Page 21 of A Snowy Escape

She has all the right instincts, though.

When I told her to stay at the bottom of the stairs, she ran up twice. After I corrected her for the third time, she stayed put and continued to watch me for further instructions.

It might be that Abby hasn’t had the time to work with her, or maybe the woman is too tenderhearted to correct Echo’s bad behavior. The latter is problematic because female shepherds, even more so than males, are known to test boundaries when they notice rules aren’t being enforced. They get pushy and think they know best.

I give Echo a final pat and stand, pulling myself out of my jacket before hanging it on the hook.

By the time I make it to the table, Abby has pulled off the tops of the pans.

“Wow, this is a ton of food,” she says with wide eyes.

I shrug, making my way into the kitchen to wash my hands. “I’m a big guy.”

“Yeah,” she agrees, nodding.

I have no idea why my shoulders pull back.

Is that a compliment?

It feels like it.

* * *

The two of us dig in, and it’s clear we were both hungry.

Abby piles her burger high with lettuce, tomato, cheese, and pickles, but no condiments.

It’s weird.

Kinda cute.

Nonetheless, strange.

She groans upon taking her first bite, and my head tilts.

Exactly how hungry was she?

I left my phone up here charging, but I need to check it after we finish eating.

Is she homeless?

Is that why Bryant gave her a place to stay?

Echo circles the table, watching for any sign someone is going to offer her a bite. When no one does, she gets pushier and pushier. Once she starts weaving under the table, forcing her body against my legs, I stand.

“Has she eaten today?” I ask, patting my thigh to get her to come out from under the table.

“She had breakfast, but she’s always asking for table scraps,” Abby says. “I’m so sorry. I can feed her.”

“Nah, that’s okay,” I say, shaking my head. “She’s not starving. She can wait until after we finish our meal.”

I stride over to the hall closet and grab out a small throw blanket before bringing it into the living room and tossing it down on the floor.

“Come on, Echo,” I call out, hitting a knee next to the small blanket. She barrels over, and I chuckle. “We’ll teach you some manners if it kills me.” I point to the blanket and give her a scratch behind the ear. “Place.”

Her head tilts.

I try again with no response.