Chapter 18
She bit her lip. She preferred a direct flight, but she wanted to reach Newport tomorrow. Waiting for something more convenient felt risky under the circumstances.
She stifled a yawn and glanced at the time.
It was almost midnight. After returning from the gift shop, she’d taken a long, steamy shower.
Then she’d sat on the edge of the bed, using safety pins from the hotel’s complimentary sewing kit to cinch the waist of her oversized dog-print pajama pants.
She’d meant to lie back on the bed for only a moment.
Instead, she’d fallen asleep for nearly two hours.
Lauren tapped Accept. She didn’t have the energy to search for alternate routes that might not even exist. Accepting what she had already received was best. “We’ll be on our way again first thing tomorrow,” she said aloud, scanning the room for Pumpkin.
A soft whimper answered her, followed by the faint scratch-scratch of paws at the door.
“Okay, girl,” Lauren said, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I know you need to go.” She slipped into her sneakers and grabbed her jacket from the desk chair.
Pumpkin squirmed anxiously.
“Good thing you’re still wearing your pajamas,” Lauren murmured, clipping the leash to Pumpkin’s collar. They headed for the lobby.
The hotel was quiet at this hour. Only the night clerk remained behind the desk. “Is there somewhere I should take my dog for a comfort break?” Lauren asked.
“There’s a pet relief station at the back of the property by the parking lot,” he replied. “You can’t miss it.”
She started toward the front entrance. “Which way do I turn when I get out the door?”
The clerk’s gaze dropped briefly to her thin jacket and the bright red, cartoon-dog Christmas pajamas visible beneath it. “It’ll be faster if you go out the rear door,” he said, pointing down the opposite hallway. “Past the self-service pantry and the fitness room.”
“Can I get back in that way?”
“If you have your room key, you can swipe yourself in.”
“Thank you.” She and Pumpkin reversed course and hurried down the deserted corridor, past the softly lit pantry shelves and darkened treadmill screens, then pushed through the rear door into the bitter night.
The cold hit her like a slap. She was thankful the clerk had suggested the shorter route. The air burned in her nose. The pet relief station was clearly marked near the edge of the parking lot. Pumpkin quickly did her business, the snow crunching beneath her tiny paws.
They were headed back toward the hotel when Pumpkin suddenly stopped. Her body stiffened and her head angled toward the tree line beyond the lot.
“Come on, girl,” Lauren urged, teeth chattering. “It’s freezing out here.”
Pumpkin didn’t move. Her posture was rigid, ears pricked, and entire body alert.
Lauren tugged at the leash, to no avail. She tugged harder.
Pumpkin suddenly lunged forward. The leash ripped from Lauren’s hand. The little dog bolted across the icy pavement.
“Pumpkin!” Lauren swung her foot forward, trying to step on the trailing leash. She missed. Her sneaker came down on slick ice hidden beneath a dusting of snow and her feet flew out from under her. She hit the pavement hard, a strangled cry tearing from her throat.
“Pumpkin! Pumpkin!” Her voice rose in pitch, sharp, urgent, and edged with fear, as the little red blur raced toward the dark tree line.
Mike stared at his computer screen.
If he’d been unproductive before his trip to the gift shop, meeting Lauren and her dog had only worsened his distraction.
Her warmth and engaging smile had captivated him.
Imagining her in those absurd matching pajamas filled his thoughts.
Maybe his mother had been right. He’d meet someone when he least expected it, just living his life.
A sharp cry split the night. Mike froze.
It came from the parking lot beyond his first-floor patio. It was a woman’s voice, high and frantic. Someone was in distress.
He shot to his feet and crossed the room in three strides. Pulling back the curtain, he scanned the dimly lit lot. A figure to the far right struggled to stand on the icy pavement. Red flannel pajama pants protruded beneath a thin jacket. His breath caught. It was Lauren.
He watched as she cupped her hands around her mouth. “Pumpkin!” she screamed. “Pumpkin!” She staggered forward across the snow-dusted asphalt, slipping as she ran.
