Epilogue Double Dog Dare （Lena）
Epilogue
Double Dog Dare
(Lena)
Eight Years Later
Freya perches on the edge of the chair as I work. Ideally, I wouldn’t have my seven-year-old daughter with me, but sometimes life doesn’t ask.
Her small face is sharp and attentive.
The small, shriveled cat in front of us is clearly a stray. He’s missing one ear from suspected frostbite, and he’s severely underweight.
Poor little honey.
Even with the lick mat I’m holding in front of his face for a distraction, smeared with tuna-flavored food, the beast hisses as Dr. Vetol administers the first of many shots.
“Is he gonna be okay?” Freya whispers, blinking up at me with Brady’s sharp blue eyes.
When she was first born, those eyes were a shocker, but now they’re my pride and joy.
Is there anything better than walking around with my husband’s legacy, even when he’s not here?
“He’ll be fine. Just stay back, Freya,” I warn, checking the cat for a chip once the doctor finishes.
“What’s his name, Mom?”
“For now, it’s John Doe.” Dr. Vetol chuckles warmly.
Ever since I took over Pawsome Hearts, he’s been the perfect partner in business and medicine, bringing an infectious humor and the kindest bedside manner to the wildest beasts who walk through our doors.
“John Doe? That’s boring! He needs a better name. Let’s give him one, Mom!”
“Let’s not just now,” I say sharply, biting back a smile.
“But everyone deserves a cool name, even the strays.”
I sigh. “Freya, we both know what will happen if I let you name him.”
Dr. Vetol laughs again, inspecting the cat’s ears for mites one more time.
Freya pulls an innocent look that rivals a cartoon chipmunk.
“What? What will happen?” She whispers breathlessly.
“You’ll want to keep him, and we can’t.”
“Keep him?” She claps her hands delightedly. “Wow, great idea! But you should name him, Mommy.”
I look down at the tabby, who eyes me with all the disgust a cat can muster—and for this boy, it’s a metric ton.
“I don’t think he likes me, honey. He’s a little rough around the edges. Who knows how long he’s been out there.”
“Well, yeah! But John Doe, that’s being mean,” she says, rolling her eyes.
I mock glare at her. “I knew it was a mistake, bringing you to work.”
“But I had to come for school,” she says sheepishly.
True, unfortunately.
She’s taking after me, growing up camera shy. Every time her teachers give her a project that involves her parents’ jobs, it’s never any contest who she picks to shadow.
The puppies and kittens only sweeten the deal.
“You,” I say, “are your father’s girl. You inherited his charm.”
She beams wickedly. “I know!”
Coming from me, that’s never an insult.
We’re almost a decade in, and I don’t think I’ll ever get over how much I adore Brady. Having a daughter changed things, yes, especially when I look at her and realize I’d die for this little cherub in an instant.
Best of all, I don’t have to. Not when I’m married to the hottest, happiest billionaire beast in Seattle.
With Brady, it’s been a total joy, showing Freya what a healthy, loving relationship looks like.
“Hey, Mom?” Freya pushes off her chair and comes toward me, head cocked to one side. “You’re smiling again.”
The cat yowls miserably as the doc finishes looking over a few last scrapes on his legs, and I go back to work, checking the sedative shot we’ve already prepped. He’s going to need to go under while we rinse him off in the big metal sink if we want to avoid getting ripped to pieces.
Occupational hazard of marital bliss. Sometimes you forget what you’re doing and start spontaneously daydreaming about getting home to your hubby.
It’s almost disgusting how smiley I am with Brady on my mind.
Almost.
And I wouldn’t change a single damn thing.
“What about Buttercup? He’s got a kinda yellow-tan belly,” Freya decides, peering into the cat’s eyes. It glares back, annoyed and gold. “Oh, and his eyes . . . Mom, it’s gotta be Buttercup!”
I know that look from my little girl. I step in front of her before she can reach for his scraggly fur.
“Careful, honey. He needs a bath, and he’s pretty irritable. You don’t want to get scratched. We’re going to have to sedate him for a bit.”
“Okay, fine. But can we bring him home?” she asks hopefully.
At this point, I think she knows I can’t resist.
“Tell you what. If his parasite test comes back clean and he looks like he can behave for a few hours—and you promise to keep him in the pet room without visiting unless your dad or I are with you—I’ll think about it. Now go ask Trish for a sucker. I’ll be with you in a second.”
Besides the lollipop, Trish rocks at entertaining my little nugget.
Freya prefers me, of course, but Trish has turned into this cool office aunt who listens patiently while Freya talks her ear off about every animal known to man.
Buttercup’s tail swishes as he watches us getting ready to deliver the last shot.
