Jane Bonander Read Free

disappeared beneath the porch roof.
    Raising her battered head, the cat on the window seat made a raspy sound and glared at Libby with her one good eye.
    Libby stroked her scarred ears, lingering on her neck. “I’m sorry, Cyclops. I didn’t mean to disturb your nap.”
    The roof hid the Bellamy brothers from view, but Libby heard them chortling. She wondered how many decades Burl and Bert had been living at the boardinghouse; they’d been here when she arrived twelve years before.
    Now, as every day, they rocked on the porch, snorting with laughter at something or someone Libby couldn’t see. They passed most days that way, making running commentary on everyone, stranger and acquaintance alike.
    “What the hell do ya call that?” Burl Bellamy’s cackle turned into a fit of coughing.
    “It’s a dog.”
    The voice, rich and deep, tinged with a hint of indignation, reminded Libby of bronze and polished mahogany.
    “A dog? That ain’t no dog,” Burl argued. “Hell, a real dog’d eat that’n fer lunch and cough up a hair ball bigger’n a stallion’s testicles.”
    Bert Bellamy howled at his brother’s witticism.
    Libby’s interest was piqued. She hurried down the stairs and went to the front door, pulling aside the short curtain that covered the window. She peeked outside, squinting at the stranger.
    “Oh, my.” The words came out on a rush of breath, and she put her hand to her chest, feeling an odd fluttering there.
    He stood by his mount, big and luxuriantly muscled with a chest as wide as a door and arms as big around as porch pillars. His face was deeply tanned and as leathery as the saddle that was cinched around his horse’s belly. Deep brackets were etched on either side of his mouth, and his jaw was square and hard. Unrelenting, Libby decided.
    “Oh, what kind is it?” Dawn stood on tiptoe by the stranger’s horse and peered at his saddlebag.
    Libby’s gaze was riveted on the man’s face, which had softened slightly when he smiled at her daughter. He removed his hat, revealing sun-bleached streaks in hair that was as brown as strong coffee.
    “It’s called coyote bait, little gal,” Burl suggested, obviously still having a good time at the stranger’s expense.
    “He’s a Shih Tzu.” The stranger’s smile vanished, and his voice was gruff and defensive.
    Burl guffawed again. “Hear that, Bert? It’s a shit-soo!”
    “A shit-Sioux? What’s that?” Bert asked, clearly amused with himself. “Some kinda Injun dog?”
    “Can’t be, Bert. Ain’t enough of him there to feed a whole tribe.”
    The brothers chortled again.
    Dawn glared at the old men. “Shame on both of you. You know how I feel when you make fun of the Indians.”
    “I’m sorry, little gal,” Burl apologized, still laughing, “but ya gotta admit it ain’t much of a dog .”
    Dawn turned toward the saddlebag again. “I think he’s adorable, especially with that leather thong holding his hair up on the top of his head. Is that to keep it out of his eyes?”
    The stranger continued to study Dawn, a look on his face that Libby couldn’t identify. She sensed he hadn’t had much experience with girls Dawn’s age. “That’s right, young lady.”
    Dawn gazed up at him. “Can I hold your dog? Maybe play with him?”
    He lifted the dog from the saddlebag and handed it to her. “I think Mumser could use some exercise.”
    “Oooh, Mumser. What a cute name,” Dawn said with a giggle as the pup licked her face. “You’re much more fun than our cranky old cat.”
    Dawn carried the wiggly pup to the grass, where she ran her fingers over its long, silky coat before it scampered away from her, obviously eager to play.
    Libby’s gaze lingered on her daughter as the child romped with the pup. She was grateful for Dawn’s resilience. Somehow she had to keep her innocent and sweet, but with the world the way it was, she knew that wasn’t possible. Prejudice against half-bloods was rampant, even in bucolic Thief River,