{ 4 }
Jared laughed. “Smart dog.”
She blushed a little and Jared realized he’d made a foolish remark that could too easily be taken the wrong way. He wasn’t hitting on this woman. He couldn’t imagine having the energy for another woman in his life.
Erin had the kind of redhead’s skin that colored easily. Her hair was more copper than red, he supposed, tied back to reveal a face that was fine boned and delicate. Her eyes seemed too big for her face and she was tall. So tall she could almost look him in the eye. And he was on the north side of six feet. She was a little on the skinny side, either an exercise addict or a worrier he guessed.
“So where is the little guy?”
“He’s at my place.” She shifted a heavy looking bag from one hand to the other. “I never thought I’d find the owner right away.”
“No problem. I’ll come now and get him.”
“Oh…” A tiny crease formed between her brows and he realized she didn’t want him to know where she lived. Right, of course. She wasn’t local. Didn’t know him or his people.
“Or you could bring him to my place. I could meet you somewhere completely neutral. And public. Or—”
Earl Hanson from the stationery store walked by, on his way to Rosie’s for morning coffee. “Hey, Earl.”
“Jared. You going to make poker this week?”
“Need to win my money back, don’t I?”
Earl laughed and nodded to Erin politely before walking on.
“No,” she said, after watching the exchange. “It’s fine.” She must figure that a guy who lost money to Earl wasn’t much of a threat. “Why don’t you come by my place right now and pick up the dog. You can follow my car.”
He sighed with relief. “That would be great.”
He followed a battered Jeep out of town a way, then drove down a rutted drive to a winterized cottage.
She hauled her plastic sack out of the back and hurried to the door.
He ran forward too. It was hard not to run. It sounded like somebody was being murdered inside the cottage.
When Erin unlocked the door, the source of all that squealing and hollering shot out of the front door in a black and white blur, racing around Erin, jumping up with tiny paws, until she laughed and squatted to pick the little guy up. “I was only gone a half hour,” she said, cradling him to her chest and accepting the ecstatic licking of a wet puppy tongue all over her face.
“Okay, okay,” she crooned. “I’m home.”
For a second a pain like a knife stabbed Jared’s chest. It was the tone. The tone of a mother talking to her newborn. How many times had he heard Laura croon and coo to Sadie in that same tone?
He blinked the painful memory away.
“Please,” she said, lifting a laughing face that made her come alive. “Come in.”
He grabbed the heavy shopping bag she’d dropped when the puppy attacked her, and followed woman and dog.
He imagined the cottage was a great place in the summer. Close to the river, surrounded by hiking and biking trails it would be a pretty cool holiday spot. But in mid winter? What would a person do out here?
He walked in and was surprised at how cozy it seemed. The remains of a fire warmed the room, colorful woolen throws – that had to belong to Erin – brightened up the dilapidated furniture. The cabin décor was mainly comprised of an old wooden paddle, a couple of ancient snow shoes and and a few watercolor sketches of dubious quality that decorated the cedar paneled walls. She’d also taped up a series of sketches of the dog -- similar to the one on the poster, but all different.
The old oak table was covered with a sheet of clear plastic on which sat a scatter of different colored plastics, a fisherman’s toolbox crammed with little silver things he didn’t recognize, silver wire, twine, metal files, half a dozen sets of pliers, a hefty pair of scissors and, incongruously, a hair dryer. The woman was serious about her crafts. A sketchbook leaned against the wall. The pencil sketches all over the page were a series of cubes and triangles. It almost looked like geometry homework.
Beside the work table was a dress form that sported a very weird looking neck piece. All blue and purple scales like a sixties acid tripper’s idea of a fish, with a few gold loops thrown in to add confusion. He had no idea what it was, so decided to be safe and not comment.
He set the sack down and the sides sagged revealing a five-pound bag of puppy chow-–the organic, expensive kind-– and the curl of a leash. He noticed a dish of water on the floor and one that must have contained food.
Safe in Erin’s arms, the pup regarded him. Didn’t seem like the little guy remembered him. She put him down on the floor and he approached cautiously. Jared knelt to the floor. “Hi, little guy!” he said. “Am I ever glad to see you safe.”
The dog wagged his tail and accepted a belly rub, rolling so all four paws pointed to heaven.
“Would you like some coffee?” Erin asked him.
He glanced up. “That would be great. Thanks.”
She walked the few steps to the kitchen area and the dog immediately flipped over to his feet and followed her. Jared rose and went to study the dog sketches on the wall.
“You’re quite an artist,” he said.
“Thank you.” She didn’t demur like most women he knew. She was good and she knew it. He liked her honesty.
On the same wall was a page ripped from a glossy magazine. “You’re a fan of Kelly Terry?” he asked. The rock star was shown in a concert in one of her trademark wild outfits.
Erin laughed. “Actually, she’s a fan of mine.”
“What?”
“The earrings and the headpiece she’s wearing? I made them to her specific order.”
“Wow.” Now the serious hobby materials made sense.
She crossed the floor toward him, a French press full of coffee, two earthenware mugs, a carton of milk and a glass sugar bowl balanced on an old metal tray.
“I’m a jewelry designer,” she told him as she set the tray down on the scarred pine coffee table in front of the couch. The dog went straight to a mat in front of the fireplace, circled and curled up. He watched Jared for a moment or two and then his eyes drifted shut.
She pointed to the dress form. “That’s a piece I’m working on for her next concert.” She glanced up and said, “But that’s a secret. If you tell anyone, I’ll have to kill you.”
“My lips are sealed.”
Erin pushed the plunger and poured dark streams of coffee into the mugs. He turned down milk and sugar, and noticed she didn’t add anything to her java either. He sipped and couldn’t help but comment. “You make good coffee.”
“I’m addicted, frankly. And if I’m going to drink a lot of coffee, I’m going to make sure it’s good.”
“Sounds sensible.”
While he settled himself on the couch, she curled her long body into an old leather rocker.
There was a short silence, punctuated by tiny growls from the sleeping dog.
She said, “So, my first question—”
“I know. How could I be so stupid as to lose a brand new puppy!”
“No. That’s my second question. My first is, what’s his name?”
“His name?” They both turned to look at the sleeping dog. “He doesn’t have a name.”