Page 154 of Come Back to Me

With every bark, every yip, every instance a dog licks his face, he lights up brighter than a Christmas tree.

Knowing the many sacrifices his older brothers have made for Callan, I can’t imagine Colt and Cody doing anything to wreck that joy.

As expected, Cody just heaves a weary sigh as he leans against the fencing.

The driver’s more careful with the next lot and takes over binding the larger ones to the posts himself.

“You won’t be able to abandon the little man we picked for you,” I tell him, pointing to the German Shepherd. “He’ll stalk you and keep you in line.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he rumbles, his arm shifting so that he can curve it around my shoulders.

I know that I should shrug it off, but the only person who’d suffer is me. Instead, I snipe, “This is a way of proving that. He’s a K-9 reject and the guy who adopted him had a heart attack last month.”

“Why was he rejected from the program?”

“He doesn’t like smooth and shiny floors, but he should be fine here seeing as nothing about Pigeon County is smooth.”

He doesn’t comment, but I can tell he won’t reject the dog—I don’t even question it.

“Which did you want for yourself?”

The miniature greyhound barks as he’s finally let out of his cage. “That one,” I warble, standing on tiptoe to get a better look. “What if he doesn’t like me?”

“Of course he will.”

“You don’t know that.”

“See those scars on his side?” the driver points out as one of his assistants ties the pup to a post. “He’s used to scum. If you’re quiet around him and gentle in your handling, he’ll fall for you, but you need to be patient.”

“I’m not known for my patience,” I admit.

Cody tuts. “That’s a lie. There’s no way someone could play as many instruments as you do if you weren’t patient?—”

“That’s exactly why I play so many, though,” I confess, more anxiety plaguing me. “They’re easy for me. I don’t have to work hard. It’s instinct. I was lazy taking it up as a career because I didn’t have to think much.” Then, because he told me his secret, I tell him one of my own. “I-I’ve never wanted something like I have this though.”

“Then you should go and introduce yourself.”

When his hand slots into mine, I let him tug me over to the pooch that’s shivering like it’s negative ten out here.

Instead of approaching us, the mini greyhound backs off, so Cody moves us aside and helps me over the fence. When he’s joined me, he leads me on a roundabout path to my dog, completely ignoring his own for my sake, and, keeping his voice gentle, instructs, “Get on your knees.”

I stumble into a kneeling position and wait for his next order.

“Lay your hands in your lap,” he murmurs as he lets go of his hold on me. “Wait—did you bring treats with you?”

Nodding, I pluck the bag out of my jacket pocket, relieved I was prepared.

The crinkling of the wrapper draws the pack’s attention and has them either cautiously approaching me or straining at their leashes. The pomsky is one of the few close enough to bound forward, feet stomping on my knee to get nearer to the bag.

Chuckling, I pass her one after I’ve ripped open the packet. Only her toothless state keeps my finger intact when she snatches it then scampers off to eat it.

“Hold out your hand and place the treats on your palm in the future,” Cody directs, wryly tacking on, “The rest have teeth.”

Unable to tease the others, I get off the ground and move around the paddock to pass out the treats.

Brogan, the German Shepherd, seems to recognize who he was assigned to without Callan or I doing anything. One second, he’s eyeing us up, the next he’s nosing at Cody, who joins me in handing out treats, and accepting a couple pets from him. Brogan even hovers by his side like I wanted my miniature greyhound to, barking when Cody moves away.

The only disinterested ones are the two Callan and I earmarked for ourselves—the miniature greyhound and the mutt that’s half-rug, half-fluff—both of whom stay close to their part of the fence.

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