The Obsession(46)

“Nobody’s responded to the flyers. Nothing from any of the vets or shelters.”

“You’re going to have to face it, Slim. You’ve got yourself a dog. What’s his name?”

“I’m not naming him.” If she named him, she was finished.

“What do you call him?”

“The dog.”

Xander winged the ball again when the dog retrieved it, and shook his head. “Have a heart.”

“Having a heart’s what got me into this. If I keep him any longer, I have to have him neutered.”

Xander gave the dog a pitying look. “Yeah. Sorry about that, pal. You should try out some names.”

“I’m not going to—” She broke off. Why argue? “Alice said your dog was Milo. Where’d you get the name?”

“Milo Minderbinder.”

“Catch-22? Everybody gets a share?”

“Yeah. I’d just read it, and the pup, he just looked like he’d have all the angles. Name’s gotta fit. Are you going to ask me in?”

“I am not. Nothing’s changed.”

“It’s early days yet,” he said, then turned as she did at the sound of an approaching vehicle. “Expecting anybody?”

“No.”

The dog barked, raced up to stand beside Naomi.

“You’ve got a guard dog there.”

“I can guard myself just fine.” And her hand went into her pocket, closed over the folding knife.

The big truck lumbered up the hill—the big truck with New York plates.

The driver—young, sharp-eyed—leaned out the window. “Naomi Carson?”

“Yes.”

“Sorry we’re so late in the day. We got a little turned around.”

“I didn’t order anything from New York. Did you drive cross-country?”

“Yes, ma’am. Me and Chuck did it in fifty-five hours, twenty-six minutes.” He hopped out of the truck and gave the dog a pat while his companion hopped out the other side.

“Why?” Naomi asked.

“Sorry?”

“I don’t understand what you’re doing here.”

“Delivering your bed.”

“I didn’t order a bed.”

“Shoot. All this way and we forgot. No, ma’am, you didn’t order it. It’s a gift, sent by Seth Carson and Harry Dobbs. We’re to get it here, put it where you want it, and set it up. They paid for the full white-glove delivery.”

“When?”

“A little more than fifty-five hours and twenty-six minutes ago, I guess you could say.” He grinned again. “There’s a couple packages in the back, too. Wrapped. It’s a hell of a bed, ma’am.”

The one called Chuck handed her a clipboard with the order sheet. She recognized the name of the furniture store her uncles patronized.

“I guess we’ll find out.”

“Want some help with it?” Xander asked.

The driver gave his shoulders a roll, and Xander a look of pure gratitude. “It’s one big mama, so we could use it.”

As it was heavily wrapped for shipping, Naomi couldn’t say if it was a hell of a bed, except in size. She carted the packages, one at a time, as the men began the more laborious effort of getting the bed inside and up the stairs.

Since the dog stayed with the men, she got a box cutter and opened the first box. Four king-size pillows—down. In the second, more pillows, a gorgeously simple duvet several perfect shades deeper blue than her walls, with matching shams. In the third, two sets of lovely white-on-white Egyptian cotton sheets, and the handwritten note.

Our girl needs a bed, and one that gives her sweet dreams. We knew it was for you the minute we saw it. We love you, Seth and Harry.

“My men,” she said with a sigh, and carted the first box upstairs.

Since her bedroom was currently chaos and full of other men, and dog, she went back down, got soft drinks out of the fridge, and took them back up.

“’Preciate it. We’ll haul all the wrapping and padding away with it. We’ve got specific instructions. It’s going to take a while to get it put together.”

“Okay.”

“You want it where you got the mattresses, right?”

“I . . . Yes. That’s fine. I need to make a call.”

She left them to it, called home, and spent the next twenty minutes with Seth as Harry was at the restaurant. His pleasure zipped over every mile.

She didn’t tell him she’d narrowed down her choices and styles of bed, had even planned a day trip to Seattle to look some over. Whatever they’d bought her would be treasured just for that.

When she went back into the bedroom she stopped short. They had her mattresses on the frame, had the headboard and footboard on—or heading that way.

“Oh my God.”

“Pretty, isn’t it?”

She looked at the driver—she didn’t know his name—then back at the bed. “It’s gorgeous. It’s wonderful. It’s perfect.”

“Wait till we get the posts up.”

Mahogany, she thought, with satinwood crossbanding. Chippendale-style—she hadn’t been raised by Seth and Harry for nothing. The wood tones, rich and lovely, set off the soft colors of the walls. Fretwork legs, and posts high and turned.