Page 35 of The Leaving Kind

Damn it.

He’d never had a pet before. Was he a sucker for needing to rush to the dog’s side every time it made a noise?

“I already took you out this morning,” he said as he sat on the edge of the coffee table. “Now I gotta go to work. It’s been a week, buddy. You can do a day by yourself.”

She—his temporary companion turned out to be female—hadn’t necessarily needed a babysitter for that long, but every time Cam left the house, he worried she’d try to climb over the furniture and break another leg. The vet had assured him this was unlikely. Apparently, she was an older dog and seemed to have quite a sensible disposition, which made it stranger that she’d been out on the side of the road during a storm.

Still, Cam had spent three days entirely at home, caring for the dog’s whims. On Friday, he’d taken her to the tree farm with him and let her spend the day nested in Luisa’s office. He’d worked Saturday too, leaving the college students who ran the front office to fuss over her. Sunday, he’d killed a six-pack of beer while watching back-to-back Pirates of the Caribbean movies.

Today, Cam wanted to leave the house alone. The dog needed to learn to do its own thing for at least a few hours every day, or Cam might never get laid again. He hadn’t been out out for over two months.

“Which isn’t totally your fault,” he explained to a pair of warm brown eyes. “I haven’t felt like it lately. Maybe I’m getting too old for sex.”

She opened her mouth and let her tongue loll out in a soft pant, almost like a chuckle.

Cam snorted. “I know. Stupid idea.”

More likely, it was that when he was preoccupied—when his dreams got bad, or when the need to occupy himself 24-7 needled and prickled—he preferred to be alone. Safer that way. Fewer Are you all right? questions.

“Well.” Cam put his hands to his knees and made to rise from the coffee table. “Good talk. Now I gotta—”

There went the whine.

“Fine, fine, you can spend the day with Luisa, but after work, you’re going to have to hang out in the back seat of the car, because I have holes to dig and trees to plant.” Though, Cam half feared Victor would have finished the job himself. That would suck on levels he’d rather not examine right now.

After a week of practice, he’d figured a way to lift the dog and one blanket without disturbing the cast around her leg too much. The cast she’d have for about seven weeks, maybe, depending on how well she healed. Thankfully, the leg had been the only dire injury. She’d been in shock from pain and exposure, and hadn’t eaten in two days by the vet’s estimate, but was otherwise sound and healthy.

And his, for the time being.

Cam had tried to leave her at the animal hospital, but they hadn’t had the space for stray animals. He’d considered a shelter for all of thirty seconds before nixing that idea. So, here she was, lying in his arms and gazing up at him with those ridiculously large and soulful eyes.

“Quit it.”

A warm tongue lapped the side of his face.

“I said stop.”

With another whine, this one along the lines of I know you love it, she wagged her tail and nestled.

A traitorous grin pulled at Cam’s lips. Damn dog.

He strapped her carefully into the back seat of Emma’s car—now fully functional thanks to his three days at home—and drove to work.

Luisa met him at the door, arms out, and wearing a bigger smile than he’d seen in a while. “I hoped you’d bring her today.” She gently hugged the dog to her chest before bending to kiss one ear. “Did you name her yet?”

“I’m still trying to decide between Kibble and Shark Bait.” His lips twitched before he got on top of the whole keeping-a-straight-face thing.

Luisa shook her head.

“Heh. Does she need a temporary name?”

“Might not be temporary,” she said. “No one has called, have they?”

Word had been spread, calls made, and posters pinned. A grumble circled low in Cam’s throat. “No.”

Luisa hugged the dog again before transporting her to the pile of blankets in front of the office couch.

“Spoiled. That’s what we should call her,” Cam said.