own space.”
And maybe having a place of their own would be enough to convince social services that he and Taylor were a family.
Maybe it would even convince them.
His daughter was regarding him with the abused expression of a dog who’s learned
Want to go for a ride?
was code for a trip to the vet. “What if we have to leave? Like, if the cottage is rented to guests or something?”
Man, she didn’t trust anybody. That seemed like an advanced worry for a ten-year-old, but what did he know about kids?
“Then I’ll shift for a couple of nights, sleep on the boat or your uncle Matt’s couch, and you can have your old room here.”
Taylor’s face scrunched as she considered. “Could Fezzik come, too?” she asked at last.
At the sound of his name, the big shepherd mix raised his head from his big paws, his dark eyes fixing on her face.
“We’ll see.” Luke gave the dog another quick, careless rub, thinking of his surprise. “Fezzik is Uncle Matt’s dog.”
“Uncle Matt says Fezzik is the family dog.”
For a guy who didn’t say much, Luke thought, Matt sure had been running his mouth a lot. “Sure. Yeah. But it could be cool to have your own dog.”
“Or a cat,” Taylor said, with a look through her eyelashes.
No. Hell, no. His plans did not include a cat. “A dog,” Luke said. If everything worked out the way it was supposed to. “Maybe a puppy.”
He’d hoped—maybe he’d counted on—her being delighted. Everybody said she loved the dog, slept with him every night. Luke had figured he had this one chance to be a hero, to get this one thing right.
Her face took on the mulish expression he saw sometimes in his own mirror. “A cat would be better.”
“No cat,” Luke said. He couldn’t take care of her and the dog and a cat, too.
She nodded, not delighted, not disappointed, just . . . resigned. Like she was used to not getting what she wanted. Shit.
“Sorry,” he said, meaning it.
She jerked one shoulder. “’S okay,” she said, when it was obvious things were not okay, that something was wrong.
Luke frowned. “It’s not that I don’t like cats. It’s just . . .”
“You’re allergic,” Taylor said in a tone of voice that suggested she’d heard that excuse before.
“No,” Luke said, surprised.
Let it go. Go to bed. Get out of the kill zone.
But what came out of his mouth was, “Why would you say I was allergic?”
Another shrug. “That’s what Grandma Jolene always said. Before. When I asked her.”
“You asked your grandmother for a cat,” Luke said, feeling his way.
“I told her I wanted
my
cat. Snowball. But Grandma Jo said we couldn’t keep her because of her allergies.”
“You have a cat.” First he’d heard about it. He wondered if Matt knew.
Her head jerked.
Yes
.
He was groping, trying not to blunder in the dark. He needed twelve hours’ sleep and maybe one less beer. “So, where is it?”
Her shoulders hunched. “I don’t know.”
“Well, who’s taking care of it?”
“I don’t
know.
Grandma Jo said I couldn’t bring her with me. She said Snowball could take care of herself. But Snowball is an inside cat. She doesn’t know how to climb trees.” Taylor’s voice rose, the trickle of words churning into a flood. He was drowning here. “She could be run over by a car. Or eaten by a dog.” Fezzik lurched to all fours, responding to the word or her tears. “She’s probably . . .” Taylor broke off.
Dead
, Luke thought bleakly. Like her mother. This was the burden his daughter had been carrying alone.
“Hunting,” he said. “She’s probably hunting for food.”
Fezzik nudged Taylor’s hand as it lay on the covers. She stroked the dog’s big head.
Even the dog was better at comfort than he was. Luke cleared his throat. “Cats are tough. Hell, we had cats in Afghanistan could take down . . .”
Rats three times their size
. Not a comforting thought to send with her into sleep. “Cats are good at
And maybe having a place of their own would be enough to convince social services that he and Taylor were a family.
Maybe it would even convince them.
His daughter was regarding him with the abused expression of a dog who’s learned
Want to go for a ride?
was code for a trip to the vet. “What if we have to leave? Like, if the cottage is rented to guests or something?”
Man, she didn’t trust anybody. That seemed like an advanced worry for a ten-year-old, but what did he know about kids?
“Then I’ll shift for a couple of nights, sleep on the boat or your uncle Matt’s couch, and you can have your old room here.”
Taylor’s face scrunched as she considered. “Could Fezzik come, too?” she asked at last.
At the sound of his name, the big shepherd mix raised his head from his big paws, his dark eyes fixing on her face.
“We’ll see.” Luke gave the dog another quick, careless rub, thinking of his surprise. “Fezzik is Uncle Matt’s dog.”
“Uncle Matt says Fezzik is the family dog.”
For a guy who didn’t say much, Luke thought, Matt sure had been running his mouth a lot. “Sure. Yeah. But it could be cool to have your own dog.”
“Or a cat,” Taylor said, with a look through her eyelashes.
No. Hell, no. His plans did not include a cat. “A dog,” Luke said. If everything worked out the way it was supposed to. “Maybe a puppy.”
He’d hoped—maybe he’d counted on—her being delighted. Everybody said she loved the dog, slept with him every night. Luke had figured he had this one chance to be a hero, to get this one thing right.
Her face took on the mulish expression he saw sometimes in his own mirror. “A cat would be better.”
“No cat,” Luke said. He couldn’t take care of her and the dog and a cat, too.
She nodded, not delighted, not disappointed, just . . . resigned. Like she was used to not getting what she wanted. Shit.
“Sorry,” he said, meaning it.
She jerked one shoulder. “’S okay,” she said, when it was obvious things were not okay, that something was wrong.
Luke frowned. “It’s not that I don’t like cats. It’s just . . .”
“You’re allergic,” Taylor said in a tone of voice that suggested she’d heard that excuse before.
“No,” Luke said, surprised.
Let it go. Go to bed. Get out of the kill zone.
But what came out of his mouth was, “Why would you say I was allergic?”
Another shrug. “That’s what Grandma Jolene always said. Before. When I asked her.”
“You asked your grandmother for a cat,” Luke said, feeling his way.
“I told her I wanted
my
cat. Snowball. But Grandma Jo said we couldn’t keep her because of her allergies.”
“You have a cat.” First he’d heard about it. He wondered if Matt knew.
Her head jerked.
Yes
.
He was groping, trying not to blunder in the dark. He needed twelve hours’ sleep and maybe one less beer. “So, where is it?”
Her shoulders hunched. “I don’t know.”
“Well, who’s taking care of it?”
“I don’t
know.
Grandma Jo said I couldn’t bring her with me. She said Snowball could take care of herself. But Snowball is an inside cat. She doesn’t know how to climb trees.” Taylor’s voice rose, the trickle of words churning into a flood. He was drowning here. “She could be run over by a car. Or eaten by a dog.” Fezzik lurched to all fours, responding to the word or her tears. “She’s probably . . .” Taylor broke off.
Dead
, Luke thought bleakly. Like her mother. This was the burden his daughter had been carrying alone.
“Hunting,” he said. “She’s probably hunting for food.”
Fezzik nudged Taylor’s hand as it lay on the covers. She stroked the dog’s big head.
Even the dog was better at comfort than he was. Luke cleared his throat. “Cats are tough. Hell, we had cats in Afghanistan could take down . . .”
Rats three times their size
. Not a comforting thought to send with her into sleep. “Cats are good at
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