“Pongo? You named it already?” She looked at John and her eyes narrowed. “Fine. Pongo can live with John.”
“I don’t have a yard.”
“You have a deck. That’s good enough.”
“He can’t live with Daddy ‘cause I’d only get to see him on the weekends, then I wouldn’t get to train him not to potty on the carpet.”
“Train whom? Pongo or your daddy.”
“That’s not funny, Georgie.”
“I know. Take it back, John.”
“I wish I could. But the sign by the cash register said all sales are final. I can’t take Pongo back.” He looked at Georgeanne standing there looking as beautiful as always and mad as hell. But for the first time since Cannon Beach, he didn’t want to fight with her. He didn’t want to provoke her any more than he had already. “I’m sorry about this, but Lexie started crying and I couldn’t say no. She named him and cried on my neck and I handed the saleslady my credit card.”
“Alexandra Mae, get in the house.”
“Uh-oh,” Lexie said, then tucked her dog, ducked her head, and ran past her mother.
John moved to follow, but Georgeanne blocked his way. “I have told that child for five years now that she can’t have a pet until she is ten. You take her out for a few hours and she comes home with a hairless dawg.”
He raised his right hand. “I know, and I’m sorry. I promise I’ll buy all his food, and Lexie and I will take him to all of his puppy obedience classes.”
“I can pay for his darn food!” Georgeanne raised her palms and pressed her fingers to her brows. She felt as if her head were about to explode. “I’m so angry I can’t see straight.”
“Would it help if I told you that I bought a puppy book for you to read?”
“No, John,” she sighed, and dropped her hands. “It wouldn’t help.”
“I have a little kennel, too.” He took ahold of her wrist and pulled her after him. “I bought a bunch of stuff for him.”
Georgeanne tried to ignore the leap in her pulse as he towed her along. “What kind of stuff?”
He opened the back passenger door to the Range Rover and handed her a dog crate about the size of a deep dresser drawer.
“He’s supposed to stay in that at night so he doesn’t crap on the floor,” he told her, then reached inside the vehicle again. “Here’s a book on training, another on Chihuahuas, and one more”-he paused to read the title-“How to Raise a Dog You Can Live With. I have food, biscuits for his teeth, chew toys, a collar and leash, and a little sweater.”
“Sweater? Did you buy everything in the store?”
“Close.” He turned and ducked his head into the car.
Over the top of the kennel, Georgeanne glanced at John’s rear pockets pointed in her direction. His jeans were faded a light blue in places, and a woven leather belt was threaded though the loops.
“I know it’s here somewhere,” he said, and she quickly switched her gaze to the back of the four-wheel-drive vehicle. It was filled with huge toy-store bags and a big box labeled Ultimate Hockey.
“What’s all that?” she asked, motioning toward the back with her head.
John looked over his shoulder at her. “Just some things Lexie picked out. I don’t have anything for her to do when she comes over to my house, so we bought a few things. I can’t believe how much Barbies cost. I had no idea they were sixty dollars apiece.” He straightened and handed her a tube. “That’s Pongo’s toothpaste.”
Georgeanne was appalled. “You paid sixty dollars for a Barbie?”
He shrugged. “Well, when you figure that one came with a poodle, the other with a zebra-print jacket and matching beret, I don’t think I got soaked too badly.”
He’d been suckered. Within days of ripping open the box, Lexie would have those dolls naked and looking like she’d picked them up at a garage sale. Georgeanne rarely bought Lexie expensive toys. Her daughter didn’t treat them any better than she did her things that were less costly, but mostly, there were a lot of months when Georgeanne couldn’t afford to drop one hundred twenty dollars on two dolls.
She had a tendency to go a little crazy and spend a lot at Christmas and on birthdays, but she had to budget and set money aside for those occasions. John didn’t. Last month, as their lawyers had hammered out a custody agreement, she’d learned that he made six million a year playing hockey, plus half that much through investments and endorsements. She could
never compete with that.