The Songbird Sisters by Rachael Herron

Author:Rachael Herron [Herron, Rachael]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Rachael Herron
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Six

Taft finished the sandwiches just as the doorbell rang. He took a split second to admire his handiwork, then went to open the door.

“You have got to see how big and awesome I just made these sandwiches. Did you walk? I didn’t hear a car. Holy crap, is that a dog?”

Lana marched past him, smelling like shampoo and something sweeter. “She needs water.”

“Of course.”

“And chicken. Do you have any chicken?”

Taft felt as if he’d spun in a circle although he’d been standing still. “I do, as a matter of fact, leftovers from dinner the other night. Will she mind peanut sauce?”

“No clue. Let’s try.”

Lana kneeled on the floor next to the bundle of skin and fur that was supposedly a dog as it drank from one of Taft’s cereal bowls. “Do you think she looks sick?”

“Nah, she just looks lost.”

She looked up at him. “How old do you think she is?”

Had she never had a dog? “You can get a good idea from the teeth, but I don’t know her well enough to take those kinds of advantages.”

“I do.” Gently, Lana lifted the dog’s wet lip. “They’re white. But big.”

“Maybe a year, then. Or two.”

Lana had fire in her eyes. “Who would do that? Abandon a little thing like this?”

Taft kneeled next to her. The dog growled and her hackles went up. “Easy there, little one.” He held out his hand. “Don’t worry, dogs love me.”

Well, it was usually true. Not this dog, though. It snapped at him, a vicious click of sharp white teeth closing so close to his fingers that he could feel the air they stirred. “Damn.”

“Careful!” Lana patted the dog’s head.

“I was trying to pet her!”

“She’s traumatized. She needs to eat and drink.”

Taft stood. “Okay, then. So do we. By that I mean I’m starving. You want one of these?” He held up a plate. The sandwiches rose six inches high.

Lana nodded. She washed her hands at the kitchen faucet. “That looks amazing.”

No, Lana was the one who looked amazing. Taft cleared his throat. “Come onto the porch. Let the dog work on the food. We’ll leave the door open so she can see us. She can come out when she feels like it.”

To his surprise, Lana followed his instructions. Her head kept turning to look at the little beast, but she sat next to him at the outside table.

He watched as Lana took a huge bite.

“Oh,” she groaned around a mouthful. “Thish ish perfectch.”

“Nothing like a good sandwich.” The woman in front of him was the thing that was “perfectch,” not her food. Her dark hair was as messy as the dog’s, though with fewer burrs. It was still a little damp, as if she’d just towel-dried it before she left the hotel. She had no make-up on, and her cheeks were ruddy from the walk. Her black shirt was ripped at the shoulder, and her jeans (these were a tighter and darker blue than her work jeans) were a little too long for her, so all he could see of her cowboy boots were the toes.

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