Page 68 of Puppy Kisses

He had to suppress the argument that sprang naturally to his throat. Thatwasn’twhat he believed—it was just what he needed Dawn to believe he believed. “I’m not sure I even want the land anymore,” he lied. “I’m sure I can find other ways to expand the ranch’s holdings. We’ll invent micro-cows or something.”

“Oh, it’s notyouI’m getting it for,” she retorted. “It just so happens that I’m homeless—or, rather, I’m going to be homeless here in the next few weeks. I’m thinking about buying it for myself.”

Adam’s hand stopped on top of Uncle’s head. It had been his intention to pet the puppy, to reassure him that they’d start their walk soon, but he suddenly needed the large, stately Great Dane to hold him up. “Wait—what? You’re moving?Here?What about the puppies?”

“We’re moving them to a kennel in the garage of Lila’s new house. I’m free of them forever.” She gave a bitter little laugh. “That’s me, Free Forever Dawn. I have no ties, no responsibilities. I can go wherever I want, and no one will have any reason to miss me. Well, except for Gigi, I guess. Although from the way she’s looking at you right now, it’s obvious I’m not her first choice.”

That was bullshit. Gigi owed her life to Dawn. Adam couldn’t think of any other person on the planet who would have so unhesitatingly tackled a man like Murphy Jones and lived to tell the tale. If Gigi preferred him now, it was because he’d behaved like an ass. There was no other name for a man who refused to give up a dog he had no right to, who’d gone against all advice and reason because he was too weak to say no.

He opened his mouth and closed it again, searching in vain for the right thing to say.

He didn’t make it in time.

“I’m notyourfirst choice either, but that’s what makes this so deliciously ironic, don’t you think? Who’d have thought that I’d develop a taste for country living at the same time Bea lets go of such a prime piece of real estate? By this time next week, you and I could be neighbors.”

* * *

“I understand why a person might want to keep one broken rice cooker, but are you absolutely sure you need all three of these?”

“Yes.”

Dawn looked down at the box in her arms and then back at Bea. The older woman sat on the top of the basement steps reading a mystery novel, not even bothering to glance at the rice cookers in question. If she had, she’d have noticed that they were all at least twenty years old and so covered with mouse droppings that it had to be breaking some kind of food safety law to use them.

“Maybe we can just pick the best one, and then you’ll be able to—”

“I need them for parts,” Bea explained. She flipped a page of her book and kept reading. “Each one has a different broken component. Put them together, and you get one perfectly working rice cooker. Fresh and fluffy every time.”

Dawn wrinkled her nose. The idea of mishmashing three broken appliances together to make a single functional one was ridiculous. That wasn’t how things got fixed. It wasn’t how people got fixed either.Or puppies. You could push and shove and show up on a man’s doorstep every day, but there was no way to combine Adam Dearborn, Dawn Vasquez, Uncle, and Gigi to make a cohesive unit.

She’d tried. She’d given him the option. But that hadn’t stopped him from giving up on Gigi.

From giving up onher.

“Do you eat a lot of rice?” Dawn asked.

“I eat enough.”

“How many times per year?” she persisted. She needed to start making progress down here, and fast. At this rate, clearing out the basement was going to take the bulk of her youth—the good, fun-filled years that were already starting to feel miles away. “If you had to make an estimate?”

“What are you, the CIA?”

Dawn sighed. Clearly, Bea had no intention of making this task easy on her. “Yes, Bea. I’m with the Central Intelligence Agency, and my sole mission is to discover the exact amount of rice you eat per year. The fate of our nation hangs in the balance.”

That got Bea to look up from her book. She pointed a finger at Dawn. “You’re the one who wanted to do this.”

Wantseemed like an awfully generous term for what she was doing. This basement looked as though Bea had done nothing to it for the past twenty years but stand at the door and toss things down as the mood struck. Even Gigi had taken one long sniff and decided that she’d rather wait with Bea at the top of the steps.

Although that might have been because she’d been slinking around with her tail between her legs ever since Adam and Uncle had taken themselves off on a grand adventure without her. Dawn had tried to console her with treats and belly rubs and promises of half a dozen puppy friends at home, but to no avail. The golden retriever obviously held Dawn responsible for her broken heart.

“You can hardly take three rice cookers to Bali,” Dawn pointed out.

“Bali?”

“Bora Bora. Cancún. Thailand.” Dawn paused. “You know—the tropical paradise that awaits you? When you move?”

Bea’s brow lifted a little. “Oh. That. Sure, sure. My tropical paradise. I guess you can put those in the donate pile. There should be three or four bread machines you can toss in there, too.”

Dawn made a mental note to give everything in the donate pile a thorough disinfecting before she dropped it off. She also was careful to count out a full minute inside her head before speaking again.