The Liar

Then she threw her arms around his legs, squeezed. “Puppies! I love you, Griff. Thank you, thank you.”

“Well, ah, listen . . . I thought we’d just—”

While he fumbled, she tipped her face up again, all but blinded him with her shining joy before she broke off to, at last, rush the fence.

A woman, a baby on her hip, a red kerchief tied around her hair, stepped out of the back door of the rancher.

“Afternoon,” she said while the baby eyed him suspiciously.

“Hey. We were just at the market, and I thought she’d get a kick out of seeing the pups.”

“Why, sure. You want to go in, honey? They’re as friendly as they can be. Three months old now,” she continued as she opened the gate for Callie. “Had a litter of eight. Mama’s our Lab-retriever mix Georgie, and the daddy’s my cousin’s chocolate Lab.”

Callie ran in, dropped, and was immediately buried in puppies.

“That’s a happy sound, isn’t it?” the woman said as Callie’s giggles mixed with the yips and fake growls.

“Yeah . . . but—”

“They’re a good mix with kids, Daddy,” she said with a smile as she juggled the baby. “Gentle and loyal and playful.”

“Oh, I’m not her father. Her mother’s sister-in-law’s having a baby, pretty much now, so I’m watching Callie for a while.”

“Griff! Griff, come see. Come see the puppies.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“You go on, take your time. She’s got a good way with them. Lot of kids her age want to pull tails and ears or cart a pup around in a choke hold, but it looks like she knows how to be gentle and playful. They’re going to go fast now,” she added, as the baby decided Griff passed muster and offered a wide, drooling grin. “I just put the sign up this morning. The first four were already spoken for. I don’t sell them till they’re full weaned, had their shots and the vet clears them.”

“I’m not really . . . I mean, I thought about getting a dog. Later. Once I’ve got my place more under control.”

The woman narrowed her eyes. “You’re the one bought the old Tripplehorn place. The one who works with Emma Kate’s boyfriend. Emma Kate and Doc Pomeroy delivered Lucas here right in the exam room at the clinic. I went in for my checkup, and he got in a powerful hurry then and there. Wasn’t time to head to the hospital. Is that Shelby Pomeroy’s little girl?”

“Yeah.”

“I should’ve figured from the hair. You decide you want one of the pups, I’ll do half price, seeing as the little girl’s granddaddy and your partner’s lady helped bring my boy into the world.”

“Oh, well . . . that’s—”

“Griff, come play with the puppies!”

“You go on. I’ll be around.”

He took the brown dog.

He drew the line at Callie’s helpful name suggestions. He would not name his dog Fifi in honor of her best stuffed friend. Or Donkey in honor of Shrek’s best pal.

He hit on Snickers because of the chocolate, then had to go back to the market and buy one so Callie got the connection. He had to buy puppy food, a dish, a leash, a collar, dog treats.

By the time they loaded up again, with the puppy exploring the inside of the van, Griff’s ears were ringing.

Shelby’s next text came through as he lifted Callie out of the van, and she and the pup took off running.

Gilly’s doing great. She’ll be pushing soon. Nearly there. Let me know how it’s going if you’re done playing in traffic.

He started to text about the puppy, even though it all felt a little bit like a dream, then opted against.

Playing in traffic made us hungry. We want a snack so we’re going to hunt up strangers with candy. Go Gilly.

Babies come in their own time, and Beau Sawyer Pomeroy came into the world at seven-eleven—a lucky hour, according to his daddy—at a healthy seven pounds and twelve ounces. Shelby took time to admire him—the spitting image of her brother—dig out more tissues for her mother, and hug the proud parents.

She sent another quick text: It’s a boy! Beau Sawyer’s beautiful, Mama and Daddy happy and well. On my way back soon.

By the time she managed to say all her goodbyes and navigate traffic out of Gatlinburg, the sun sat low. She considered stopping to text again, see if Griff wanted her to pick up any food, but decided surely they’d eaten something by now.

She pulled up beside her van, thought, What a day.

When no one answered her knock, she had a moment of concern, ordered it away. Easing the door open, she called out, then cocked her ear at the familiar sounds.

Shrek.

Shaking her head, she started back toward the great room.

Shrek and Donkey argued on the big screen. On the sofa, her little girl lay sprawled over Griff. Both of them were sound asleep.

She nearly screamed when something wet and cold hit her ankle. Looking down, she saw a fat brown puppy who immediately attached its teeth and interest to the laces of her hiking boots.