Page 48 of Yuletide Acres

There’s a sucker born every minute. I learn this fact after I’ve signed the papers for these two fluff balls, and I catch the manager’s triumphant smile.

Now, I’m $150 poorer and two fur babies richer. I definitely got the better end of this deal.

I drive back to the store, hauling out the cardboard carrier while the dog eagerly decorates the light post with his own brand of paint. I swear, the cat must have eaten rocks for lunch. He weighs a metric ton.

I am just around the corner when I hear a child’s squeal of excitement. Looking up, I watch Marissa wrest from her father’s grip, making a beeline for me.

Well, for the animals I’m holding, anyway.

“What in the world?” Dylan asks, catching up to his mini me. “You got a dog?”

“And a cat,” I reply, handing him the keys to my shop. Hey, if he’s here, he’s helping.

“This is the dog I wanted, Daddy,” Marissa exclaims, wrapping her arms around the retriever’s neck. “Is that the orange kitty?”

“Of course, it is,” I reply, hefting the carrier up a few inches. The animal is getting heavier by the second and lifting him is like carrying a grand piano single-handedly.

“You got them both!”

When a child smiles, you smile back. It’s not even a rule. It’s the law. If their laugh of joy doesn’t touch your heart, you don’t have one. And Dylan’s daughter possesses a laugh as infectious as her father’s, melting my hardened exterior.

I don’t stand a chance against her level of cuteness. In that regard, she’s a carbon copy of her father.

“They’re best friends. I couldn’t split them up.”

The three of us walk into the shop, as Marissa plops onto the floor and pries open the cat carrier. “I’m so glad you saved them.”

I giggle as she interacts with the animals. Glancing over my shoulder, I spy Dylan leaning against the door jamb. Damn him for looking so good with so little effort.

“Trying to earn brownie points?” he inquires, a smile on his lips.

“Yes. With the dog and cat. Besides, I needed a guard dog.”

Dylan breaks into laughter at the retriever rolling around with Marissa, his tongue lolling to the side. “I can see why you chose him. He’s fierce.”

“Ferocious.” I sit down into the middle of the melee, delighting in Marissa’s squeal of excitement. “Since they were strays, the shelter said they didn’t have names. But they must have names. Don’t you agree?”

“Oh, yes,” Marissa responds, her expression serious.

“What shall we call them?”

Her eyes twinkle at the question. “I can name them?”

“If you like.”

Her hands stroke along the animals’ backs as she considers her task. “Paddington and Mr. Whiskers.”

Dylan and I chuckle in unison. “Oh, those are excellent names. How about we find some treats for Paddington and Mr. Whiskers?”

“Yes, please! Do you have a husband?” Marissa inquires, her gaze intent on me.

“No.”

“You need one.”

My mouth drops open at her bold statement. “I do?”

“Yes. What about my Dad?”

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