Page 57 of Infinite

The moppy dog immediately lays down. The little one with the barrettes just sits. I’m guessing she’s the brains behind Operation Let’s Steal the Cheese, but it’s just a guess.

“Where did you get these mutts, anyway?” I ask.

“The shelter,” Becca says. She takes a seat beside me, appearing sad. “Miss Silvie started a program with them. She takes the calmer and more manageable dogs to the nursing home every Tuesday to interact with the elderly residents. It keeps up their spirits.”

“The seniors or the dogs?” I ask.

“Likely both,” she says, smiling. “These were the two she recommended for the shoot.”

I toss a cracker in the air. The moppy one catches it, just barely out of reach of the little one. “Why?” I ask. “Out of what has to be a wide selection of dogs, what made her suggest this mismatched pair?”

“According to Miss Silvie, they’ve had it the hardest and need the most love.”

Well, doesn’t that say it all?

The little one pops onto Becca’s lap when she makes a kissy sound. Damn lucky dog. I’d do the same if Becca puckered up. She laughs, cuddling the dog and stroking her head. “I wasn’t ready for a dog, but I don’t see how I’m going to let this little princess go.”

“She likes you,” I point out when she wags her tail. “Can’t really blame her.”

Becca blinks back at me, smiling, but not quite in the way that covers her sadness. “What kind of dog is it?” I ask, trying to distract her.

“Part Maltese, part poodle, and likely part Cavalier. The volunteers at the shelter aren’t entirely sure. The big dog, they think, is a Golden Retriever and Saint Bernard mix. There’s also standard poodle in there.

Moppy rests his head on my lap. “I can see the Golden in him for sure, and the Bernard because he’s a big guy. But you lost me on the poodle. Where did they get that?”

“He doesn’t shed,” Becca says, leaning in to stroke his ears. “But he is due for a haircut, poor thing.”

Moppy thumps his tail at Becca’s soft tone. “What happened to them?” I ask.

“What didn’t happen to them?” she says, making a face. “Both had mange and were starving when they were found near Bowman. They had to pull buck shot out of Twinkles’ hide.”

“Jesus,” I say, scanning the length of the big furry bag of fluff. Whoever shot him couldn’t have mistaken him for a wolf or coyote. But whoever did it is an asshole. “I can’t fathom that shit.”

“I know,” Becca says. “People can be so cruel.”

The dog looks up at me, his eyes twinkling. I suppose that’s how he earned his name. He wags his tail harder when I smile at him. He knows I like him. “You said they were found together?”

“Yes,” Becca says, her voice quieting. “They were always seen together, but the rescue doesn’t seem to think they were from the same home. Twinkles was worse off, like he’d been exposed to the elements for a lot longer. Anarchy was slightly better nourished. The townsfolk said they’d see the big one feeding the little one.” She shrugs. “They seemed to have found each other when they needed each other most.”

I take a chance. “Kind of like us?” I ask.

Becca’s smile is warmer. The kind I most love on her. “Yes, kind of like us.”

“I’m keeping the dog,” I say.

“What?” she asks.

“You heard me,” I tell her. “He likes me. His name shall be Sam.”

“Sam?”

“Why does that shock you? Sparkly eyes or not, no dog of mine is going to be named Twinkles.”

She looks from me to Sam, unsure if I’m messing with her. “Hale, this is a lot of responsibility.”

“I know. But I’ve wanted one for more years than I can count. Besides, he likes me just fine.” I grin. “You think Miss Silvie will put in a good word for me?”

“She will, but . . .” Becca glances out to the ocean. “Are you sure, Hale? This is a good place to have a dog. But what’s going to happen when you go back to New York?”

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