Chapter Thirty-One

Ilsa took the offer of a first class ticket to Germany where she would tell her family about the baby and the man who fathered it, as well as celebrate the holidays. While Dean drove her to the airport, she chattered gaily about German Christmas customs. He hoped she’d get her fill of stollen and pfeffernusse, but made it clear that if she wanted a settlement she must return directly after January first to undergo prenatal DNA testing for paternity and sign the legal documents if he proved to be the father. Just what he needed with one game to go and playoffs on his mind.

“But of course, you are the papa. You are angry with Ilsa right now for her little mistake, but later you will see our beautiful baby and be happy.” The tennis bracelet glittered on her arm as they parked, and Dean took her bags to check-in. “Will you wait with me for my flight?”

“No, I have a lot to do. Christmas at the ranch, remember?”

“Ja, next year I will be family, I think.”

“I’m sure you and the baby will be welcome—next year.” He wondered if she thought he’d marry her once paternity was proved or perhaps after the baby came. No way. But Ilsa didn’t know he’d reconciled with Stacy, and he certainly wasn’t about to tell her in a crowded airport. The way those two women disliked each other she’d create a scene that would end up with him spread-eagled against a wall and in the tabloids the next day touting some bogus charge.

After receiving Ilsa’s lavish goodbye kiss, Dean sped from short-term parking and back to New Orleans. No way would he let Stacy trot off to Germany, too, without an engagement ring on her finger. He sought out the same jewelry store where he’d gotten the bracelet and unfortunately drew the exact clerk he’d had the last time. Not one to waste time, Dean got right to the point. “I need an engagement ring.”

“Ah, the lady was pleased with her bracelet.”

“I guess. She wore it this morning. The ring is for someone else.

“I see. We at Schifferman’s guarantee absolute discretion,” the immaculate little man said, though his gray brows, so shapely they might have been waxed, rose.

“I need a big honking diamond, a good one.”

“Would ten carats do?”

“Is that honking size?”

“I would say so, sir.” The clerk went to the back and returned sometime later with a tray of four rings displayed on black velvet. “The first is a ten-carat, blue-white diamond solitaire with…”

“No, I need something special. What about the one on the end?”

“A square princess cut diamond, fancy intense yellow in color with fifty-eight facets and extra cuts on the chevrons for added sparkle. The eighteen carat gold band is set with fourteen round brilliants…”

Showing his ability to make snap decisions much like his father, Dean said, “I don’t give a fuck about the band. This is it. Made for a princess. Put it in a box. I need to meet someone pretty soon. “

“Perhaps, we should discuss financing first?”

Dean whipped out his black AMEX card and shoved it across the counter. “It’s good.”

“Excuse me, but I do have to check.” The clerk scooped up the card and his tray and disappeared into the backroom again. He returned quite soon with an obsequious smile on his face and the ring in a black leather box. “Your charge went through with no trouble at all, Mr…ah.”

“It’s pronounced Be-yo-doe. I’m the quarterback for the Sinners.”

“Oh, yes! I knew the name was familiar. I don’t really follow sports, but Prince Dobbs buys all his gold chains and pinkie rings here, one of my favorite clients. He hasn’t your superb taste, but does know what he likes. How is he doing since his unfortunate accident?”

“I understand he’s found Jesus. That might be bad for your business.”

“I’m very afraid so. However, the next time you require the finest in service, please ask for Leslie. My card.” He slipped it across the counter along with the ring in a tiny bag and the credit card. “Merry Christmas and good luck with—whoever.” Leslie’s hand twirled in the air.

“Same to you.” Dean shoved the ring into his pocket and walked to the parking garage to get the Mustang and take Stacy home to the ranch.

****

Stacy had her own last minute shopping to do while Dean took Ilsa to the airport. She drafted Tom to drive her to the nearest animal shelter and walk the rows of cages looking for the right dog. Mati on a leash trotted along with them slowing their pace as he tried to make friends with all the captives thrusting their black noses against the wire. The matron at the desk of doggie prison had asked if the Bichon Frise was a surrender dog. “We get them sometimes because they are hard to housebreak.”

“He almost has the hang of it. Soon he’ll be outside more. Could we see the animals, please?”

“You know, you shouldn’t get anyone a dog for Christmas without asking first. You’d be surprised how many half-grown pups we get here in the spring,” the gray-haired volunteer with a nametag reading Maude said as she unlocked a metal inner door. Immediately, the air filled with the sound of desperate barking that seemed to say, “Get me outta here. Pick me! Pick me!”

Stacy took Tom’s arm. “So many of them. It’s sad. I thought about looking for one like Macho.”

Tom shook his head. “Macho was one of a kind. You can’t replace him. He came from Texas, a good ole boy, not slum dogs like most of these.”

“Tom, I’m surprised at you. None of us can choose where we are born.”

“Sorry, just being loyal to Macho, I guess.”

“We get purebreds here, too,” their guide said, offended. “But there’s nothing wrong with an animal without a fancy pedigree. They all have lots of love to give.”

“What’s the hardest type of dog to place?” Stacy asked, overwhelmed by the sheer number of choices.

“Old ones and your generic big black dog, Lab mixes most of them, good-natured, large, and ordinary looking. People want cute little pets like the one you got. We have six bbd’s in the shelter right now.”

“Show them to us, but, I’m sorry, no old ones. This is for an active little boy who will want to play.”

That narrowed the choice to four. One bristled and growled when Mati made an advance. Another cowered in the rear of the cage afraid to come forward. A third still nursed a litter of puppies abandoned along with their mother. “She and the pups will be available in a few weeks, and we’ll spay her before adoption,” the volunteer offered like a good salesperson.

“No, I’ll be out of the country by then. I need a dog now.”

“Last one, Diamond Lil we called her for that white patch on her chest. About six months old and found wandering the streets. She’s been spayed, has all her shots, a sweet one, aren’t you Lil?” The woman reached through the wire and scratched behind one of a pair of perfectly folded black ears.

Mati pushed forward to rub noses. Lil lay down to accommodate his short stature and give him a good sniff. “Could you let her out?”

“Sure, but get ready. She’s got lots of energy.” Diamond Lil plunged and jumped and fawned and licked on the end of a tight leash. Mati danced with her. “I admit she needs training,” Maude confessed.

Stacy opened her purse and took out two dog treats. “Sit, Lil,” she said meeting the dog’s large black eyes. Mati sat at once and waited in anticipation of a snack. Lil hesitated, then plunked down beside him, her butt still wiggling. Both got their reward. “We’ll take her. I have a little time to work on training before I leave.”

As the pleased volunteer led Lil to the office to complete her paperwork, Tom said, “Why leave now when you and Dean are back together?”

“I honestly can’t stand the thought of being here when another woman has Dean’s child. I’m giving Mati to Edie because I can’t take him with me. Anyhow, I can’t give Edie a dog and not get one for T-Rex. Besides, she’ll be company for Mati. I don’t want him to be lonely.”

Tom scrunched his freckled forehead. “So you’re giving Dean to Ilsa? Sure sounds that way to me.”

“No! I’m shattered over leaving him and Mati. Don’t you dare tell your brother that. He has enough problems. Let’s go. Dean must be waiting.