Page 8 of Claimed by my Bestie's Dad

“Samson!” I call, and Samson heels. “Scout!” I tell him, wishing I had been smart enough to bring one of Scout’s toys for the scent. I know Samson isn’t a tracker, though. He’s still a puppy himself.

Something tells me Scout didn’t get far. We have to comb this block again. I look down at my phone, surprised thatover an hour has passed. I tell myself that if we don’t find Scout in the next hour, I’ll have to tell his owner.

“Samson, this way.” I move slowly, my eyes combing each yard as we walk. I live on a dead-end street, and mine is nearly the last house in the row. If he had gone the other way, he could have gone through the marsh behind the three houses on the cul-de-sac.

There are too many possibilities.

Then, just as I’m passing Ethan’s house—I don’t even want to think his name—I hear it. A sharp, high-pitched bark. My heart leaps in my chest.

That’s Scout! It has to be!

I spin around, trying to pinpoint where the sound came from, and then I hear it again, clearer this time.

It’s coming from Ethan’s yard, but it’s not just close to his house… It’s in his yard.

“Samson, this way.” I break into a run, and Samson bounds excitedly beside me.

Of course, it has to behere. My heart sinks a little. After the way things went down with Ethan yesterday, the last thing I want is to face him again. But this is Scout. I have to get him back. I can’t just leave him there.

I jog across Ethan’s front yard to where his backyard is separated by a fence. The tall wooden fence looms in front of me, the top just out of reach. It must be six feet tall. Why does he have such a tall fence? I try the gate, but it’s locked. Typical.

The barking continues, more frantic now. “Scout,” I call softly before glancing at the house. I’d rather get Scout out without confronting Ethan, but I’ll do what I have to do.

Scout runs over to the other side of the fence, and I hear him scratching against it. Samson sniffs eagerly at this side of the fence, and Scout’s barks become happier. Okay, good.Samson can keep him entertained while I worry about getting him out. I’m not going to just stand here and wait for Ethan to stroll out and let me in.

I take a deep breath, glancing around to make sure no one’s watching, and then I grip the fence and start to climb. It’s not easy, and I’m not exactly dressed for fence climbing. However, I manage to pull myself up and over, landing with a thud on the other side.

I wince. I definitely haven’t hurt myself, but that wasn’t a soft landing either.

I don’t even take a second to catch my breath before I’m up. Scout is all over me, his tongue on my face like I’m a piece of bacon.

I scoop him up and squeeze him to me, realizing I should have brought a leash. How am I going to get Scout over the fence without setting him free again?

Clearly, I’m new to this whole dog-sitting business.

As I try to figure out my escape plan, I realize I shouldn’t have to sneak out and try not to bother Ethan. He literallystoleScout and put him out here in the freezing cold. Based on Scout’s reaction, he clearly didn’t feel safe here.

My relief is quickly replaced by anger. I turn toward the fence, realizing the latch is easy to undo from this side. I push it open and slip through, keeping Scout firmly in my arms. Samson trots excitedly beside me. Instead of heading back home like common sense is telling me, I march toward the front of the house. I’m going to confront him head-on.

I reach the front door and start banging on it, not caring if I wake the whole neighborhood. “Ethan! Open up!”

It takes a few minutes, but finally, the door swings open. There he is, looking like he just rolled out of bed. His hair is mussed, and he’s wearing a robe. It’s difficult to tell what he might be wearing underneath…or if he’s wearing anything atall. He blinks at me, clearly surprised to see me standing on his doorstep with Scout in my arms.

“Hey! How did you get Scout?” Ethan asks as though I’ve just taken the last bag of his favorite chips from the store shelf. The look on his face makes him look even younger than his salt-sprinkled hair indicates.

“Don’t act like you own him. He’s my puppy.”

He frowns, looking genuinely confused. Then, he looks at Samson pointedly. “I thoughtthatwas your puppy. What are you talking about?”

Scout barks excitedly, like he wants to get in on the conversation too.

“I dog-sit, Ethan. He’s my responsibility, and you kept him in your backyard for hours while I was canvassing the neighborhood for him.”

Realization seems to dawn on him. “I found him in my yard a couple of hours ago. I thought he was a stray. And he wasn’t in the backyard for a couple of hours. I put him out there five minutes ago so he could pee… You know, not on the carpet.”

“A stray? He has a collar, Ethan. Did you even bother to check it?”

He narrows his eyes, clearly getting annoyed. But I don’t care if I’m ticking him off. It’s not my job to treat him carefully. “Yeah, I checked it. It just has his name on it. How was I supposed to know he belonged to you…or that you were dog-sitting him?”

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