I glanced out the front door at Manning. He and Gary walked their bagged dog shit down to the garbage cans at the curb. I rarely had to pick up after the pups; Manning always beat me to it. He was my domestic hero and sexier than ever. There had to be a word for that—my ability to find him irresistible, and to love him fiercely, while he handled poop. “Magic,” I said under my breath.
Dad snorted, examining Lady’s underbelly, her paws and snout. She let him without protest, her eyes glued to his face. “This one’s a mutt.”
“Of course she is.” I turned back to him. “They all are. We got Blue from the pound and we think she’s a mix of Border Collie and Australian Shepherd.”
“Which one’s ours?”
“Why not her?” I asked. Manning had already determined they’d be a good fit, and it seemed he was right. “That’s the one you chose.”
“I just picked up the first one I saw.”
“Then she chose you.”
He frowned at her. “What’s her name?”
“I’ve been calling her Lady to keep things orderly,” I answered, “but you can choose something else if you want.”
“Well, well.” He cocked his head at her as she wagged her tail, and for a moment, I thought he might actually cuddle her. Instead, he set her down. “Go on,” he said, but she sat on her haunches, looking up at him. When he took a step, she got up. “What’s she want?”
“Either she’s trying to herd you into the kitchen for food, or she likes you.”
He turned on his heel. “You’re anthropomorphizing again.”
“And you’re doing a good thing, Dad,” I said, following him through the house. “You and Mom need some excitement around here.”
“Between you and your sister, I’ve had enough excitement for one lifetime. This is your mother’s project, not mine.” In the kitchen, Manning washed his hands at the sink. “How’s business up there in Big Bear?” Dad asked.
Manning’s shoulders rose. Lately, he seemed more and more stressed whenever work came up, but I’d convinced myself it was my imagination. He’d hired a couple extra hands before Thanksgiving and had even admitted it’d been a good decision. Higher productivity freed Manning to accept more orders.
He turned, swiping a paper towel from its roll. “Better than ever.”
“You say that every time you’re here,” Dad pointed out.
“It’s true,” I said.
He nodded. “That’s what I like to hear.”
Manning balled up the towel. “I’ve been thinking of branching out a little. Maybe trying to get a crew together to look into some construction jobs around town.”
I drew my eyebrows together. “I didn’t know that.”
“I’ve mentioned it,” he said, still addressing my dad. “I’m only now getting serious about it.”
“But you love making furniture.”
“Doesn’t mean I can’t be a contractor, too.” He glanced at me and then away. “Having help has opened up opportunities.”
I didn’t doubt that, but why hadn’t I heard about this until now? Before I could push the issue, my dad said, “I think it’s smart. Time to scale. That’s how you’ll make the real money.”
“We do very well,” I said to my dad. “Manning’s already making more than he did when he worked for you.”
“You don’t say?” Dad clapped his hands together. “The calls for a celebratory drink. What’re you having, Manning? Robby’s drinking a ‘mimosa’ because apparently, Tiffany is engaged to a sorority sister.”
Manning straightened his back, his chest out. “I picked up a bottle of Booker’s on the way in, sir.”
I stifled a laugh thinking of Manning’s earlier comment about not wanting to be a pushover. “Tiffany’s here?” I asked. “She said she didn’t want a dog.”
“That’s not true,” Tiffany called from the den. “I want one, but Robby’s allergic.”
I left the kitchen. The puppies were already zooming around my dad’s favorite recliner, where a nine-month pregnant Tiffany sat. I’d never seen my sister with such naturally rosy, full cheeks. “Wow,” I said, standing in the doorway. “You really do have that pregnant woman’s glow.”
“I know—I’m a heifer. I look ten months pregnant. I don’t know what to do about it.”
“What can you do, sweetie?” Robby asked from the couch, where he’d huddled against one of the arms. He waved his champagne glass at me. “Afternoon, Lake.”
“Hi, Robby. You’re allergic to dogs?”
“Some,” he said, glancing around the room. “I really shouldn’t stay long. I just didn’t want Tiffany driving.”
“I can drive fine,” she said. “Will you get me some water, honey?”
“Sure.” Robby stood, smiling at me on his way to the kitchen. “Isn’t she glowing?”
I took his spot on the couch to be close to my sister. “How are you feeling?”
“Annoyed,” she said. “I might actually be willing to ditch Robby and his allergies for a puppy.”
“You don’t mean that,” I said. “I’ve never seen you so in love.”
“I was until week twenty-five,” she said, palming her belly. “Now I hate his guts.”