Marion Lennox - Adopt-a-Dad

“It’s dead and buried.” His voice was unnecessarily harsh, and he bit his lip, but Jenny looked bleak.

“Is it?”

“It has to be.”

“Dead and buried.” She took a jagged breath. “I just wish it was,” she said bleakly, her face twisting in remembered pain. Her voice cracked, then she seemed to catch herself. “I’m sorry.”

“Jenny, what’s wrong?” He stared, puzzled, but she shrugged, pushing away remembered nightmares.

She took a deep breath. “No, that’s enough of that. I’m just- I was thinking of something I told Peter. But I don’t know what I’m thinking of now. You’ve come down here in the dark just to find me, and here I’ve taken your coat without even asking.” She made as if to pull it off, but he stopped her. The dog whimpered against her, as if expecting to be hauled out and thrust away. His big ears disappeared inside the coat. Socks was staying put.

But Michael was no longer thinking of Socks. “Why did you come down here?” he asked gently, watching her face. The emotion in her eyes was tearing at something deep in his gut. She was so lost, so at sea.

“I came out for a walk to try to decide what to do,” she said with quiet dignity. She had herself in hand again. “I can’t figure how we can stay together in your town house. It’s crazy.”

“There’s no choice.”

“There is. I just need to find another place to stay, somewhere Gloria can’t find me. Then if immigration comes, you can contact me.”

He thought this through and found an immediate flaw. Or rather, the flaw was looking at him again. “You intend on taking Socks with you?”

“I…” She faltered. “I guess I’ll find a place where I can take him.”

“There’s no landlord that’ll take a dog like this.”

“I don’t need to stay in the city,” she said calmly, as if this was a decision she’d made hours ago. “I can go out into the country somewhere. Get a place to stay on a farm or something.”

“Oh, sure,” he mocked. “Farms take in dogs like Socks all the time. And you can always race from a farm to my place at a moment’s notice when immigration officials arrive asking questions. They were here tonight.”

“Here!” Her eyes widened. “You mean at your home?”

“That’s right.”

“Oh, Michael.”

“It’s okay,” he said, flinching at the fear in her eyes. “They think you’re safely in bed. In my bed. They had no right to search, and I didn’t let them in. But if you think you can stay someplace else…”

“I must be able to,” she said in distress. “I must!” The fear was still there, with a hint of something else. The knowledge of being trapped?

That was pretty much how he was feeling, Michael acknowledged bleakly. Claustrophobic. Closed in. Hell, they’d done this in such a rush they hadn’t thought it through.

But if he’d had time, would he have acted differently? Michael found himself searching his heart as he watched the misery on her face. Would he have done the same thing? Or would he have waved her off to Mexico alone, to face childbirth and her future with nothing and nobody?

No way! He saw the courage in her eyes and knew he would do no such thing. He’d hurt her this afternoon, he’d hurt her badly. She’d come here to try to figure out a way to get out of his life-for his sake, not her own. Here she was, distress on her face, and it was all on his account, not hers. He’d caused it by showing her how unhappy he was with their situation.

“Hey, Jen.” Reaching out, he touched her face. It was cool, as if the damp and fog had penetrated. She gave an involuntary shiver, and he flinched. Guilt swept in like a physical kick in the rear. Hell, he was being a total jerk. He’d suggested this. He’d married Jenny, despite her doubts. His sense of honor was telling him to accept that fact and move on.

“Come on, Jenny,” he said gently. “Let’s take Socks to the pound and get you home.”

The fear and distress changed in an instant. Her eyes searched his, and her mouth tightened to stubbornness. “No, Michael, I can’t.”

“Can’t?”

“Socks is not going to the pound. I’m sorry, but…”

“You’re not seriously suggesting we keep him? Jenny, that’s impossible.”

“I am keeping him.”

“But…”

“If you won’t let me move to the country, and if I have to stay with you, then I’m sorry, but he’ll have to stay with us, too.” She took a deep breath. “Okay, I know I’m being a pest and I know you don’t want me to stay, but you’re out all day. He won’t cause any trouble. You’ll see. You’ll hardly know he’s there. And it’s only for the next few weeks…while I need to stay.”

“Jenny, I am not a dog person.”

“You’re kidding.” She put her hand down and brought the dog’s face out from where it had been pressed against her breast. Gently, she raised it so those great brown eyes were looking straight at Michael. He stared down and tried to look away-and couldn’t.

