Dead Until Dark (Sookie Stackhouse #1)(80)

The dog growled.

“Okay. Rover?”

Whine.

“Don’t like that either. Hmmm.” We turned into my driveway.

“Maybe you already have a name?” I asked. “Let me check your neck.” After I turned off the engine, I ran my fingers through the thick hair. Not even a flea collar. “Someone’s been taking bad care of you, sweetie,” I said. “But not anymore. I’ll be a good mama.” With that last inanity, I got my house key ready and opened my door. In a flash, the dog pushed past me and stood in the yard, looking around him alertly. He sniffed the air, and a growl rose in his throat.

“It’s just the good vampire, sugar, the one that’s guarding the house. You come on inside.” With some constant coaxing, I got the dog to come into the house. I locked the door behind us instantly.

The dog padded all around the living room, sniffing and peering. After watching him for a minute to be sure he wasn’t going to chew on anything or lift his leg, I went to the kitchen to find something for him to eat. I filled a big bowl with water. I got another plastic bowl Gran had kept lettuce in, and I put the remains of Tina’s cat food and some leftover taco meat in it. I figured if you’d been starving, that would be acceptable. The dog finally worked his back to the kitchen and headed for the bowls. He sniffed at the food and raised his head to give me a long look.

“I’m sorry. I don’t have any dog food. That’s the best I could come up with. If you want to stay with me, I’ll get some Kibbles ’N Bits.” The dog stared at me for a few more seconds, then bent his head to the bowl. He ate a little meat, took a drink, and looked up at me expectantly.

“Can I call you Rex?”

A little growl.

“What about Dean?” I asked. “Dean’s a nice name.” A pleasant guy who helped me at a Shreveport bookstore was named Dean. His eyes looked kind of like this collie’s, observant and intelligent. And Dean was a little different; I’d never met a dog named Dean. “I’ll bet you’re smarter than Bubba,” I said thoughtfully, and the dog gave his short, sharp bark.

“Well, come on, Dean, let’s get ready for bed,” I said, quite enjoying having something to talk to. The dog padded after me into the bedroom, checking out all the furniture very thoroughly. I pulled off the skirt and tee, put them away, and stepped out of my panties and unhooked my bra. The dog watched me with great attention while I pulled out a clean nightgown and went into the bathroom to shower. When I stepped out, clean and soothed, Dean was sitting in the doorway, his head cocked to one side.

“That’s to get clean, people like to have showers,” I told him. “I know dogs don’t. I guess it’s a human thing.” I brushed my teeth and pulled on my nightgown. “You ready for sleep, Dean?”

In answer, he jumped up on the bed, turned in a circle, and lay down.

“Hey! Wait a minute!” I’d certainly talked myself into that one. Gran would have a fit if she could know a dog was on her bed. Gran had believed animals were fine as long as they spent the night outside. Humans inside, animals outside, had been her rule. Well, now I had a vampire outside and a collie on my bed.

I said, “You get down!” and pointed at the rug.

The collie, slowly, reluctantly, descended from the bed. He eyed me reproachfully as he sat on the rug.

“You stay there,” I said sternly and got in the bed. I was very tired, and not nearly so nervous now that the dog was here; though what help I expected him to be in case of an intruder, I didn’t know, since he didn’t know me well enough to be loyal to me. But I would accept any comfort I could find, and I began to relax into sleep. Just as I was drifting off, I felt the bed indent under the weight of the collie. A narrow tongue gave my cheek a swipe. The dog settled close to me. I turned over and patted him. It was sort of nice having him here.

The next thing I knew, it was dawn. I could hear the birds going to town outside, chirping up a storm, and it felt wonderful to be snuggled in bed. I could feel the warmth of the dog through my nightgown; I must have gotten hot during the night and thrown off the sheet. I drowsily patted the animal’s head and began to stroke his fur, my fingers running idly through the thick hair. He wriggled even closer, sniffed my face, put his arm around me.

His arm?

I was off the bed and shrieking in one move.

In my bed, Sam propped himself on his elbows, sunny side up, and looked at me with some amusement.

“Oh, ohmyGod! Sam, how’d you get here? What are you doing? Where’s Dean?” I covered my face with my hands and turned my back, but I’d certainly seen all there was to see of Sam.

“Woof,” said Sam, from a human throat, and the truth stomped over me in combat boots.

I whirled back to face him, so angry I felt like I was going to blow a gasket.

“You watched me undress last night, you . . . you . . . damn dog!”

“Sookie,” he said, persuasively. “Listen to me.”

Another thought struck me. “Oh, Sam. Bill will kill you.” I sat on the slipper chair in the corner by the bathroom door. I put my elbows on my knees and hung my head. “Oh, no,” I said. “No, no, no.”

He was kneeling in front of me. The wirey red-gold hair of his head was duplicated on his chest and trailed in a line down to . . . I shut my eyes again.