Page 128 of A Dead End Wedding

"I'm in here," I said.

"I got you a present to cheer you up," he said, heaving a worn duffel bag up on my desk. Today he wore a pair of purple pants with an orange shirt in his continuing tribute to the colorblind everywhere.

I looked down at the bag. "Another toaster?"

He snorted. "Of course not. Although, doesn't toast taste better from that old toaster? There's something about it that makes toast taste special."

"Probably the rust," I muttered, then started thinking about rust and Mars and blood and had to suck in a deep breath. "So, what's in the bag?" I asked, trying to distract myself from visuals of dead men.

Mr. Ellison started to talk, but then the bag moved.

And it barked.

"What the heck?" I unsnapped the top and looked inside. The tiniest ball of fur and wrinkles I'd ever seen peered up at me.

"What is it?" I asked Mr. Ellison.

He rolled his eyes. "You lawyers aren't as smart as you think you are if you can't recognize a dog."

"I recognize a dog, but why did you put a dog in a bag? No, better yet, why did you put a dog in a bag on my desk?"

We both looked down at the dog in the bag. It was wiggling all over and squirming. Then it climbed out of the bag, and I pulled the side of the bag up higher.

"Do something!" I said.

"She wants you to hold her," he said.

"I don't know how to hold a dog. And that's not really a dog, is it? Isn't it just a puppy? I don't know what to do with a puppy. I don't have time for a puppy!"

Meanwhile, the puppy, who evidently didn't understand Human, had figured a way out of the bag and was climbing across my desk right toward me. I put my hands out to stop it, but it climbed right over my arm and launched itself in the air toward me, knocking my empty coffee cup over with its hind leg.

"Mr. Ellison, this is very . . . um, sweet of you, but I really can't take care of a puppy. You'll have to take it back," I said, trying to hold eight or ten pounds of squirming puppy away from my face and stop my heart from melting into a big, gooshy puddle.

Max came in just then. "Hey, guys, I – aw! When did you get a pug, D? What a cutie baby lovey dovey!" She rushed over and plucked the puppy out of my arms and held it up. "Oh, look at the precious baby girl."

"It's a girl? How can you tell?"

She laughed. "The usual way. A lack of any boy equipment."

I felt my face heating. "That's kind of private. I wasn't exactly staring at its – at her equipment. And I can't keep a puppy, no matter how cute she is."

Or how much I want to keep her.

Mr. Ellison shoved his hands in his pockets and grinned at me. "You need somebody. All alone, no husband, all this bad stuff happening to you. A puppy will fix you right up. Anyway, I can't take her back. The owner had to move into the nursing home, and she ain't likely to come out, with a double broken hip."

I shook my head again. "I'm sorry, but then I guess you'll have to take her. I'm at work all day. It wouldn't be fair to the dog. Or you can take her, Max."

Max gently placed the puppy back in my lap and smiled. "I think Mr. Ellison's right. You need a puppy. Look, she likes you."

I looked down at the puppy, and watched as she turned around on my lap three times, shedding a couple of inches of dog hair, and then curled up and immediately went to sleep. Something cold and clenched deep in my stomach warmed up and let go, which was bad enough, but then I felt it.

That little twinge under my left rib cage.

I may have mentioned how much I hate that twinge. It always means I'm getting ready to do something stupid.

I sighed and thought for a moment, hardly even realizing I was petting the puppy. Then I put on my serious lawyer face and looked at each of my scheming employees. "Two conditions. First, she's a company dog. She comes to work with us during the day. We'll set her up with a bed and toys in the file room with Mr. Ellison so she has company and stays out of sight when we have clients in. Second, we all agree to joint custody. We take turns taking her home at night. Otherwise, she goes to the pound."

I held my breath, knowing that there was absolutely no way I could take the little fur ball to the pound, but hoping they wouldn't call my bluff.

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