Hot Christmas Nights. Sharon Kendrick

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СКАЧАТЬ rather, Danica’s truck and up onto the porch, where Winston wagged a finger at the dog.

      “No more of that barking, now.”

      With that Jamesy dropped down onto his haunches and wrapped both arms around the dog, obviously intending to quell any outburst. Winston knocked and waited for the door to open. When she didn’t immediately answer, he wondered if they’d come too early. It was going on half past eight, but Danica might be a late sleeper. He’d have called and set up a convenient time if the phone was working. As it was, he just had to take his chances. Finally, the inner door swung back.

      “Oh,” she said through the screen. “I guess you want to talk about the restitution order. I did read it last night.”

      “Actually, I, that is, my boy Jamesy and I brought your dog back.”

      “Dog?” she echoed, frowning. “What dog?”

      “This dog,” Winston explained, pointing downward. Finally she opened the screen and stepped out onto the porch. She was wearing sweats and socks, and from the way she went to smoothing her frazzled hair, he suspected that she’d slept in them.

      “I don’t know this dog,” she said.

      “This here’s Twig,” Jamesy told her, ruffling the dog’s black-and-white fur. “He’s a real good ’un.” As he spoke, the dog laved his face with its pale pink tongue.

      “Okay,” Danica said uncertainly, “but he’s not my dog.”

      “He belongs to the place,” Winston explained. “Old Ned, Bud’s uncle, used to train the best working dogs in this whole area. He raised Twig from a pup and trained him special. When your sister left here, she asked us to take care of him.”

      “Well, then take care of him,” Danica said, watching the dog flop over so Jamesy could vigorously rub his belly. “It has nothing to do with me.”

      “But he belongs to the place,” Winston pointed out again. “That means he’s yours.”

      “I don’t want him,” she retorted. “You keep him.”

      “Oh, boy!” Jamesy exclaimed. “Did you hear that, Twig?”

      Winston frowned, wondering how this had gotten so complicated. “Listen,” he said to her, “you don’t understand. The dog belongs to you.”

      “But I don’t want him, and the boy obviously does,” she pointed out.

      “Can I keep him then, Dad?”

      Winston sighed, exasperated. “No, you can’t keep him, son. Miss Lynch doesn’t know what she’s saying.”

      “The hell I don’t! Why would I want to be bothered with some mutt?”

      “I told you,” Winston said through his teeth, patience wearing awfully thin. “He’s a highly trained, valuable, working dog, and he comes with the place to you.”

      She folded her arms. “Well, I’m not keeping him, so just take him back where you brought him from.”

      Win threw up his hands. “I can’t do that. You don’t even have the telephone working yet.”

      “And I don’t intend to,” she told him smartly. “What has that got to do with anything?”

      “For Pete’s sake, woman, will you just listen to reason for a minute?” he erupted hotly.

      “Oh, so now I’m unreasonable, am I?” She parked her hands on her hips and glared at him. “Well, if that’s the way you’re going to behave, I’ll thank you to take your stupid dog and get off my land.”

      “He’s not my dog!” Winston roared.

      “And he’s not stupid,” Jamesy added defensively. Winston looked down, ashamed and embarrassed that he’d shouted at a grieving woman in front of his son. Even the dog was staring at the two of them, its head tilted to one side.

      Danica had the grace to look chagrined. “I’m sure he’s not,” she told Jamesy in a kinder, if stern tone, “but I don’t want to take care of a dog.”

      “He don’t take much caring for, miss,” Jamesy told her.

      “I don’t even know how long I’ll be here,” Danica protested impatiently. “He’ll be better off with you.”

      “But you need a dog,” Winston reasoned.

      Her pointed little chin came up at an obstinate angle. “Don’t try to tell me what I need! How would you know what I need?”

      His temper slipped free. “Lady, you absolutely take the cake! You won’t listen to plain sense!”

      She threw a finger at his pickup truck. “Get off my land!”

      “Of all the hardheaded, idiotic women!”

      “Take your kid and his dog and go!” she shouted. Jamesy lurched to his feet then, catching Danica’s attention. “What are you waiting for?” she demanded of the boy. “Get out of here!”

      Jamesy took off at a run, stomping down the porch steps in his heavy boots. Twig whined, looked at Danica, then went after the boy. Winston was mad enough to spit nails into an iron bar, but before he could say anything else to her, she stepped inside and slammed the door again. He considered pushing his way in and making her see reason, but Jamesy’s presence restrained him.

      Reluctantly, he turned away and followed Jamesy to the truck, his concern for her reckless behavior beginning to push away his anger. Someone needed to have a stern talk with that woman, and he reckoned it would have to be him. He didn’t much like the notion, but she had to see how foolish it would be for her stay out here all on her own without a dog. Didn’t she realize that it was a thirty-five-minute drive to his place, and that he and his family were her closest neighbors? What if something happened to her? Maybe the dog would do her no good, but at least the chance existed if the dog was around.

      Win settled behind the steering wheel and looked over at his son. Twig was sitting in Jamesy’s lap, its nose stuck to the window. This was getting to be a habit, dragging that old collie over here and then dragging it back again. Winston lifted off his hat and plowed a hand through his thick, wavy hair.

      “What’s wrong with her, Dad?” Jamesy asked suddenly. “Is it because of me? Don’t she like kids?”

      Winston sighed. He hadn’t wanted to explain the full situation to his son, but that seemed the best thing now. It was bad enough when a boy’s mother walked away without a backward glance; it was beyond standing for when a rude neighbor made him feel disliked and responsible for problems with which he had nothing to do.

      “It’s not you, son, not at all. Miss Lynch, she’s going through some hard times now. You saw how much she looks like Mrs. Thacker who used to own this place?”

      “A whole bunch,” Jamesy agreed.

      “That’s because Mrs. Thacker and Miss Lynch are twins. Or they were. That’s the problem, son. I don’t like to tell you this, but Miss Lynch’s sister was in an СКАЧАТЬ