Holiday Confessions. Anne Marie Winston

she heaved an unladylike snort. “My parents were divorced when I was two,” she told him. “This lucky lady will be my father’s sixth wife.”

      He knew his eyebrows rose, and he couldn’t hide his surprise. “Whoa. That’s…a lot of wives.”

      To his relief she laughed. “And that’s the understatement of the decade.” She took a sip of her coffee, and the cup clinked as she set it down. “Sorry to let that intrude into our evening. He always manages to shock me when he tells me about his newest relationship, although I don’t know why.” She cleared her throat. “Feather was very sweet. Has she always reacted to human distress like that?”

      He shook his head. “Not in general, although when she senses I’m upset she does the same thing. But as far as I know, you’re the only other person to receive the honor of a sloppy canine kiss.”

      “I liked it,” she said. She rose from the table. “Would you like some more cookies to take with you?”

      “Maybe just a few,” he said. “I have to confess that the first batch you gave me is gone already.”

      “Better you than me,” she said. “I—”

      A loud growl interrupted what she’d been about to say.

      “Feather!” He looked in the direction of the sound.

      “What’s wrong?” asked Lynne.

      He sighed. “I guess she took exception to something Cedar did or maybe just the way he looked at her. She’s not handling being supplanted gracefully at all.” He called his guide to him, hearing the jingle of Cedar’s tags as he rose from where he’d been lying beneath the table.

      “Poor girl,” Lynne said. “I can imagine how she must feel.” Her voice sounded lower and faraway, and he realized she had bent over and was hugging Feather. “It’s no fun being replaced, is it?”

      “And watching me walk out the door with him each morning is hard on her.” He shook his head, thinking that having a father getting married for the sixth time, Lynne knew a fair amount about being replaced in someone’s affections. “Like I said, I really don’t want to part with her, but if she would be happier somewhere else, it isn’t fair of me to keep her.”

      He rose and found Cedar’s harness. It still felt new and odd after the softness of the leather on Feather’s old one.

      Lynne moved ahead of him to the door, and he called Feather to come along. He hadn’t bothered with a leash since they were just going across the hallway.

      But he didn’t hear the familiar jingling of her tags.

      “Feather, come.”

      Nothing.

      “What is she doing?” he finally asked Lynne. There had been a time when he’d have hated needing to ask someone to describe what he couldn’t see, but he’d passed that point years ago. More or less. He ignored the twinge of annoyance he felt.

      “Ah, she’s still lying on the rug in the kitchen,” Lynne said.

      He tried again. “Feather, come.” But he still heard nothing. “Dog,” he muttered beneath his breath, “if I have to come over there and get you, it isn’t going to be pretty.”

      Lynne sounded as if she were trying not to laugh. “She’s welcome to stay.”

      Stay? “No, thanks,” he said. “What an imposition that would be. Come to dinner, leave a dog behind for you to take care of.”

      “I wouldn’t mind, honestly.” Her voice was soft.

      With sudden clarity, he remembered the phone call she’d just received. She’d been pretty upset by it, no matter how well she’d pretended to recover. And Feather had comforted her. Maybe…

      “All right,” he said before he could think about it too much more. “If you really want her, she can stay. You two can have a sleep-over.” He turned back in the direction of her kitchen. “But she still needs to come when I call her. Feather! Come!” He used the I-am-not-kidding tone he rarely employed, and this time he heard her as she heaved herself to her feet, lazily stretched and shook and finally strolled toward him.

      “Smart-aleck,” he told her when she reached his side. He grabbed her collar as she attempted to worm her way between Cedar and him. “No, girl. Sorry.” He knelt, laying an arm across her soft back. “Would you like to stay with Lynne tonight?”

      “You could get her when you come home from work tomorrow,” Lynne said hopefully. “I have an interview at one o’clock but I don’t expect to be gone more than an hour, if that. She wouldn’t be alone all day.”

      And neither would Lynne, he thought, reading between the lines. “Works for me,” he said, “if you’re sure that’s not a problem.”

      “Not at all.” The lilt in her voice told him she was being truthful. “I’d love the company.”

      “Okay.” He snuggled his old dog for a moment, then rose and picked up Cedar’s harness. “We’ll see how she acts when I walk out the door.”

      He gave the forward command as Lynne opened her front door, and Cedar led him straight across the hall to stop in front of his own door. “What did she do?” he asked.

      “She went back to the kitchen and lay down on the rug again.”

      He chuckled, although he felt vaguely hurt. “Traitor.” He extended his right hand, realizing that he was anticipating the touch of hers just a little too much. “Thank you for dinner. And again, for the cookies.”

      She placed her hand in his, and the physical awareness that had simmered all through dinner hit him squarely in the solar plexus.

      Lynne stilled as their hands clasped. Stilled completely, as if she were frozen. His body began to stir to life at the touch of her soft flesh. Her hand was small and delicate, nearly swallowed by his much-larger one, and he simply held it, unable to make himself release her. Slowly he rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand and heard her suck in her breath sharply. Satisfaction rushed through him. She felt it, too.

       What the hell do you think you’re doing? You’re not interested in a relationship.

      Chemistry, he assured himself. That’s all it was. It didn’t mean anything. And yet—he still held her hand clasped in his.

      Her telephone rang, shrill in the silence that had fallen between them. He felt her hand jump and let her slide it from his. “That would be my sister,” she said, “calling to commiserate. I guess Dad just told her, too.”

      He followed her lead, not acknowledging the moment that had passed, although he was still acutely aware of her. “I’ll let you get that,” he said. “How about we meet in the hallway at ten-thirty to take them out for the night? I’ll teach you her commands then.”

      “All right.” She touched his arm briefly, hastily. “Thank you for coming over. See you in a bit.” She dashed back into her own apartment as the phone rang again, and he heard her door close.