Page 12 of Goalie Interference

“Is it heavy?” Maybe it was something I could pick up from the gate and take to the house myself.

“Nah, maybe ten, fifteen pounds.”

“I’ll be there in a minute.”

I wiped the sawdust off my T-shirt and shorts and headed to the gate, making sure I had my house keys and my ID with me.

The delivery driver was standing by the gate, holding a crate by the handle. It had a grate at the front, and from inside there was a low, growling noise. I shook my head.Growling? What the?—

“Is that a dog?”

“Supposedly. There’s a warning he bites.”

I was about to tell him I wasn’t taking any dog when I remembered Mountain Man. Was this his dog? Was he from Canada? “Are you sure this is the right place?”

The delivery man shoved a tablet at me. “This is the address, right?”

I looked down, and yeah, that was this address. Animals weren’t even the strangest things that had been delivered here.

“I didn’t order a dog.” Was it really a dog? What else growled and was that size? “Maybe you should confirm with someone that this is where it’s supposed to go.” I didn’t even know Mountain Man’s name to check if it was his.

“This animal has been on a plane for about seven hours. You really gonna make it stay in there longer while we work this out? I was given this address. Someone withthisphone number confirmed the dog to be delivered.” Cash’s phone number.

The growling continued. The driver was right, I couldn’t just leave the dog indefinitely. “Fine. I’ll take it.”

I signed off on the tablet, then was given the dog crate. There was a small container of food, and theDo Not Touch! Leave Alone!labels. From the nonstop growling, I believed he would bite and had no desire to get any closer to him.

The driver was backing onto the street in moments. I stood, watching the van leave. What was I supposed to do with the dog? Goober was going to throw a literal hissy fit. I’d better keep the two of them apart. Goober was at the workshop, so it was probably better to take the dog to the house, but first I’d grab my phone so I could let Cash know how very pleased I was to get a surprise animal along with a surprise tenant. If he could answer the delivery people, he could damned well answer my questions.

There was no sign of Goober when the dog and I got to the carriage house. She’d probably snuck out while I was gone. She had almost magical abilities to get in and out of buildings. But if she wasn’t here, I would keep the dog with me for now. If Mountain Man showed up, he could claim his animal. I hoped he’d be properly grateful. Dog sitting was not one of my responsibilities.

I set the crate on a mostly empty worktable at the side of the workshop. I could see beady eyes staring through the grate while the growling continued. “What am I supposed to do with you?”

More growling.

“It was a rhetorical question.” The dog probably needed water, and to pee. Maybe some reassurance. But I had no intention of putting my hand close enough to be bitten. I couldn’t see a leash, and I didn’t want to lose the animal in the huge gardens of Cash’s property.

I could let it out in the workshop. Unless the dog had the same kind of ninja skills as Goober, it couldn’t get out through a window if I closed the door. Better yet, I could leave it on the table and that should keep it contained. I covered the tabletop with a tarp, resigned to cleaning up dog pee and maybe worse. Once I had a coffee mug filled with enough water that an animal could drink from it set out there, I made sure that anything valuable was safely out of reach.

“Here’s the deal, dog. I’ll open the door so you can have some water and stretch your legs. The floor’s a long way down, so have your drink, maybe take a pee, and then back in the crate. Deal?”

The growling wasn’t reassuring, but the floor was several feet down so there wasn’t much else for it to do.

I opened the latch just as I saw a flash of yellow from the corner of my eye. Goober hadn’t left after all.

“Wait!” I yelled, but it was too late. Goober leapt onto the workbench just before a small, hairy thing charged out of the crate. A growl and hissing started. The dog barked and the cat arched, puffing up its fur.

Goober was at least twice as big as the dog that way, focused on it with single-minded attention. I knew what that meant. She yowled, the dog growled, and I threw myself between them before World War III ignited among my expensive instruments and tools.

I tackled Goober, getting scratched as a reward. The crate fell to the floor and the dog jumped down from the bench, showing more athletic ability than I’d expected before hiding back inside it. I wrestled a protesting and spitting Goober into the bathroom and shut the door, ignoring the howls she made at the indignity.

I huffed a breath. Okay, the two animals were separated. Now it was time to figure out what to do about the dog. I didn’t think it was harmed, but I wasn’t going to reach inside that crate and risk another wound.

I stood in front of it, absently sucking at the bleeding scratch on my hand as I tried to imagine why Mountain Man would spend money to ship this particularly unpleasant specimen all the way from Canada. If he was a musician, as I expected, he’d better plan to take the animal with him when he traveled because I was not babysitting that.

I heard steps, and Mountain Man, now with a trimmed beard, shoved the door open.

“What the hell are you doing to my dog?” He dropped to the front of the crate, making soothing sounds. “Everything’s okay, Beast. I’ll take care of it.”

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