Chapter 37
Mike stowed his suitcase and backpack in the rear of the SUV and closed the tailgate.
Buddy sat obediently at his feet.
“Remember what we talked about?” Mike said, crouching and lifting the dog’s muzzle gently with one hand so they were eye to eye.
“I know you’re an extrovert, and you love saying hello to anyone you meet.
You assume everyone will love you.” He scratched behind Buddy’s ear.
“And they do, because you’re impossible not to love. ”
Buddy’s tail thumped once against the bumper.
“But Flagstaff to L.A. is a seven-hour drive if we don’t hit traffic,” Mike continued.
“And if we’re not that lucky, the trip could easily turn into nine or ten hours.
I need to be in the office tomorrow morning, so I’d like to get home by dinnertime.
” He stood. “I’m glad we helped that couple with their tire, but we don’t have time for any doggy shenanigans, like the dog show, today. ”
Buddy blinked up at him as if he understood and agreed.
Mike walked around to the passenger side and opened the back door. He tossed a treat onto the seat. “Go on,” he said.
Buddy didn’t move. Instead, he was staring intently across the parking lot.
Mike followed his gaze. Thirty feet away, a slim woman with long dark hair was unlocking her car. At the end of her leash, a small, fuzzy brown puppy pranced in excited circles.
Mike shaded his eyes against the bright morning sun and looked more closely.
For one quick, impossible moment, his heart did an involuntary flip.
From a distance, the pair looked uncannily like Lauren and Pumpkin.
But as the woman turned, the illusion dissolved.
The dog was smaller. The woman wasn’t Lauren.
Buddy let out a soft, high-pitched whine.
Mike rested a hand on the dog’s head. “It’s not them,” he replied. “Sure looked like them from a distance, though.”
Buddy leaned against his leg.
“You’re searching for our friends from the hotel,” Mike said. “You’d like to find them again too, wouldn’t you?”
Buddy placed one paw gently on Mike’s knee.
Mike smiled and squeezed it. “I like the way you think,” he said. “Me, too.”
Buddy tilted his head.
“If it’s meant to be,” Mike said, “we’ll see them again.” He glanced once more across the parking lot before tossing another treat onto the seat. “And I doubt we’d run into her outside a motel in Flagstaff, Arizona.”
Mike pulled into his driveway in the late afternoon. “We’re here,” he said, shutting off the engine. He stepped out and opened the rear door.
Buddy bounded to the pavement, stretched his front legs long, and gave his entire body a satisfied shake.
Mike stood beside him. “What do you think of your new home?” He pointed to the fixer-upper he had bought after his divorce.
Over the past two years he’d renovated it as time and budget allowed.
The exterior now had a contemporary Craftsman feel.
The two-story home featured several front-facing gables, their triangular peaks trimmed in crisp white against soft cream siding.
Symmetrical windows flanked a black front door recessed beneath a small porch alcove.
A low, white picket fence enclosed the front yard, giving the house a welcoming, approachable charm.
Mike’s heart skipped a beat when he studied the facade. He had designed plenty of commercial buildings with glass walls, exposed concrete, and minimalist drama. But this house had been a place meant to feel like home.
Buddy took a few curious steps forward, then looked back at him as if to say, “Well? Are we going inside or what?”
“First things first,” Mike said. “Let me show you the back yard.” He led Buddy around the side of the garage to a gate. When he opened it, they stepped into a west-facing yard glowing in the golden light of late afternoon. “This,” Mike said with a sweeping gesture, “is all yours.”
Buddy paused.
“Go on,” Mike encouraged. “Explore.”
The dog didn’t need to be told twice. Buddy trotted across the yard in long, enthusiastic strides, nose working overtime. He inspected the shrubs along the six-foot block wall that enclosed the yard, pausing every few feet to leave his mark.
A sudden burst of squawking erupted overhead.
Buddy looked up. At the center of the yard stood a massive deodar cedar tree whose branches spread twenty-five feet wide and drooped low toward the ground.
Birds skittered throughout its branches, loudly protesting the arrival of the new tenant.
Then a squirrel darted across the wall and made a run for the tree. Buddy launched into pursuit.
“Hey!” Mike laughed.
Buddy barked furiously as the squirrel shot up the trunk and disappeared into the top branches.
“You’re fast,” Mike called, “but you’ll have to pick up the pace if you want to catch squirrels in this neighborhood.”
Buddy stood at the base of the tree, barking indignantly while the squirrel chattered back from safety above.
“I’m going to open the back door,” Mike said. “Come in whenever you’re ready. I’ll bring the luggage inside.”
Buddy was too busy yelling at the wildlife to acknowledge him.
Mike chuckled and returned to the driveway to unload the rental car and bring his belongings inside. He emptied his suitcase and started a load of laundry in the upstairs laundry room. If Buddy was comfortable on his own, Mike planned to return the rental car and take a rideshare home.
Downstairs, he filled a bowl with water and chose a quiet corner of the kitchen to serve as Buddy’s feeding station. He poured kibble into the food bowl and set it beside the water. Then he stepped onto the deck and called into the yard. “Buddy! Dinner!”
Before he could call again, Buddy came bounding up the steps and through the door.
“Well,” Mike laughed, “there’s nothing wrong with your hearing.”
Buddy didn’t wait for further instructions. He marched straight to the bowls and began crunching his kibble like a dog who had lived there his entire life.
Mike opened his laptop and checked the address of the nearest rental car office.
It was open for another hour and was twenty minutes away.
Buddy had been content when left alone in the hotel room in Raleigh.
Mike didn’t know if his pup was crate trained, but he decided to order one online when he got home.
For now, he hoped he’d be fine. Mike grabbed the car keys from the counter and went looking for Buddy.
The large memory-foam dog bed sat at the foot of the stairs where Mike had left it earlier. Buddy, however, was nowhere to be seen.
Mike smiled. There was only one other place he could be.
He walked into the family room at the back of the house.
The room was simply furnished with a comfortable leather sectional, a wooden coffee table with a live-edge slab top he had bought from a local woodworker, and an end table he’d rescued from the curb with a “FREE” sign taped to it.
A giant flat-screen television hung on the wall.
Buddy lay sprawled on his back along the length of the sofa. His paws twitched and he emitted a series of tiny, high-pitched cheeps.
Mike leaned against the doorway and grinned. “You’re still chasing that squirrel, aren’t you?” he said.
Buddy’s paws kicked again in his dream.
Mike considered waking him to say he was leaving but decided against it. The four-day drive had been exhausting for both of them. With any luck, he’d be back before Buddy realized he was gone. Mike slipped out the front door and closed it quietly behind him.
He got into the rental car and waited while a young couple pushing a stroller walked past on the sidewalk.
Then he snapped his fingers. “A camera monitor,” he said aloud.
“That’s what we need. What do they call them …
nanny cams?” He’d order a nanny cam, too.
He gave the little family an appreciative nod and pulled out of the driveway.