Kylie stepped back to study the room. One corner of Mackenzie’s spacious living room was now a warm and welcome custom-designed doggie domicile.
She’d taken a run to the pet store for some supplies, then went home to retrieve one of Zsuzsi’s older crates. The large container was constructed of heavy molded plastic, had side windows, a swinging gated door, and plenty of room for a dog of the husky’s size to stand and turn around. A sleeping cushion and food dish completed the accommodations.
Kylie pulled the crate nearer the fireplace, reaching over to move the still-undecorated Christmas tree as she did so. She glanced over her shoulder at Mac—that really suited him so much better than his oh-so-formal full name. He was seated on his couch, watching her every move, a bemused look in his eyes.
She fingered the tree’s needles. “You’d better get this beauty in a stand with some water or it will start to lose its needles. And there’s nothing sadder than a dried out, undecorated Christmas tree.”
“There’s not?” His gaze drifted to the tree, then back to her.
She shook her head, leaning the tree against the wall. See, Father? I told you he thinks I’m nuts. She’d seen that slightly confused look on his face before—every time he saw her, to be exact. It was full of perplexity, as though she were an oddity that he couldn’t quite analyze or categorize.
There was something sad—and strangely endearing—in that look. It reminded her of a little boy watching a parade from an enclosure, wanting desperately to join in the fun but not quite sure how to escape his confines. It made Kylie want to make her somber, dark-eyed neighbor smile or laugh.
Or put her arms around him and hug him close . . .
“Is something wrong?”
Oh, good grief. She was staring at the man. A man who was practically engaged, for heaven’s sake! What was wrong with her?
“Oh . . . ah . . . no. Not at all.” She turned back to the crate.
“You really think this dog will go in there without a fight?”
“Let’s give it a try.” She pulled a large dog biscuit from her pocket and held it out to the husky. When he trotted toward her, she gave the treat a toss into the crate. The dog hesitated just long enough to give the crate a sniff, then went inside and snapped up the biscuit. He circled once, twice, then settled down on the cushion, the biscuit between his paws.
Kylie turned to Mac. “I think he likes it.”
Grudging respect shone in his eyes. “I admit, I’m surprised. I thought sure he’d fight you.”
She moved back to sit on the couch again. “Dogs generally like crates. Remember, they’re den animals, and crates are like a den to them. Just be sure you use a happy voice whenever you put him in there, so he doesn’t connect the crate with being punished.”
“A . . . happy voice?”
She met his dubious gaze. “I’m not saying you should sound like a Munchkin, Mac.”
“Mackenzie.”
“Mackenzie. Right. Just use the voice you’d use to praise him for doing something good.”
He stifled a snort. “This dog? Do something good? You are such a dreamer.”
She restrained a smile. In the time it took her to get the crate and other things from her house, Mac had lost three shoes, a towel, and a Mont Blanc pen to the husky’s ever-busy jaws. Using a “happy voice” was likely the furthest thing from the man’s mind.
She shook her head. “You’ll need to close the dog in the crate when you’re not at home.”
“Oh? I can’t just close him up in the garage?”
She did her best to hide her amusement. “Not unless you want a disaster. Huskies are notorious for being escape artists. Especially males. Add the fact that they’re high in problem-solving abilities, and that makes for an incredibly destructive animal when they’re bored or frustrated. And generally they’re both when they’re alone.”
From his expression as he looked at the dog, it was clear Mac was wondering what he’d gotten himself into. “You’re sure you can’t take him?” The man was all but whining.
“I’m afraid so. He and Zsuzsi just aren’t going to work.” She moved to the table and started pulling items from a large bag.
“What did you do? Buy everything in the pet store?”
She grinned. “Hardly. That place is enormous. Next time you’ll have to come along. We can even take your dog with us.”
He snorted. “They let dogs in the sto—” He broke off and fixed her with a glare. “He’s not my dog.”
She didn’t reply. He could argue all he wanted, she’d seen the way he looked at the husky when it leaned against him or rested its head on his leg. When she’d prayed for help with Mac, the last thing she’d had in mind was a dog. But there could be no denying that the man was smitten.
Of course, if she dared suggest such a thing, he’d get all huffy again. Much better to just hold her peace and give Mac time to listen to his heart.
No matter what anyone else said, she was sure he had one.