Baptiste: A Journey's End Billionaires Boxed Set by Ann Christopher

Author:Ann Christopher [Christopher, Ann & Christopher, Ann]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Blue Iris Press
Published: 2022-05-23T22:00:00+00:00

2

Samira led Baptiste past the petting zoo, where several llamas and goats received their youthful admirers, toward the dog park.

“What would you do if I held your hand right now?” he murmured, nodding at random people they passed along the way.

“Groin-strike you.”

He chuckled. “You probably would. Very shortsighted of you. We’re going to need my bite again quite soon. You’d be sad if you damaged it.”

“Maybe,” she said, studiously avoiding his gaze, “but is that a risk you’re willing to take?”

He shrugged, not bothering to stifle his grin as he looked at her. “The thing you fail to realize is that there is more to body language than touching. What about the way we look at each other?”

“Ignoring you,” she sang, her eyes firmly fixed on the grass ahead. “I just plan on ignoring you.”

He was still laughing when she opened the gate and led him into the fenced-in dog park area, where dogs of all shapes and sizes were barking and zooming around, chasing each other. One dog in particular, a Jack Russell terrier wearing a taco costume with a shell on each side and colorful toppings running down his back, seemed to be causing a commotion down at the far end by the pond, where he kept intercepting the tossed Frisbee meant for a beleaguered golden retriever.

“Hey, Mom and Dad,” Samira said, stopping when she got to a couple unleashing their pair of tan and white greyhounds.

Samira’s parents’ faces split into smiles of unmitigated delight.

“Sami!” cried the woman, clapping her hands before pulling Samira into a ferocious hug. “You made it!”

Short and stout, white-haired and brown-skinned, the couple wore long Bermuda shorts, sandals and glasses and seemed older than he’d expected. But of course, Samira had been adopted, so perhaps they’d been trying for children long before they had her. They had a sprightly and good-natured quality about them that reminded him of Father and Mrs. Christmas.

“I made it,” Samira said, laughing and extracting herself with great difficulty before turning to her father for a hug. “Hey, Dad.”

“Well, well, well,” said her father, who had a voice so deep and gravelly he might have been Louis Armstrong’s brother. “Look who the wind blew in.”

The dogs had started to run off, but doubled back when they realized that Samira was there.

“Hey, guys,” she said happily, bending to scratch ears and rub bellies. “Who’s a good boy, huh? Who’s a good boy?”

The dogs turned their attention to Baptiste, sniffing him thoroughly and then, when he evidently passed their inspection, leaning against him like a pair of overgrown cats, one in back and one in front. They were surprisingly heavy and strong. Sandwiched, Baptiste took the quick opportunity to scratch their velvety heads and ears and fondly remember his childhood dog, a sleek white Afghan hound named Blanca.

A sharp ache of nostalgia hit him.

Dog.

He wanted a dog. Another unfortunate symptom of his creeping insanity.

Samira’s mother, still beaming with her maternal glow, looked around at him. He stood a little taller, fighting a sudden and unprecedented case of nerves.

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