LITMIR.BIZ

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all over the South. Her mom’s ability to rehabilitate strays was legendary—Vera had even written a dog-behavior book that had become a bestseller a few years ago. Julia might not be the expert her mother was, but she had a fairly good sense for reading canine energy. And every inch of the Weimaraner was shouting “let’s play.”

      “Sam, the dog isn’t going to hurt you.”

      “It bared its teeth. It’s a lunatic.”

      “You’ve never seen it before?” Julia moved slowly forward.

      “No. I told you to get back on the porch. I don’t want you or Charlie hurt.”

      She gave a quick whistle. The dog stopped and looked at her, its tail still wagging.

      “Julia, you can’t—”

      “Drop it,” she commanded, her finger pointed to the ground.

      “Dop.” Charlie mimicked her. “Charlie ball.”

      The dog waited a moment then lowered the lump of plastic to the ground.

      “Sit.”

      The dog’s bottom plopped to the ground.

      She held out her palm. “Stay.”

      She took a step toward the dog. His bottom lifted but she gave a stern “No,” and he sank back down.

      “I’m sorry about your ball, sweetie,” she told Charlie.

      “Bad,” he said with a whine.

      “Not bad, but he needs someone to help him learn.”

      As she got nearer, the animal trembled with excitement.

      “You shouldn’t be that close.”

      “Do you have any rope?”

      “I’m not leaving you out here. I’m serious. Back off from the dog.”

      “What is your problem? This dog isn’t a threat.”

      “You don’t know—”

      As if sensing that her attention was divided, the dog stood and bounded the few feet toward her. The skin around its mouth drew back and wrinkled, exposing a row of shiny teeth.

      “Get back, Julia. It’s snarling.” Sam lunged forward, but before he got the animal, the dog flopped at Julia’s feet and flipped onto his back, writhing in apparent ecstasy as she bent to rub his belly.

      Sam stopped in his tracks. “What the...?”

      “He’s a smiler.”

      “Dogs don’t smile.”

      “Some do.”

      Charlie wriggled out of Sam’s arms and, before either of them could stop him, headed for the dog. “Good doggy. No ball.”

      Julia put an arm around Charlie, holding him back, as Sam’s breath hitched. “You shouldn’t let him so near that thing.”

      She offered what she hoped was a reassuring smile. “My mom runs an animal shelter, remember? Charlie’s been around dogs since he was born. I’m careful to supervise him and make sure he’s safe.” She tickled her fingers under the dog’s ear and got a soft lick on her arm for the effort. “This boy is gorgeous.”

      “A good-looking animal can still be crazy.”

      Julia’s shoulders stiffened. “What makes you think he’s crazy?” Before he’d left for good, Jeff had said something similar to her. He’d told her she was beautiful but a nut job. He’d thrown in a dig about her intelligence as icing on the cake.

      Her mother was the expert on stray animals, but Julia knew a thing or two about being damaged on the inside. Her gut told her this dog had a heart of gold.

      “He snarled at me.”

      “He smiled at you,” she insisted. “Pet him. He’s a real sweetie.”

      “I don’t like dogs,” Sam said simply.

      “I wouldn’t have guessed it.” She ran her hand along the length of the dog’s side. “He’s way underweight. No collar and he’s dirty. I’d guess he’s been on his own for a while now. You haven’t seen him around?”

      Sam shook his head. “A section of the fenced yard came loose in the storm a few nights ago. He must have smelled the grill and come in that way.”

      She straightened. “Would you take Charlie for a minute? I have a leash in the trunk of my car.”

      “You don’t have a dog.”

      “Mom makes everyone keep an extra in case we come across a stray.” The Weimaraner jumped to his feet and nudged at Julia’s pants leg.

      “Mama doggy,” Charlie said as Julia shifted him into Sam’s arms.

      “No, honey, not mine. We’ll take him to Grandma in the morning and she’ll find a good home for him.”

      Charlie frowned. “Mama doggy.”

      Julia noticed Sam tense as the dog trotted over to sniff him. “Are you scared of dogs, Chief Callahan?”

      “Wary, not scared.” He held Charlie a little higher in his arms.

      “If you say so.” She headed up the steps toward the house and the dog followed.

      “What if he runs away?”

      “I have a feeling he’ll stick close by. Weims are usually Velcro dogs.”

      “Are you going to keep him overnight?”

      She nodded. “It won’t be the first time. Mom says the strays have a knack for finding me. The scrappier they are, the harder I work to bring them in. I’ve rescued dogs from Dumpsters, highway ditches—”

      “Stop!” Sam shook his head. “The thought of you luring in unknown dogs from who knows where makes my head pound.”

      “What can I tell you?” She laughed. “I have a soft spot for lost causes.”

      Sam met her gaze then, and for an instant she saw the kind of longing and vulnerability in his eyes she’d never imagined from a man as tough and strong as he seemed. “Lucky dogs,” he whispered.

      The hair on her arms stood on end and her mouth went dry. He blinked, closing off his feelings from her.

      “Add this one to the lucky list,” she said, her voice a little breathy. Quickly, she led the dog through the house, grabbing a piece of bread off the counter for good measure. But she didn’t need it. The dog walked by her side, his early rambunctiousness tempered because he had her attention.

      She pulled the leash out of her trunk and looped it over his head. He shook his head, as if he wasn’t used to a collar. “Easy there, boy,” Julia crooned and knelt to pet him. The dog nuzzled into her chest. “I bet you’ve had a rough time of it. If anyone can find you a good home, it’s my mom.”

      She walked the dog back onto the porch, where she could hear the sound of the television coming through the open screen door.

      “Is it okay if I bring him in the house?”

      “As long as he doesn’t lift his leg on the furniture,” came the hushed reply.

      She leveled a look at the dog, who cocked his head at her. “Keep it together,” she told him, and his stubby tail wagged again.

      “I should get Charlie home and to bed,” she said as she walked into the family room then stopped short. Sam sat on the couch, Charlie nestled into the crook of his arm, their attention riveted to the television. An IndyCar race was on the big set, and Sam was quietly explaining the details of the scene to Charlie.

      “Lubock thinks he’s got this one in the bag. He’s in the blue-and-yellow car out front.”

      “Blue,”

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