Whiskey Beach Part 64

"That's Barbie."

"Barbie? Seriously?" Automatically, he scratched the wide head between the ears.

"I know. Barbie's blond and busty, but dogs don't really get to choose their names." She watched him out of the corner of her eye as she put groceries away. He'd stopped what he was doing to pet the dog, and had that easy appreciation on his face people who enjoy dogs tend to wear around them.

So far, so good.

"Well, she's pretty. Yeah, you're pretty," he said, rubbing as Barbie murmured in her throat and leaned against him. "You're dog-sitting?"

"Not exactly. Barbie's a sweetheart. She's four. Her owner died a couple of weeks ago. The owner's daughter tried to take the dog, but her husband's allergic. There's a grandson, but he lives in an apartment with a no-pet clause. So poor Barbie lost her best pal, and couldn't go with family. She's been fostered for the last week or so while the local organization tries to find her a good home. She's been really well trained, she's healthy, she's spayed. But people usually want puppies, so an older dog takes a bit longer to place, especially since they're trying to stick with Whiskey Beach. It's her beach."

"Beach Dog Barbie?" He grinned, crouching as Barbie rolled over to have her belly rubbed.

Nearly there, Abra calculated. "'Beach b.i.t.c.h Barbie' would've given you the alliteration, and have been accurate. But she's so sweet, it's hard to use the B word. Actually, I thought of taking her myself. I volunteer off and on at the shelter. But with my schedule I'm just not home enough. It didn't seem fair when she's used to companionship. She's a Chesapeake Bay retriever with a little something else mixed in. Retrievers love being around people."

Abra closed the last cupboard, smiled. "She really likes you. You like dogs."

"Sure. We always had a dog growing up. In fact, I imagine my family will bring ..." He straightened as if shot out of a rubber band. "Wait a minute."

"You work at home."

"I'm not looking for a dog."

"Sometimes the best things you get you weren't looking for. And she comes with a strong plus."

"What?"

"Barbie? Speak!"

Sitting again, the dog lifted her head, obligingly sent out two cheerful barks.

"She does tricks."

"She barks, Eli. I actually got the idea thinking about how Stoney's dog barked when we walked him home. Someone's been getting into the house, past your high-tech alarm. So go low-tech. Barking dogs deter break-ins. You can Google it."

"You think I should foster a dog because she barks on command?"

"She barks when she hears anyone coming to the door, and stops barking on command. It's in her bio."

"Her bio? Are you kidding me?"

"I'm not."

"Most dogs bark," he argued. "With or without bios and head shots or whatever else she has. It's not a qualified reason to foster a dog."

"I think you could try fostering each other for now. Because she barks, and needs a home in Whiskey Beach, and you'd be company for each other."

"Dogs need to be fed and watered and walked. They need a vet, equipment, attention."

"All true. She comes with bowls, food, toys, her leash, her medical records-she's up-to-date there. She was raised from a pup by a man in his eighties, and she's very well behaved, as you can see for yourself. The thing is she really loves men, is happier around men as she bonded with one as a pup. She loves playing fetch and tug, she's great with kids, and she barks. If you needed or wanted to go out for a couple hours, someone would be in the house."

"She's not someone. She's a dog."

"Hence the barking. Listen, why don't you try it for a few days, see how it goes? If it just doesn't work, I'll take her, or I'll talk Maureen into taking her. She's a soft touch."

The dog sat like a lady, watching him with big brown eyes, her head slightly c.o.c.ked as if asking: Okay, what's it going to be?

And Eli felt himself sinking. "A guy shouldn't have a dog named Barbie."

Victory, Abra concluded, and stepped to him. "No one will hold that against you."

Barbie nuzzled her nose at his hand, politely.

Sinking fast.

"A couple of days."

"Fair enough. I'll go out and get her things. I thought I'd start upstairs today, work my way down. I won't vacuum up there until you take another break."

"Fine. You know this was an ambush. And you know I know you know."

"I do." She took his face in her hands. "It was, and I do know." She laid her lips on his, soft and lingering. "I'll have to find a way to make it up to you."

"That's pandering."

"It is!" She laughed and kissed him again. "Now I have to make it up to you twice. Go on back up to work," she suggested as she started out. "I'll show Barbie around."

Eli studied the dog; the dog studied Eli. Then she lifted a paw in invitation. Only a heartless man would have refused to take the offered paw in his for a shake. "It looks like I've got a dog named Barbie. For a couple days."

When he started out, Barbie fell in at his heel, tail wagging enthusiastically. "I guess you're coming with me."

She followed him up, into his office. When he sat she moved up to sniff at his keyboard. Then she wandered off, her toenails clicking lightly on the hardwood.

Okay, Eli thought, so she wasn't pushy. A point for Barbie.

He worked through the morning, then sat back, held an internal debate before taking the plunge.

He e-mailed his agent, a woman who'd stuck with him since his law school days, to tell her he thought he had enough for her to take a look. Struggling to ignore all the whining voices in his head, he attached the first five chapters. Hit send.

"Done it now," he said, and sighed.

And since he had, he wanted to get out of the house, away from those whining voices.

He stood up, and nearly tripped over the dog.

Sometime during the last couple of hours, she'd come in silent as a ghost, to curl up behind his chair.

Now she lifted her gaze to his, b.u.mped her tail politely on the floor.