Page 11 of Wishing Hearts

“Make yourself at home,” he says. “I just need to finish this phone call.”

I nod, and with an audible sigh, Harrison turns and walks off down a short hall. A door closes a moment later, and then his voice filters gently through the walls. Not loud enough for me to make out his words, but loud enough to hear the concern in his voice.

Well, dang. That’s not a good sign.

As Harrison talks to whoever is on the other end of the call, I kick off my boots and take a look around. The inside of the place is decorated heavily with tones of green to match the exterior. I take a seat on the olive-colored leather couch and set the beer I brought onto the coffee table. There are a couple agriculture magazines nearby, so I flip through those as Harrison’s call goes on and on and on. Surprise, Texas loves its beef cattle. When I’ve run out of magazines, I scroll through my phone for a bit, but nothing holds my attention.

I’m putting some serious consideration into popping one of those beers open when the door clicks down the hall. I drop my feet to the floor, and a moment later, Harrison steps into view, looking exhausted.

“Hey,” I say, standing up.

“Sorry,” he replies, shaking his head as he comes over to the couch. He plops down onto it so hard air rushes over my skin. The man looks the very definition of defeated as he kicks his feet onto the coffee table and rubs his eyes.

“Everythin’ all right?” I ask, sitting down beside him. Stupid question, I know. But I don’t know what else to lead with.

“Yeah,” Harrison says, looking over at me. His eyes are creased at the corners, and I can tell he’s about to say Sorry, Sam, but I’m not up for this anymore. But I don’t want to go. Even if nothing happens here tonight, I don’t want to leave Harrison alone while he’s so clearly down.

So, I head him off and make a grab for the goods I brought. “Beer?” I ask, holding up a bottle. It’s still a little cool to the touch.

Harrison huffs a laugh, and it takes him a moment, but he finally answers, “Sure.”

His fingers touch mine as I hand over the bottle, and I try not to let my eyes linger on those hands, but it’s hard not to. They’re big and a little roughened, same as mine. Hazard of the jobs we hold.

“I’m not going to be good company tonight,” Harrison says after a single swallow of his beer.

“Why don’t you let me decide that for myself?” I reply, twisting the cap off my own bottle of stout. The grocery store didn’t have a huge selection, but they did have Guinness. Harrison seems okay with the choice.

Harrison lets out a little sigh in response, and I settle more fully against the couch cushions, kicking my feet up beside his.

I tap him lightly with my toe. “Wanna talk about it?” When Harrison stiffens, I touch his arm and add, “There’s no wrong answer.”

He relaxes slightly, and I pull my hand away, idly turning my beer bottle. Finally, he says, “No. Tell me something. Anything.”

I huff a laugh. “Okay. I can do that.” I think for a moment before something comes to mind. “All right, so you met Carl.” Harrison nods, and I grin. “Carl and me have worked together for years. We were on this call ’bout a year ago, checkin’ up on a report of a loose dog, right? Well, the dog comes runnin’ out of nowhere, slippin’ right past us, and Carl takes off after it. There was this short garden fence, maybe two feet high, between a couple houses, and Carl, tryin’ to head off the dog, vaulted it. Except he didn’t make it over. His foot caught, and Carl fell flat on his face.”

Harrison chuckles, taking another swig of his beer. His blue eyes twinkle a little. “Was he okay?”

I wave my hand in the air. “Pft. Yeah. Carl was fine. Got the dog, too. The bully mix came right over and proceeded to lick every inch of Carl’s face while he was hangin’ halfway upside-down.” I shake my head at the memory. “He adopted that dog.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm. Named her Rosie,” I say.

“’Cause there were roses along the fence?” Harrison asks, lips hiked up at one corner.

I point a finger his way. “Bingo.”

Harrison is quick. I like that.

He looks off across the room, a small smile on his face. “I have a dog.”

“Yeah?”

He nods. “When my, uh…” He cuts off before starting again, and I can’t help but wonder what his original sentence was going to be. “I got her five years ago. She’s smart as a whip. But gentle. So gentle.”

“What’s her name?” I ask, shifting toward Harrison a little more and bending my knee up onto the couch between us.

“Tigger.”

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