Silver Bells. Mary Burton

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      She slept soundly only to be awakened hours later by the sound of her doorbell. Groggily, she looked down at her watch. It was after twelve. Who would be visiting at this hour? She ran to the door, turned on the porch light, and was dismayed to see the huge golden dog slapping at her doorbell. She opened the door, and he bounded in like a whirlwind. He ran over to the fire and lay down on the cushions.

      Amy threw her hands in the air. “What’s this mean? You moved out? What?”

      The dog barked as he squirmed and wiggled to get more comfortable on the cushions. “Does this mean you’re staying here for the night?” The dog barked again, laid his head on his paws, and closed his eyes. “Guess so. Can’t say as how I blame you. He sounds like a…like a…big jerk.”

      Before she made her way to the second floor, Amy bent over to look at the collar on the big dog’s neck. Churchill. “Okay, Churchill, see you in the morning.”

      Chapter Four

      Hank Anders staggered down the stairs a little before midnight. He was beyond exhausted from the past few hours with the twins, and he now had a newfound respect for his sister-in-law. Where in the name of God was she? Probably sleeping peacefully in some five-star hotel after being pampered by a trained masseuse.

      The two dogs looked at him warily. Churchill ran to the sliding glass doors off the kitchen that led to a little terrace in the back. Earlier he’d seen the area was fenced, so he let the dogs out. His nerves were twanging all over the place as he prepared a cup of hot chocolate the way his mother had always done when things got dicey. Well, as far as he was concerned, things didn’t get any dicier than this.

      Dinner had been a disaster. The twins didn’t like hard-boiled eggs. They didn’t like toast either. When they wouldn’t eat, he’d belatedly checked to make sure they had teeth, and sure enough they each had six. Then he’d tried peanut butter and jelly, but they didn’t like that either. All they’d done was smear it everywhere. The two dogs licked it up, to his chagrin. Milk from a cup was spilled on the floor and on the walls, leaving a sticky residue. The dogs licked that up, too. He finally found a can of ravioli and handed out spoons. Probably his tenth or eleventh mistake. At least he didn’t have to worry about the dogs’ dinner.

      Bath time had been a total disaster. He wondered if Alice would notice, if she ever returned, that the wallpaper was soaking wet or that the linoleum on the floor was buckling where the splashed water had seeped under it. Probably not. Why should she? She had other things on her mind. God, where was she? Was she going to leave him here forever with her kids or until Ben got back? He shuddered at the thought. She’d be a fool not to. A five-star hotel, a pedicure, manicure, hairdo, facial, massage, certainly couldn’t compare to this experience.

      And who the hell was that person who brought Churchill back? And how had the dog gotten out in the first place? “Please come home, Alice. Please,” Hank muttered over and over as he poured the hot chocolate into a cup.

      Earlier, after the dinner the twins didn’t eat, he had called the market and placed an order the clerk promised to deliver early in the morning. He’d lucked out when he called the only employment agency in town. The woman who operated it was running late and was still in the office. She’d promised a “day lady” or possibly a male nanny depending on availability and sir, we do not discriminate, who was capable of minding children and doing light cooking for $750 a week. He’d blinked at the amount but agreed. At that precise moment he would have paid triple the amount she quoted.

      Hank was so hungry he thought he was going to pass out. He’d used the last of the bread, so he ate peanut butter and jelly right out of the jar. All of it. Though still hungry, he was too tired to rummage or try to cook something.

      When Miss Sadie scratched at the door, he went over to open it. The little fur ball pranced in and looked up at the giant standing over her. She yipped and did a circle dance that probably meant something, but he didn’t know what. He whistled for Churchill, and, when nothing happened, he turned on the outside light and whistled again. The small yard was lit up brightly, but there was no sign of the golden retriever. He ran out to the yard calling the dog’s name, Miss Sadie yapping and nipping at his pant leg as he raced around. Pure and simple—the dog was gone. “Aw, shit!”

      Miss Sadie leaped up, snagged his pant leg, and held on. He tried to shake her loose, but she wasn’t budging. Somehow he managed to get back into the house in time to hear one of the twins wailing upstairs. “I hate you, Alice Anders,” he groaned as he made his way to the second floor. By the time he got to the boys’ cribs, whichever one had been wailing, had stopped. СКАЧАТЬ