“How can you say you’re not a dog person?” she asked reproachfully. “You look Socks in the eye and tell me that. He’s the most wonderful dog.”

“You know nothing about him.” Michael glared, and the dog-Socks-looked soulfully back. “He’s probably vicious.”

“Oh, yeah!” Her voice was mocking. “You see how terrified I am.”

“When he’s been fed he might have a totally different personality.”

The dog whimpered and licked Jenny’s hand. Good grief, he really was the strangest-looking mutt. His golden-brown hair was straggly and moth-eaten, and he looked as if he hadn’t had a bath in years. But he gazed at Jenny with a slavish adoration that said if he had a choice of half a side of beef or Jenny, he’d choose Jenny any day. Vicious? Well, maybe not.

“Yeah, one sniff of red meat and he turns into Attila the Hun!” Jenny was seeing exactly what he was seeing. She chuckled and ran her fingers under the dog’s ears. The dog looked mutely at her. “I’d like to see that.”

“Well, I wouldn’t,” Michael said bluntly, trying not to think about what her fingers were doing. Trying not to imagine what those fingers could do if they touched him. “For Pete’s sake, Jen, you’re probably catching all sorts of diseases right at this minute.”

“I must have already caught ’em,” she said cheerfully. “I’ve been cuddling him for hours. He’s staying.”

“There’s a no-pets clause in my title,” he said, driven against the wall and still fighting, but Jenny shook her head. Her eyes were mischievous. Honestly, she was like a chameleon, flashing from one mood to the next.

“Nope. Nice try, though. The lady living next door to you in the very same block has a pug called Basil. I met her this evening and was introduced to Basil in person.”

“You met Mavis?” He stared at her, appalled.

“Yep. Is there anything wrong with that?”

Michael groaned. “Jenny, Mavis is the biggest busybody in the neighborhood. What on earth did you tell her?”

“What do you mean?”

“Did you tell her we were married?”

“Well, I sort of had to,” she confessed. “She kept asking, and what was I supposed to say? So I did, but it made me feel dreadful. Like it was an invasion of your privacy-to have some strange woman running around saying she’s your wife.” She struggled to her feet, still holding the dog, rejecting Michael’s hand as he made to help her. “No. I can manage on my own.” She took another deep breath, searching for words. “I’m sorry, Michael, but I’m afraid that’s the last time I’m going to say it. If I keep feeling guilty I’ll go under. So let’s forget the sorries, forget the guilts and just take Socks home and get on with it.”

“Take Socks home?”

“And me. And the bump.” She smiled, but there was lingering anxiety behind her eyes as if she was expecting to be slapped. This woman had been slapped more than once in her life, Michael realized, and the thought made him feel ill.

“Jen…” But she was still speaking.

“Take your wife, our unborn child and our dog home to bed,” she said gently. “Welcome to domesticity, Michael Lord. We somehow seem to have jumped right in at the deep end, but I’m afraid there’s nothing for us to do but to swim. Together.”

SWIMMING was a very good description of what came next. Michael carried Socks home. “He’s too weak to walk, and I’ll carry him if you won’t,” Jenny decreed, so he had no choice but to carry the misbegotten bag of bones. By the time they reached the front door they were both scratching. Socks, it seemed, came with friends. Jenny fed him four TV dinners, which appeared to hardly ease his hunger, and then they had no choice but to fill the tub and soak off the unwanted visitors.

Socks had agreed entirely with his dining arrangements. The bathroom plans, however, were not so much to his liking. Jenny had been right in deciding there wasn’t a vicious bone in his body, but Socks had his own way of objecting. By the time he was up to his neck in water and soaped to the eyebrows, his two new owners were soaked to the skin.

“There’s no need for you to stay,” Michael insisted, aware that Jenny must be exhausted after sitting for so long on the riverbank. “Go shower and change.”

“You can handle him?”

“Sure I can handle him.” Michael fixed Socks with a look. “Can’t I, Socks?”

In answer, Socks shook himself again, and water sprayed from one end of the laundry room to the other.

“I’ll leave you boys together then-to bond.” Jenny chuckled, and retired to her own room.

BOND. HA! The only thing bonding was dirt. Socks was filthy, with ingrained grime that looked as if it hadn’t been touched for decades. Michael used laundry soap and elbow grease, and more laundry soap and more elbow grease, and after fifteen minutes of scrubbing, he finally figured he had nice clean fleas. Too bad about the dog. Still he scrubbed on, knowing it was expected of him.