Daddy's Little Matchmaker by Roz Denny Fox

Author:Roz Denny Fox [Fox, Roz Denny]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Romance
ISBN: 9780373712205
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2004-01-01T16:00:00+00:00

THE NEXT DAY, Louemma badgered her dad to stop at the supermarket in town before they went to Laurel’s. “I want to buy treats or a toy for Dog. He always puts his head on my lap, Daddy. It’d be cool if I had a present for him.”

“He may be a little old for toys, honeybee. Anyway, we have no idea what he might like.”

“Nana told me you used to have a dog. She said he died and you never got another one. Why? Were you too sad?”

“I was. Boone was a good old dog. A coon hound. Out of the same litter as Pete Madison’s Crockett. Pete and I named our dogs after mountain trackers—Daniel Boone and Davy Crockett. Hey, squirt, don’t you remember how you and Sarah used to try and dress up old Crockett?” Alan smiled as he cruised through fond memories.

“I don’t remember. Why did your dog die and not Mr. Madison’s?”

“Boone picked up a tick. His fever shot sky-high before I could get him to a vet. Sometimes sickness spreads so fast there’s nothing anyone can do, Louemma.”

“Why didn’t you get another dog?” she asked again.

“I didn’t have time to train a new pup, and…your mother, well, she…was never too wild about dogs.”

“We could get one now.”

Alan should’ve seen that sneak attack coming, but he hadn’t. “It’s not just up to us. Nana has a say. Look, here’s the pet aisle. Let’s see what they have.”

Louemma finally settled on a soft rubber bone that had a bell in one end and a squeaker in the other. It took her so long to decide, Alan thought they might be late for her lesson. On their way to the checkout, Louemma saw a display of African violets. “Stop, Daddy! Ms. Ashline loves flowers. Those ruffled white ones with the pink centers are beautiful. Can we buy them? The other day Brenna showed Jenny and me a vase on the windowsill above Ms. Ashline’s loom. Her flowers were wilted. Buy her these, Daddy, ’cause they’re in a pot and they won’t get all yucky.”

“Honey, it’s one thing to take Dog a toy. A gift for your teacher—well, she might get the wrong idea.”

“How? I don’t understand. She likes flowers, and hers died.”

Sighing, Alan added the small green pot to their purchase. Some rituals of the type that went on between men and women he’d rather not try explaining to a nine-year-old.

They were only marginally late, for which Alan was glad. He passed Brenna’s mom on the gravel road a half mile from Laurel’s cottage. He wouldn’t have liked that chatty woman to see him carrying a potted plant to a single, and therefore eligible lady. Gossip again. Lord, Alan hated those wagging tongues. In small towns, though, gossip was like the lifeblood.

Seconds after Alan had pushed the wheelchair across the threshold into the loom cottage, the violet pot wedged on one side of his daughter and Dog’s toy on the other, he rushed to assure Laurel that both gifts were from Louemma.

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