“You spoil her, Lena. Careful, or we’ll be handing her the keys to this place someday,” Dr. Vetol says cheerfully, gently grabbing the cat.
“Yeah, yeah. But we have several dogs and a cat recuperating in observation back there, so I figured taking him home would lighten the load.” I grumble, but I already know what I’m about to do.
Luckily, there’s a bonus.
I get to see how Brady will react to another stray after he’s put his foot down with expanding our zoo.
I find out the instant we get home almost two hours later with “Buttercup” clean, dry, and groggy in his carrier.
A decadent-smelling seafood alfredo punches me in the nose. Brady just finished making dinner in the kitchen, and he stands against the island with little Noah tucked in his arms.
After greeting our three dogs, who all bound up to lick my face, I’m only in the kitchen for three seconds before Noah sees me and throws up his chubby little arms.
“Mama!”
I laugh, putting down the cat carrier at the entrance to the mudroom and accepting the welcome burden of my second child.
We agreed on two kids. Hard limit.
Don’t get me wrong, I love them to death. But having these two precious creatures takes up more time than you can imagine, especially when we don’t do the typical rich-people thing where we hand them off to nannies for fourteen hours a day.
While Freya has her dad’s looks, Noah takes after me. Snubby round nose, light-brown eyes, and dark hair with chestnut stripes that’s just starting to curl. A lot like mine did until I hit puberty and my hair straightened out more.
It breaks my happy heart a little every time I look at him.
“How many fires did you put out today, Sass?” Brady leans over to kiss my cheek, bathing me in his glorious scent, which mingles weirdly well with the seafood pasta.
“Not enough. Little Frey fell in love.” I glance back at the carrier holding Buttercup, who’s still tipsy and half asleep with the sedation wearing off.
“Oh shit. Again?” Brady blinks, then slaps his forehead dramatically.
Freya giggles, already trying to fumble the carrier door open.
Buttercup yowls a loud warning.
“Freya, wait!” I call. “Remember what we talked about with new animals?”
“Yeah, yeah.” She pouts. “Pet room first. No being alone with them. I heard, Mommy.”
“It’s for your good and his. You scare him. He might run away. Or give old Queenie a heart attack,” I say.
Right on cue, the ancient girl swaggers up to lick my hand.
I cannot believe she’s still with us, but I’m grateful for every day.
She’s going on 130 in dog years, a unicorn blessing I’m not sure what we did to deserve.
But that’s life in the Pruitt household—and it’s as good as it is surprising. It just means we’re running more of a zoo than a house, and we wouldn’t have it any other way.
Three dogs, two cats—if Buttercup works out—a little pond full of fat, colorful koi, and yes, we even have a rescue goat roaming around in the backyard. There’s also an elderly rabbit in a hutch by the side of the house, which is Freya’s responsibility to clean out and care for.
She’s good about it. Mostly.
“Woman, what happened to our rules? We’re maxed out on pets,” Brady mutters, trying not to laugh as his arms wind around my waist. “I told you if you bring one more fur ball home, we’ll need a bigger house.”
I bite back a laugh of my own because he’s only half joking.
Not long after we tied the knot and found out I was expecting, we moved away from Seattle proper, sprawling into the suburbs like a good dual-income family with ample money to burn.
But this mansion has over two acres and six bedrooms.
We’ve found a place for all of them, plus two true guest rooms that serve us nicely whenever friends or family visit.
I lay my hand on his chest, pushing playfully. “Aw, come on. Three more cats will max out our space. We’d be using it efficiently.”
“No more,” Brady calls gruffly, loud enough for Freya to hear. “The girl needs time to focus on her homework.”
“School’s easy! I’ll have time with ten cats, Dad!” she yells back, sitting cross-legged, thankfully a comfortable distance from Buttercup. “Just gotta get him to love me first.”
“Of course he’ll love you. Give it a week or two for him to settle in,” I say, kissing little Noah on the cheek and setting him down. He immediately toddles off toward the new carrier, only to be stopped by his big sister as she scoops him up.
“Noah,” Freya whines. “Don’t get close, he has to get used to us. And Mom said I get to hang out with him first!”
“Be nice to your brother,” Brady growls.
“Kitty!” Noah yells, clapping his hands.
Chaos, I think.
But that’s the life we chose.
The sweetest chaos with two rambunctious kids and our own private menagerie. Thankfully, two of our dogs are seniors: Queenie and Rufus. Aside from our little dynamo corgi named Liz, the dogs don’t pay too much attention to the new arrival.
To them, it’s old hat.
No doubt when Buttercup makes his presence known, they’ll have more to say.
“He’s going to need time to recover and rest. So even when he’s nicer, you have to be careful,” I tell Freya as I help set the table.