LITMIR.BIZ

      Two

      On Monday morning she was on the front porch shaking out the rugs when Ronan came around the corner from the side of the stable that faced the woods.

      “Good morning.” He waved as he altered his path and came toward her.

      “Good morning.” Deirdre stopped, not sure what else to say. Was she expected to chit-chat with him every time they met? She’d become used to a degree of solitude in the past year; having someone popping up every time she walked outside her house was going to take some getting used to.

      “I took a walk down along the creek.” He was smiling. “It’s really beautiful out here. Very inspiring.”

      “Inspiring?” She lifted an eyebrow. “Maybe I should have rented that apartment out to an artist.”

      “It was just an expression,” he said as his smile faded. His expression was suddenly guarded, his eyes watchful.

      What had she said? She replayed the harmless conversation in her head. Weird. “I’m going to the post office in a few minutes,” she said. “Is there anything you want to mail?”

      “No.” He considered. “But I might go by there later today. I’ll have to get directions.”

      “Sure. There’s one in Frizzelburg, although I use another one so I won’t be able to pick up your mail for you.”

      He nodded. “I guess I’d better fill out some change-of-address cards and get a post office box.”

      “No prob—”

      “Woof-woof-woof-woof-woof!”

      She was interrupted by a deep, loud barking that grew closer as the dog making the noise zeroed in on her location. “Stand still!” she said urgently to Ronan. “He’s not fond of strangers.”

      Around the corner of the house charged a big, hairy dog, barreling at them full speed. “Murphy, no! Wait!” Her voice was as rough as a drill sergeant’s and she stepped in front of her tenant, scowling at the black-and-white dog.

      To her relief, her dog halted his mad charge. He stopped about five feet from her and braced his legs; the hair on his back stood up and his canines showed as the barking became a steady, low-pitched snarl. “Quit that,” she said, walking over to him. “Sit.”

      He did both immediately, and she stroked a hand down his nose as she reached him. “Good boy. Lie down.”

      The big dog dropped to his belly and she gave him a command to stay. Then she turned to Ronan again, aware that her pulse was racing. What must his be doing?

      “I apologize. He’s usually confined to the house or the fenced area, but the boys must have let him out.” On cue, her two sons came tearing around the corner. They stopped dead when they saw her, then slowed and walked toward her at a distinctly unenthusiastic pace.

      “Sorry, Mom.” Lee’s big brown eyes were beseeching. “We just sorta forgot the gate was open.”

      She hated to scare them, but they had to learn to think before they acted. “Mr. Sullivan was taking his walk. What do you think Murphy would have done if I hadn’t been out here?”

      Tommy’s eyes welled with tears and one dripped down his cheek. “Please, Mommy, don’t let them take him away. We promise to shut the gate next time.”

      She was aware that her tenant hadn’t moved a muscle, and she thanked God he had good sense. And though every cell in her body cried out to her to comfort her children, she knew she had to make sure they understood. “There better hadn’t be a next time. You may not use that gate. Go through the door on the other end of the porch, remember?”

      Two little heads nodded.

      “Should we take him back?” Lee asked, indicating the dog.

      “No, I need to introduce him to Mr. Sullivan, anyway. But—” she held up a warning finger as her two little terrors turned to scurry away from Mom’s wrath “—two beds need to be made and I don’t want to find clothes on the floor when I come up to check your rooms.”

      As they dashed off, she bent and put a hand in Murphy’s collar. “If you don’t mind,” she said to the tenant, “I’d like to let him sniff you so he knows your scent.”

      Ronan nodded. “That might be wise.”

      His voice was droll, and she relaxed.

      Then, his amber eyes curious, he said, “Why do the boys think someone will take him away if he gets out?”

      She couldn’t decide how much to tell him, but since the dog was dangerous, it was only fair that he know it. She led Murphy over to him, praising the dog as he thoroughly investigated Ronan and mentally giving her tenant points for not shrinking away. “Murphy bit a man once. But it wasn’t Murph’s fault. The man was hurting someone and he was only trying to protect me. Anyway, my husband—my ex-husband—called the police and told them Murphy was vicious, that he needed to be put down.” She could hear her voice shaking; she stopped and bent her head over the dog, stroking him to give herself a moment. “The dog warden came and took him away right in front of the boys.”

      Ronan made a sound of sympathy deep in his throat. “No wonder they’re upset.” Murphy was sniffing his hands and he placed them gently on the animal, scratching the big dog’s ears. Murphy closed his eyes and leaned against Ronan’s legs. “Obviously he wasn’t killed. What happened?”

      “He was quarantined for ten days to be sure he wasn’t rabid. While Murph was in quarantine, I got a lawyer to help me convince the authorities that the dog wasn’t vicious. He was evaluated by two different obedience trainers and two veterinarians. All four said he appeared to be of good temperament, that he has protective instincts and he probably was only acting aggressive under ‘appropriate circumstances.’ But they also said it was likely he’d bite again if he perceived a threat to me.” She paused and swallowed, then lifted her head and looked up at Ronan. “Murphy was protecting me from a close encounter with my ex-husband’s temper. He’s classified now as a ‘dangerous dog,’ and if he ever bites again, he’ll be put down. He’s very wary of strangers now, as you might expect, but I don’t believe he would harm you.”

      It seemed that her statement was superfluous. Ronan had knelt and was vigorously rubbing Murph’s ribs. As she watched, her “dangerous dog,” rolled over and let Ronan rub his furry white belly. “I’d say he likes you,” she said drily.

      “I like him, too.” He tugged playfully on the immense paws flopping in the air.

      “If you ever want to take him along on your walks, feel free.”

      Ronan rose and so did Murphy, shaking himself vigorously from head to toe, hair flying everywhere. “I’d love to take him with me sometime. And he could use the exercise, I imagine.” Critically he eyed the dog. “He looks like a wolf—is he a husky?”

      “He’s an Alaskan

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