Page 4 of Sawyer

I knew Cooper and Miles were giving me a dog, but the box was smaller than expected.

I sincerely hoped they didn’t get me a cat—I was more of a dog person.

"Happy birthday, big brother," Miles said, grinning and holding out the wriggling box.

Cooper stood next to him, smiling and holding a beer. Cooper wasn’t wearing his lead alpha face tonight, I thought, relieved.

During the drive here, I debated telling Cooper about my race with Garth and how I foresaw Garth being a potential problem for the pack... but that would ruin the the party.

Maybe I'd bring it up another day. Besides, it wasn’t like Garth had done anything truly bad.

He simply challenged me to a friendly competition, although there didn’t seem to be anything friendly about his attitude toward me.

"Aren’t you going to open it?" Miles asked, sounding a little hurt.

I pulled myself from my train of thought and accepted the box.

"You should probably sit down. He's quite energetic," Miles suggested, pulling up a stool for me.

His concern about my leg annoyed me, but I reined in my temper. My brother went to great lengths to plan this party for me, after all.

Still, I refused to sit. I undid the green ribbon on the box, and the lid fell to the floor before I could catch it.

I stared uncomprehendingly at the small, long-bodied dog dangling its little paws out of the box.

"Uh, Miles, Coop. What... is this?" I asked.

“A dachshund,” Miles said proudly. “Isn’t he the perfect fit for you? The volunteer at the shelter mentioned he’d been there a long time and wouldn’t last much longer.”

I swallowed, unsure what to think.

Should I be offended my brother thought a small dog like this would be a perfect companion because I couldn't keep up with a larger dog?

No, I was probably overthinking things, and the more I stared into those adorable, beady black eyes, the more I fell in love.

"Hey, buddy," I said, tucking the box under my arm and using my other hand to rub the dog's floppy ears.

"Does he have a name?" I asked my brother.

"Benedict. The volunteer at the shelter calls him Benny, though," Miles offered.

"Hey, Benny," I said.

The moment I lifted the tiny sausage dog in my arms, it let out a soft bark and then promptly jumped out of my grasp.

The next thing I knew, Benny was running as far away from me as possible.

Noah, Griffin’s brother and one of my pack mates, was opening the front door to the bar.

"Noah, wait!" I yelled, but it was too late.

Benny had slipped out of the door like an agile thief.

"Dang it," I muttered. "I'll be back."

I ran after Benny, the adrenaline overriding the pain in my leg for the moment.

I couldn't let my new little buddy get lost on his first night with me.