fought an impulse to crumple
it. When she tried to fold it, she realized it wasn't
empty.
"More gifts?" She removed a rectangular gift
box. "What's this?"
"Oh, it's for you." Her mother bit her lip. "Open
it later."
Stella, of course, being her mother's daughter,
did no such thing. She lifted the lid. Inside was
one of those mini-books sold in grocery stores:
How to Lasso Your Cowboy. "Mom-"
Her mother simply nodded.
Stella opened her mouth to explain that her relationship with Quin wasn't like that, but then she
remembered the kiss from last night and firmly
clamped her lips closed. No matter how much she
insisted otherwise, her mother would never believe
her. Glancing at the book's back cover, she noted
it listed ways to get your fellow to propose. "I
really don't think-"
"It's a mother's job to make sure her daughter
is prepared."
"Mom, this isn't-"
"Let's not talk about it anymore, dear. We always did understand each other. Now, eat your
cake."
The only problem with going to Doc Stephens'
veterinary office, thought Quin as he stood at the
reception desk, was it meant dealing with the receptionist, a.k.a. The Gargoyle. Just standing here,
only a couple of feet in front of her, with that evil
eye trained on him, was enough to make a grown
man cringe.
The doc had kept Tramp overnight for observation, but had pronounced him fit and ready to
go home. Quin was almost safe, all he had to do
was pay for Tramp's care, and then he'd quickly
get out of The Gargoyle's eyeball range.
She kept those narrowed eyes on him as he
wrote out his check. "That an out of town or local
check?"
"It's drawn on my bank in New York."
"Got any I.D.?"
Quin stopped writing. She really did have it in
for him. "Is a driver's license enough I.D. for you?
It's not as though you haven't known me since I
was a kid or anything."
She humphed. "After your doings last night-"
Just then, Doc Stephens emerged from the back
room, with Tramp on a leash. The dog barked a
greeting at Quin.
"I'm sure Quin's good for it, Mrs. Gordon.
Tramp's vouching for him."
She shrugged. "Takes one to know one."
When the doc offered Tramp's leash to him, Quin wasn't sure why. Handing his check to The
Gargoyle, he then took the leash.
"I should get the results on Tramp's blood work
in a few days," said Doc Stephens, handing Quin
a small green box. "You'll want to give him one
of these pills once a month."
"There's some mistake," said Quin.
"No. These are heartworm pills." Doc Stephens
clapped Quin on the back. "You'll do fine."
"When you said Tramp was ready to go home,
I thought you meant home to his owner."
"Since you're footing the bill, I figured you
were his owner, Quin. Tramp's a stray."
"I'm only going to be in town for a short while.
Tramp can't go with me."
The Gargoyle made a strangling noise.
"Now, that is a problem," said Doc Stephens.
"We can turn him over to animal control, but
Tramp's not likely to be adopted in less than two
weeks." Doc scratched his head. "After that, he'll
be put down. Seems a waste."
"Don't you know anyone who wants a dog?"
"Can't say as I do. Mrs. Gordon, you know anyone who wants a fine dog like Tramp?"
She glanced at the dog, then rolled her eyes.
Turning her back on them, she wheeled her chair
to the other side of the reception area.
Quin stooped to pet Tramp, who wiggled his
stumpy tail happily. There was no way he was turning such a great dog over to animal control.
"Maybe Mom will keep him."
But things didn't go quite as well with his
mother as Quin hoped. She'd taken one look at
Tramp, then shrieked, "Not in my house!"
He wasn't sure what to do with the hellhound.
He couldn't take him back where he'd found him.
The dog trusted him. They'd walked into town together and Quin stopped in at the pet store to buy
food. He also came away with a ball, throwing
disk and rag bone. A healthy animal needs exercise.
His mom finally agreed to allow Tramp to stay
in
it. When she tried to fold it, she realized it wasn't
empty.
"More gifts?" She removed a rectangular gift
box. "What's this?"
"Oh, it's for you." Her mother bit her lip. "Open
it later."
Stella, of course, being her mother's daughter,
did no such thing. She lifted the lid. Inside was
one of those mini-books sold in grocery stores:
How to Lasso Your Cowboy. "Mom-"
Her mother simply nodded.
Stella opened her mouth to explain that her relationship with Quin wasn't like that, but then she
remembered the kiss from last night and firmly
clamped her lips closed. No matter how much she
insisted otherwise, her mother would never believe
her. Glancing at the book's back cover, she noted
it listed ways to get your fellow to propose. "I
really don't think-"
"It's a mother's job to make sure her daughter
is prepared."
"Mom, this isn't-"
"Let's not talk about it anymore, dear. We always did understand each other. Now, eat your
cake."
The only problem with going to Doc Stephens'
veterinary office, thought Quin as he stood at the
reception desk, was it meant dealing with the receptionist, a.k.a. The Gargoyle. Just standing here,
only a couple of feet in front of her, with that evil
eye trained on him, was enough to make a grown
man cringe.
The doc had kept Tramp overnight for observation, but had pronounced him fit and ready to
go home. Quin was almost safe, all he had to do
was pay for Tramp's care, and then he'd quickly
get out of The Gargoyle's eyeball range.
She kept those narrowed eyes on him as he
wrote out his check. "That an out of town or local
check?"
"It's drawn on my bank in New York."
"Got any I.D.?"
Quin stopped writing. She really did have it in
for him. "Is a driver's license enough I.D. for you?
It's not as though you haven't known me since I
was a kid or anything."
She humphed. "After your doings last night-"
Just then, Doc Stephens emerged from the back
room, with Tramp on a leash. The dog barked a
greeting at Quin.
"I'm sure Quin's good for it, Mrs. Gordon.
Tramp's vouching for him."
She shrugged. "Takes one to know one."
When the doc offered Tramp's leash to him, Quin wasn't sure why. Handing his check to The
Gargoyle, he then took the leash.
"I should get the results on Tramp's blood work
in a few days," said Doc Stephens, handing Quin
a small green box. "You'll want to give him one
of these pills once a month."
"There's some mistake," said Quin.
"No. These are heartworm pills." Doc Stephens
clapped Quin on the back. "You'll do fine."
"When you said Tramp was ready to go home,
I thought you meant home to his owner."
"Since you're footing the bill, I figured you
were his owner, Quin. Tramp's a stray."
"I'm only going to be in town for a short while.
Tramp can't go with me."
The Gargoyle made a strangling noise.
"Now, that is a problem," said Doc Stephens.
"We can turn him over to animal control, but
Tramp's not likely to be adopted in less than two
weeks." Doc scratched his head. "After that, he'll
be put down. Seems a waste."
"Don't you know anyone who wants a dog?"
"Can't say as I do. Mrs. Gordon, you know anyone who wants a fine dog like Tramp?"
She glanced at the dog, then rolled her eyes.
Turning her back on them, she wheeled her chair
to the other side of the reception area.
Quin stooped to pet Tramp, who wiggled his
stumpy tail happily. There was no way he was turning such a great dog over to animal control.
"Maybe Mom will keep him."
But things didn't go quite as well with his
mother as Quin hoped. She'd taken one look at
Tramp, then shrieked, "Not in my house!"
He wasn't sure what to do with the hellhound.
He couldn't take him back where he'd found him.
The dog trusted him. They'd walked into town together and Quin stopped in at the pet store to buy
food. He also came away with a ball, throwing
disk and rag bone. A healthy animal needs exercise.
His mom finally agreed to allow Tramp to stay
in
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