“Rudolph, the red-nosed reindeer, had a very shiny nooose. . . .”
Mackenzie belted out the song, letting the water from the shower fill his mouth and making the words sound gargled. He swallowed, laughing.
He felt good. No, great! He hadn’t felt this way since . . . He frowned. Ever. He’d never felt this good. He and Kylie had spent the afternoon baking cookies. Then, when the treats were cooled and lined up on strips of wax paper, they’d decorated them. During it all, they’d talked and laughed and found they had more in common than he’d imagined. They shared interests in books, foods, walking, camping, horseback riding, even the kinds of movies they enjoyed.
And, of course, dogs.
He smiled again as he shut off the water and stepped from the shower. He’d have to let Lindsay know she was right for once. A quick glance at his watch reminded him he had just enough time to get dressed and head out to pick up Amanda. He pulled on his clothes in record time, calling for Ivan as he did so.
When the dog didn’t come, Mackenzie went into the living room. “Ivan,” he called again, looking around. No exuberant dog bounded toward him. A frown creased his forehead as he called again, fighting the sense of dread beginning to build inside. He went to the crate and pulled Ivan’s favorite squeaky toy from inside. Feeling totally absurd, he squeaked it. Ivan was probably just snoozing soundly somewhere. He glanced around the room, and his gaze came to rest on the sliding doors. The air in his lungs came out in a rush.
The doors were open.
He rushed to look outside. “Ivan!” No response.
Huskies are famous for being escape artists. . . .
He groaned. “You dumb dog!” He went back inside. “Well, so be it. He’s not my dog. If he wants to take off, I can’t exactly stop him.” But the words didn’t ring true, even to his own ears. There was a decided ache in his chest, and he imagined the look in Kylie’s eyes when he had to tell her Ivan was missing. He grabbed his coat. “Five minutes. I’ll look for five minutes.”
An hour later, Mackenzie came trudging back to his house. Ivan was gone. Mackenzie’s throat was tight; his heart felt constricted. He’d done everything he could, looked everywhere he knew to look. He slid the key in the lock, then paused, resting his forehead against the door. There had to be something else he could do.
How about pray?
This time, he didn’t argue. “God, I’m sure you have better things to do than find a lost dog, but I’d appreciate any help you could give me here.”
He unlocked the front door and went inside—then paused. Someone was in the backyard. He hurried to the sliding doors and pushed them open. A group of neighborhood kids were there, gathered in a circle. Mackenzie walked over to find Kylie in the center kneeling beside a mud-encrusted, ecstatic Ivan.
“Oh, you’re home!” Kylie brushed a hand across her forehead, leaving a streak of mud there. “Look who the gang found at the park.”
He came to kneel beside her, stunned at the relief flowing through him. “Thank God.”
Kylie’s surprise brought a small smile to his lips.
“When I couldn’t find him, I took your advice and prayed.” He cupped Ivan’s face in his hands and rested his forehead against the dog’s furry muzzle. “I don’t know how he did it, but he got the sliding doors open somehow.”
Kylie’s eyes told him she understood his feelings. “Huskies are notorious escape artists.”
“Well, he’s living up to his name, aren’t you, Ivan the Terrible?”
Kylie pulled her knees to her chest and circled them with her arms. “I could swear someone around here told me he didn’t believe in nicknames.”
“I thought you weren’t listening when I said that.”
“Oh?”
He angled a look at her over the dog’s head. “Seeing as you call me Mac all the time.”
Her dimples peeked out. “Some things are better ignored.”
A boy of about eight stepped forward. “Hey, mister, can we come play with your dog tomorrow?”
“He’s not my—” Mackenzie’s denial was cut off when the other children crowded closer in the excitement.
“Yeah! He was a lot of fun!”
“Your dog is vewy pwetty,” a small girl said softly.
Mackenzie tried to stem the tide of exuberance. “He’s not—”
“Is he your only dog?”
“HE’S NOT MY DOG!”
Five heads turned toward him and five pairs of wide eyes regarded him. He looked at Kylie, who was struggling with laughter.
“Did you steaw him?” the small girl finally asked in that sweet, angelic voice.
“Of course not!”
Kylie finally stepped in. “Ivan is a stray. Mr. St. Clair is taking care of him until we can find his owners.”
“Wow,” one of the other boys exclaimed. “God must like you a lot to bring you such a great dog, huh?”
Mackenzie directed his gaze at Ivan, who seemed pleased as punch at being the center of all this attention. For all that Mackenzie wanted to be angry, frustrated—something—he had to admit all he felt was relief. And happy.
He tousled the boy’s hair. “Yes, I think God does.”