Page 26 of Special Delivery Cowboy
"I know, sweetie. We're terrible dog parents." I scooped her up, and she licked my face. "You probably have to pee so bad."
Outside, the world was still buried in white.
The storm had eased slightly, though snow continued falling—lighter than the night's blizzard but still steady, wind still strong. The sky hung low and gray. Drifts had piled even higher overnight, reaching the top of the deck railing in places.
TJ whistled low. "Still coming down."
We bundled up and stepped onto the deck. Wind whipped snow into our faces, stealing my breath. The temperature had dropped further—my lungs burned with each inhale.
"Damn," TJ muttered, turning to shelter Twinkle against his chest. "This is worse than I thought."
He set her down in a spot he'd cleared with his boot. She took two steps, sank belly-deep in snow, and looked at me with complete betrayal.
"I know, baby. But you really need to go."
She waded through like a tiny ship, found a spot, and did her business as quickly as possible. When she tried to run back and face-planted into a drift, TJ was already there, scooping her up.
"You're okay, girl. Just too much snow for those little legs."
Back inside, we shook off snow in the entryway. Twinkle immediately zoomed to the fireplace and collapsed with a dramatic sigh.
"Someone's not a snow dog," I said.
"Give her a few months." TJ hung his hat on the hook. "Coffee?"
"Please."
The kitchen felt different this morning—comfortable, like we'd done this a hundred times before. TJ started the coffee while I checked Twinkle's food situation. "What does she eat? I saw you give her formula last night."
"She's weaning off it," he said, pulling mugs from the cabinet. "Mom's been introducing soft foods. She can handle some solids now, just needs them mashed up pretty well."
"What if we tried some of that leftover stew? I could blend it with water, make it soupy."
"That'd work. Beef and vegetables are good for her. Just make sure it's not too hot."
I pulled out the leftover stew and added water, blending it in the food processor until it was a thin consistency, then heating it gently in the microwave. The scent of beef and herbs filled the kitchen—rich and homey.
Right on cue, Twinkle appeared in the kitchen doorway, nose twitching, tail wagging.
"Well, look who's up again," TJ said with a laugh. "Guess she smelled breakfast."
I set down her bowl and filled her water dish. She dove in immediately, making happy puppy sounds while she ate.
"Someone was hungry," I said, scratching behind her ears while she ate.
He handed me coffee—black, the way I liked it.
"Thanks." I wrapped my hands around the warm mug, watching Twinkle eat. Outside, wind rattled the windows. Still trapped. Still together.
The thought made me smile.
"So," I said. "It's Christmas."
"It is."
"Want to make the most ridiculous, over-the-top Christmas breakfast possible?"
He grinned. "Let's do it."
