Out of all the parts of the world Laura’s parents had taken her, Gordon’s farm had been the most magical. Not because of the rivers, lakes, the horses to ride, and the caves to explore, but because this was where her father had seemed happiest after her mother died.
With all the worries he’d carried on his shoulders, he’d needed as much happiness as he could get.
Laura began to think she could use a good dose of that too.
They met the end of the gravel driveway where the two-story farmhouse with its wrap-around porch sat under the protective branches of massive oaks.
Gordon pulled his truck under the free-standing garage that was closer to a livestock shelter than a place to park a vehicle. Two more cars, both covered with tarps, filled the rest of the space.
A dog barked.
“Is that Peaches?” Laura opened her door.
“What? No. Jesus, she’d be twenty years old if she were still alive.”
“I thought you said you weren’t going to get another dog after she died?”
“Eh, well, guy in town, Buck Johnson—he’s one of the Sheriff’s sons on the force—thought he’d be smart and train a dog for bite work so he wouldn’t have to chase the guys he was too lazy to run after.” Gordon shook his head. “I don’t have to tell you what happened after that.”
No, he didn’t.
Laura stepped out of the shelter. Two brown bullets tore from around the house, the one in lead barking with every step, the second a quiet set of teeth on four legs.
Laura remained stock-still.
The dogs stopped a few feet away, teeth bared.
Gordon finally exited the truck. “Knock it off.”
The two Belgian Malinois sat.
“Let me guess, Mr. Johnson thought it was the dog and not him, so he bought another one.”
“Yup.” Gordon waved at both the dogs.
“At least he stopped at two.”
Gordon huffed. “Only ’cause I threatened to help reduce the population of stupid through my homegrown spay-neuter program if he didn’t.”
The two dogs walked up, sniffing Laura from boots to waist. She held out her good hand, and one of the two nosed her fingers. She scratched its forehead.
The other pushed its way in for its share of pets.
“How do you tell them apart?” Laura stroked the underside of one dog’s chin, then the other.
“They know their names.”
“Which are?”
“Ed and Eddie.”
“You gave them the same name?” Laura barely held back a laugh.
“It isn’t the same.”
She raised an eyebrow at Gordon.
“I call the big one D and the little one Ed.”