What the Heart Wants (What the Heart Wants, #1)(73)
Sarah sighed. “As I see it, there’s been a lot of rejection on both sides. But as to the town, sure, there are some people who are always going to be whispering behind your back, but people’s memories fade, and there are a lot of new people in Bosque Bend now.”
“I lost my job.”
“I know. Mom said that ol’ Betsy talked to the school board. But you can’t let people like her get to you. Move on with your life. Get a new job and find another tall, dark, handsome guy.”
“I’m not sure about a new guy, but—don’t laugh—I am thinking about getting a dog. The house seems so lonely now that Jase is gone.”
“A dog? What kind?”
“I don’t know. Just so it’s had all its shots.” She’d didn’t want to end up with rabies like her great-aunt.
Sarah took her arm and guided her to the stairs. “Then go get dressed and I’ll drive you to the pound and I’ll treat you to a nice dog with all its vaccinations up-to-date.”
*
Inwardly quaking, Laurel followed Sarah as she walked down the rows of cages. It was so noisy she could hardly think.
The dogs were throwing themselves against their wire doors as if they wanted to tear her to shreds, and the smaller the dog, the more desperate it seemed, barking and jumping like its life depended on it, and maybe it did. On the way to the facility, Sarah had described in graphic detail what happened to dogs that weren’t adopted.
They walked into the next room, which housed the larger cages. The dogs were quieter here, more despondent, as if resigned to their fates.
“You’ll probably want to start small,” Sarah said, moving quickly past the cages.
“Maybe not.” She’d always liked the Great Danes that Mrs. Bridges favored. She moved closer to read the index card taped to a cage: WALDO, MALE, LAB-RIDGEBACK MIX, APPROX. 6 YRS., NEUTERED, HOUSEBROKEN.
The dog limped slowly over to the front of the cage to look up at her. His leg was in a cast. Had he been hit by a car?
Waldo continued to stare at her. Without thinking, Laurel stuck her hand through the wire. Waldo regarded it for a moment before cautiously extending a long, pink tongue to lick her fingers. Then he backed off, sat down, and gazed at her, his heart in his eyes.
Laurel’s own heart answered him. “Sarah, this is the one.”
Sarah joined her in front of the cage. “Are you sure?” She read Waldo’s information card aloud and frowned. “He’s six now, so he won’t live more than four or five years longer.”
Laurel tightened her jaw. “I like him. But his name isn’t Waldo. It’s Hugo.”
Sarah shrugged. “Okay, then. Hugo it is. Get his number, and we’ll tell the lady out front.”
The attendant who helped Laurel fill out the forms told her “Waldo” had been deserted by his first family when they moved out of state, and the neighbors called the dogcatcher when he started begging up and down the street. Hugo’s second owner, a college student, had kicked him down two flights of stairs when he was drunk.
Sarah stepped in with her credit card when the woman added up Hugo’s adoption fees.
“Thank of it as a late birthday present,” she said as they loaded Hugo into the backseat of her Mercedes. “I’ve missed a couple of years in there.”
Their next stop was at Walmart, where Laurel walked Hugo in the grass margin while Sarah went in “to pick up a few things you’ll need.” Twenty minutes later she was back with a full cart.
“This is my late Christmas present,” she announced breezily, extracting a red leather collar with manly studs on it from the pile, slipping it around Hugo’s neck, and attaching a matching leash. Then, as Laurel held the big dog in check, Sarah hefted a heavy bag of dog food and a luxurious-looking dog bed into the back of her car. Bowls, a chew toy, and a jar of dog treats completed her perception of canine necessities.
Laurel got in the car and looked back at Hugo, and he moved forward to nuzzle her neck. “Thank you, Sarah. This is the best Christmas and birthday I’ve ever had.”
*
Jase told himself he really had meant to get in touch with Laurel again in a day or two, but somehow a whole week slipped by without his calling. He wanted to explain everything to her, but he didn’t know what to say, because he was still in a mental turmoil. And then he didn’t know how to explain his delay.
He loved her, but he still couldn’t put his head around her father and who he really was—the saintly pastor or the man who…who did what he did?
And then Lolly came home from a three-day tennis camp with a sunburn, her expensive racket, and a lot of questions about his relationship with Laurel that he couldn’t answer even if he wanted to. He’d always encouraged her spunk, but didn’t like it when she directed it at him.
Right now she was standing in front of his desk, her hands fisted at her waist like the Jolly Green Giant, but she wasn’t in the least jolly.
“So that’s it. Just like that, you left Laurel high and dry? Here you’ve been dreaming about her all your life, and you’ve got her at last, and you’re letting her go?”
Jase looked up from behind his desktop computer and a barricade of work papers. Damn it, couldn’t she see he was busy? “Don’t speak to me in that tone of voice, young lady! Laurel Harlow is my business, not yours!”