Something About Ewe: Something About Ewe / The Purrfect Man

“Oh, good grief.” Flustered and on the defensive, she jumped up. “He must be out back. I’ll call him in.”

“I can go where he is. Come along.”

“Me?” She backed away.

“What if he tried to bite me?”

“Reckless doesn’t bite.”

“What if I need help?”

“You can always call for—”

“What if I just like your company?”

She had no answer to that. Rising, she followed him out the back door.

“THAT’S A GOOD BOY. You’ve been real patient with me.” Luke ruffled the dog’s silky black hair and got a mournful look in return. He glanced at Thalia and frowned. “I don’t like this,” he said.

“You don’t like what?”

“I saw Reckless last week for a sore paw. The paw’s cleared up just fine and I can’t see anything else obviously wrong with him. Beyond the fact that he’s too thin and just not real perky.”

She knelt in the grass beside Luke, her expression concerned. “Is he sick?”

“I don’t think so. But just to be on the safe side, you or Lorraine might like to bring him by the clinic next week for some lab work. Maybe I missed something.” Or misinterpreted something, he thought, because something was bothering this dog.

She pulled back visibly. “I’ll tell Mother.”

“Tell Mother what?” Lorraine walked down the steps to join them. She’d changed into jeans and a sweatshirt with lettering across the chest that read Shangri-la It Ain’t!

“I’m a little worried about your dog,” Luke explained. He stood, Thalia rising with him. Reckless didn’t move, just sat there looking, brown eyebrows on his black face giving him a sad expression.

Lorraine frowned. “What’s wrong with him?”

“I’m not sure.”

“He has been a little peaked lately.” She cocked her head and frowned at the dog sternly. “Reckless, what’s your problem?”

The old dog pulled himself up and walked over to her, his feathery tail moving slowly and without enthusiasm. She leaned down to stroke his head.

“How long have you had this dog?” Luke asked.

“A couple of years. I had a friend—a rancher—who sold out and was moving to Denver. I’d just lost Geezer—you remember him, Luke.”

He nodded. That mutt must have been at least fifteen years old.

“Anyway, I had the room here.” She gestured to the rolling, pine-studded land beyond the open gate. “I also like Border collies, although I’ve never had one before. I was happy to take Reckless in, and he seemed to settle in just fine. But lately—” she frowned “—it seems like Reckless is aging right before my eyes.”

“We’ll figure it out,” he reassured her. He looked at Thalia, who’d been listening quietly. “I’ve got to hit the road.” Which he regretted, since she was loosening up at least a little bit.

“Okay.”

She didn’t seem to care, but that didn’t deter him. “Walk me to my car?”

“Why? Did you forget where you parked it?”

He saw her stifle a faint smile. “I’m willing to say so to get my way,” he countered.

“Oh, all right.” She was trying to sound annoyed, but he didn’t buy it. “I’ll be right back, Mother, and then there’s something I want to talk to you about.”

He wondered what that might be.

They started for the gate, but Lorraine said his name.

When he turned, she said through tight lips, “I’m sorry about the way I spoke to your mother. Will you tell her that I—”

“Nope.”

“What do you mean, nope?” She looked offended. “You don’t even know what I’m about to say.”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m not getting in the middle of that.”

Thalia looked at him with approval. “Good for you!” she said.

Lorraine said, “Well, I never!”

“Oh, Mother!” Thalia laughed. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

And they walked away from the seething woman.

AT THE CHEROKEE, he turned to her. “I expect both you and your mother to stay at the party Saturday as guests. I’m spelling it out just in case you didn’t understand.”

Her eyebrows shot up. Was he kidding? “We’re the hired help,” she reminded him. “No way.”

“Hey, it’s my birthday.” His golden-brown eyes smiled at her. “Shouldn’t I get what I want?”

The thought of what he might want took her breath away. She barely managed to say, “You got a pony when you were seven.”

“And a Porsche when I was sixteen. Uh-uh, what I want at thirty-one is you…at my party, of course.”

Her mouth was so dry she could barely speak. “We don’t always get what we want, even on our birthdays.”

“I remember your sixteenth birthday.”

He reached out to brush her hair away from her cheek and she flinched. “Don’t,” she said.

“Don’t what?”