Mike didn’t think. He shoved his feet into his shoes, threw open the sliding glass door, and vaulted the low patio fence in one fluid motion. The freezing air stung his face as he sprinted toward her. “Lauren!” he called.
She spun toward him, pushing windblown hair from her face. Panic hollowed her eyes. “She’s gone,” she choked. “Pumpkin pulled the leash out of my hand and took off. She’s never run away before. Not ever.” Her voice cracked. “Tonight, of all nights. In this weather. In a place she doesn’t know.”
“She headed toward the tree line?” Mike asked, already moving.
Lauren nodded and ran beside him. They reached the gravel strip separating the lot from the woods. The trees loomed dark and impenetrable.
“There must be something in there,” Mike said, scanning the shadows.
“PUMPKIN!” Lauren called again—her voice breaking.
For a moment, there was only wind. Then a high-pitched yip broke the silence.
A sharp bark answered from within the trees.
Lauren gasped. “Pumpkin!”
Another bark responded, closer this time.
“I hear her,” Mike said. “Do you have your phone? I left mine inside. I’ll use the flashlight.”
Lauren fumbled for it in her pocket, unlocked it with shaking fingers, and activated the flashlight before handing it to him.
They stepped carefully into the trees. Branches scratched at their jackets. Snow shifted treacherously underfoot. The beam of light cut through the darkness, illuminating patches of brush, tree trunks, and snow-covered ground.
Then—there she was. Pumpkin stood several yards ahead, tail thrashing the air.
Lauren rushed forward and scooped her up, clutching her to her chest. “What in the world are you doing?” she breathed into her fur. “You scared Mommy to death.”
Pumpkin twisted in her arms, squirming and whining.
“There’s something else in here,” Mike said. He widened the arc of the flashlight.
Pumpkin wriggled free and darted forward again, stopping a few feet away. She lowered her front legs into a play bow, her back end high, tail wagging in wild invitation.
Mike moved the beam beyond her. The light caught two eyes, about eighteen inches off the ground. The creature stood still, watching. Mike lowered the flashlight beam so it wouldn’t blind the animal.
A shaggy golden head emerged from the shadows. Then shoulders, followed by the body of a large dog. It was a golden retriever, with a coat matted and dirty from neglect.
The two dogs approached each other cautiously. Pumpkin’s greeting was unrestrained, her tail whipping like windshield wipers at high speed. The larger dog was wary but didn’t retreat. They performed the ancient, intimate ritual of canine introduction: circling, sniffing, and assessing.
Mike dropped to one knee and extended his hand slowly. “Hey, buddy,” he said in a low, even tone. “What’re you doing out here on a night like this?”
The dog flicked his gaze toward Mike but stayed with Pumpkin.
Lauren stepped closer, moving carefully to avoid spooking him. “I don’t see a collar,” she whispered. “He’s a stray.”
A gust of wind cut through the trees, and Lauren shivered. “We can’t leave him out here,” she said, her voice firm despite the tremor. “He won’t survive this.”
Mike nodded. “Agreed.”
The dog’s ribs showed faintly beneath his coat. He looked exhausted.
“Do you think we can grab him?” Lauren asked.
Mike stood slowly. “I don’t think we’ll need to.”
Pumpkin trotted back toward Lauren, then returned to the stray, as if inviting him.
“Our friend here seems very taken with Pumpkin,” Mike said. “And vice versa.”
Lauren picked up Pumpkin’s leash again. “You mean … I just start walking?”
“It’s worth a shot,” Mike responded.
Lauren took a breath. “Pumpkin. Heel.”
Pumpkin glanced at her, then obeyed. They began walking toward the parking lot.
For a long, suspended moment, the larger dog remained where he was, watching. Then he took one tentative step forward. And another. He followed slowly at first, then steadily.
Mike walked a few paces behind, keeping the flashlight low and non-threatening. The wind howled behind them as the four figures moved together across the snow toward the warm glow of the hotel.