tears welling up in her eyes. She thought back to the previous week while she'd been struggling through the shock and pain of being hit by someone who claimed to care for her. "Thank you." She cleared her throat. "Wow. That's very nice of you."
"I mean it."
"I know. but I'm fine." She wiped away the last tear and grinned. "Unless—"
"Unless what?"
"Unless you can recommend any nice, single, non-violent and sweet guys in town...?"
Hallie laughed. "So you don't spend next Valentine's Day eating pizza and watching a movie? Sure. I'll keep my eyes out. if I find one, I promise I'll steer him your way."
Halloween took that moment to let out a piercing yowl that made them both jump.
Cassidy laughed as she looked down at the calico face peering through the pink bars. "You're spayed, young lady. You don't need a boyfriend!"
----
C lint was sitting on his couch reading when he heard Mrs. Anderson's front door slam shut. He glanced up and saw Trip on the porch with a pile of dirty rags. He threw them over the rail and they landed on the wet lawn. Then he stomped down the front stairs and over to his Jeep. It roared to life and he peeled out, throwing up a plume of mud from the tires as he took off.
Clint noticed that he turned right, toward his home in Wharf Flats, not left, toward downtown and the nursing home. It occurred to him that Trip may have been taking the TV for himself, not for his aunt. He would have to call the nursing home on Monday and see if her condition was really so bad that she might not come home again. That would be too bad.
He went back to his book, but then thought again about the pile of rags.
Trip couldn't be that much of a jerk, could he?
With a sigh, Clint got up and went over to the window. The pile of rags lay there on the wet grass. But yeah, it wasn't just a pile of rags.
Clint had to count to ten to get himself under control. It had to be the dog. The thing was lying all curled up in the mud.
"I'm not doing this," he told himself as he went to the bathroom to grab a towel. His best towel, the only clean one, bright orange and nice and soft.
He stomped back to the door. He really didn't like dogs. They were vicious things that couldn't be trusted. He stood at the front door telling himself that for a couple of minutes.
"No way," he said. "I am not doing this." He stood with his hand on the knob for a while, willing himself to stop shaking.
Finally he gave in. He opened the door and went out. It was Strudel, all right. He could see the little dog from his porch. It was cowering in the mud.
He had to do it. He went across the lawn and stood over the little dog for a minute. The pup was hardly bigger than the towel he held.
He was glad there was no one here to see him making a fool of himself like this. How could he explain being scared to death of a tiny little animal, the kind of animal millions of people kept as pets and loved and doted over? If the confident Cassidy Trujillo saw him acting this way, she'd think he was a coward.
The dog looked up at him with trusting brown eyes.
"Don't bite me," he said, in what he had intended to be a firm voice, but which came out in almost a whisper.
The dog seemed scared of him. He realized it was shivering, and he felt sorry for the poor thing. It must have no idea where its owner had gone, no idea why Trip had been so cruel to it, and no idea why this strange man was shying away from it like it was a savage beast.
"Okay, Strudel," he said. "We'll work this out. You promise not to hurt me and I won't hurt you."
Her little tail wagged tentatively.
He crouched down. He put the towel over her shivering body, wrapped it around her, and then lifted.
She weighed hardly anything. He hadn't realized how tiny she actually was. The poor little thing was shaking, so he held her close to his chest as he trudged back to his house.
Once inside, he had intended to put her down, but she made a quick whine when he started to set her on the floor, so he
"I mean it."
"I know. but I'm fine." She wiped away the last tear and grinned. "Unless—"
"Unless what?"
"Unless you can recommend any nice, single, non-violent and sweet guys in town...?"
Hallie laughed. "So you don't spend next Valentine's Day eating pizza and watching a movie? Sure. I'll keep my eyes out. if I find one, I promise I'll steer him your way."
Halloween took that moment to let out a piercing yowl that made them both jump.
Cassidy laughed as she looked down at the calico face peering through the pink bars. "You're spayed, young lady. You don't need a boyfriend!"
----
C lint was sitting on his couch reading when he heard Mrs. Anderson's front door slam shut. He glanced up and saw Trip on the porch with a pile of dirty rags. He threw them over the rail and they landed on the wet lawn. Then he stomped down the front stairs and over to his Jeep. It roared to life and he peeled out, throwing up a plume of mud from the tires as he took off.
Clint noticed that he turned right, toward his home in Wharf Flats, not left, toward downtown and the nursing home. It occurred to him that Trip may have been taking the TV for himself, not for his aunt. He would have to call the nursing home on Monday and see if her condition was really so bad that she might not come home again. That would be too bad.
He went back to his book, but then thought again about the pile of rags.
Trip couldn't be that much of a jerk, could he?
With a sigh, Clint got up and went over to the window. The pile of rags lay there on the wet grass. But yeah, it wasn't just a pile of rags.
Clint had to count to ten to get himself under control. It had to be the dog. The thing was lying all curled up in the mud.
"I'm not doing this," he told himself as he went to the bathroom to grab a towel. His best towel, the only clean one, bright orange and nice and soft.
He stomped back to the door. He really didn't like dogs. They were vicious things that couldn't be trusted. He stood at the front door telling himself that for a couple of minutes.
"No way," he said. "I am not doing this." He stood with his hand on the knob for a while, willing himself to stop shaking.
Finally he gave in. He opened the door and went out. It was Strudel, all right. He could see the little dog from his porch. It was cowering in the mud.
He had to do it. He went across the lawn and stood over the little dog for a minute. The pup was hardly bigger than the towel he held.
He was glad there was no one here to see him making a fool of himself like this. How could he explain being scared to death of a tiny little animal, the kind of animal millions of people kept as pets and loved and doted over? If the confident Cassidy Trujillo saw him acting this way, she'd think he was a coward.
The dog looked up at him with trusting brown eyes.
"Don't bite me," he said, in what he had intended to be a firm voice, but which came out in almost a whisper.
The dog seemed scared of him. He realized it was shivering, and he felt sorry for the poor thing. It must have no idea where its owner had gone, no idea why Trip had been so cruel to it, and no idea why this strange man was shying away from it like it was a savage beast.
"Okay, Strudel," he said. "We'll work this out. You promise not to hurt me and I won't hurt you."
Her little tail wagged tentatively.
He crouched down. He put the towel over her shivering body, wrapped it around her, and then lifted.
She weighed hardly anything. He hadn't realized how tiny she actually was. The poor little thing was shaking, so he held her close to his chest as he trudged back to his house.
Once inside, he had intended to put her down, but she made a quick whine when he started to set her on the floor, so he
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