Dare nodded, though the look he gave him was suddenly challenging. “When you gonna do more than run that emergency towing service? Jeff Allen’s been ready to retire and sell that shop for about a million years. It should be yours by now.”
Well, hell. Slider hadn’t been expecting that, had he? He managed a chuckle. “Why don’t you tell me how you really feel?”
Smirking, Dare shook his head. “Just calling it how I see it. I get that you’ve gone through some shit, but don’t forget that I’ve known you for close to twenty fucking years. I know who you are and what you’re capable of. And you, Sam Evans, were never one to coast through life. Hell, most of us aren’t married and aren’t fathers, but you wanted those things and you went after them. That’s who you are.”
Slider swallowed hard, his friend’s words poking at things that Slider had almost forgotten. “What if that was the Sam I was, and not the man I am?”
“Bullshit,” Dare said, crossing his arms, that fierce face challenging Slider to disagree.
Slider thought about it—really thought about it. His gut felt the truth in Dare’s analysis of him and the situation, but his heart had been so trashed that it was still hard to believe in almost anything.
“I’ll think about it,” he said.
“Don’t think too long,” Dare said, nodding. “Because none of us has forever.”
Chapter 15
“How’s the dog?” Cora asked Maria first thing after she arrived at the shelter on Thursday.
Maria smiled. “Dr. Josh named him Otto. And he was stable enough to be transported to Noah’s Arks last night. So he’s got a fighting chance.”
Cora sagged into the chair in front of Maria’s desk. “Oh, thank God. I’ve been beside myself all week.”
“Me too.” The smile slid off her face. “If only his case was the last one we’d see . . .”
“Has there been another already?” Cora asked.
Shaking her head, Maria sighed. “No, but Otto was the eleventh dog picked up around Frederick in the past three months that we suspect had been used in dogfights. And we’re not the only ones finding them. Shelters in Washington and Carroll counties reported it, too.”
Eleven! “This is so terrible, Maria. Do the police know? Is anyone doing anything to find these guys?”
“There’s an investigation, but crimes against animals don’t rate the same kind of attention as crimes against people. Or even property, sometimes.” Her shoulders fell in a gesture of defeat. “Dogfighting is usually an underground activity, and not widely advertised. Hard to hear about it without the wrong kind of connections. The police are doing the best they can, I guess.”
Cora was torn between relief and cautious hope for Otto, and anger about the likelihood that he wouldn’t be the last. So she was really grateful to be asked to walk the dogs again, because that meant she could spend some time loving on—and being loved by—the dog-shaped potato sack known as Bosco the Lovable Basset. “Who’s a handsome man?” she asked, scrunching his saggy face and rubbing his floppy ears.
He peered up at her with droopy eyes Cora couldn’t help but think were filled with satisfaction and affection. If she owned a dog that looked at her like that, she could never ever give it away. Never in a million years.
The thought made her feel like she’d walked into a wall, because it lodged a seemingly obvious but also impossible idea into her head.
She could adopt Bosco.
Except, she totally could not adopt Bosco. She didn’t own her own place. And she couldn’t possibly ask Slider if she could bring a dog to his house, especially a dog that, given Bosco’s age, probably wouldn’t be around for that many years. Would it be fair to the kids if, somehow, Slider agreed and then Bosco lived only long enough to make them all fall in love?
She attached his leash, took him outside, and walked him for a long time, until his stubby legs gave out and he flopped contentedly onto the grass in the sun.
There was another way to look at this, wasn’t there? Would it really be fair to Bosco not to love him just because he might not have that much time left? For all Cora knew, neither did she. Neither did anyone.
That last question stuck with her all day and into the night. At dinner, she found herself posing a question. A hypothetical question, of course. “So, I’m curious.” All three Evans men looked up from the burgers and Tater Tots she’d made for dinner. “Would you adopt an awesome but older dog if you knew that he might not live that many years longer?”
“That would be hard,” Sam said thoughtfully. “You’d know you’d lose him.”
“I’d want a puppy,” Ben said, looking back and forth between Cora and Slider. She felt a little guilty because Ben had been dropping not-at-all-subtle dog hints ever since Cora first talked about working at the shelter.