back to nagging me to pick up the pace.”
She laughed once more, and Brett couldn’t help smiling a last time. But maybe it wouldn’t be the last. He’d be running this way the next time it rained hard, and this was the Pacific Northwest in winter, so that was never far off at any given time.
But when he turned to go, Cutter didn’t move.
“Dog?”
Cutter turned his head to look at him, but his furry backside never left the grass he was sitting on.
“Cutter, let’s go.” He took a few more steps. Nothing.
He sighed. He dug into his pocket for the leash, tugging a length out from the reel.
“Who was it who said when you get to thinking you’re important, try giving orders to someone else’s dog?”
Brett’s gaze snapped to her face. She was smiling again, widely. And he found himself grinning back. It felt even stranger than the smiling had. He reached out to snap the leash on Cutter’s collar. “He’s usually pretty good about it. He must just like you.”
“But we’ve only just met.”
“He’s a quick study.”
He couldn’t believe himself. He sounded as though he was flirting with her. Not a talent of his at the best of times. He turned back to the dog. Cutter was staring at him intently. Intensely. In a way he never had in the time he’d stayed with him.
He tried to look away. Managed only a second. The dog was still staring at him. He remembered all the jokes that abounded at Foxworth about knowing how sheep felt.
Mesmerized was the word that came to mind.
And then other words popped into his head, spoken by almost everyone at Foxworth at one time or another.
He just gives us that “Fix it!” expression, and we know we’re stuck.
It all came together in a rush, Cutter’s sudden and unexpected course change, the older woman’s tears, his refusal to leave and now That Look.
Uh-oh, Brett thought. Now what?
Sloan Burke wasn’t surprised to learn that the lean, rangy man she’d occasionally seen running was a cop. Or a deputy,
