Back In The Saddle. Karen Templeton
own sake? Warmed her right down to her unfeeling toes, it did.
Zach smiled—and oh, my, did he have a nice smile—when Benny appeared, wagging his tail. “Hey, guy...” He ruffled the dog’s head. “Good nap?” Benny sniffed the apple, actually shook his head, then lay down in the dirt at Zach’s feet as he nodded toward the dog runs.
“I seem to remember the previous owners raised purebred Labs. I think Granville may have even gotten one for his daughter. Hey—maybe you should think of fostering, yourself. You certainly have the space for it.”
Mallory stared at the runs, imagining. “Wouldn’t that mean a full-time commitment?”
“Not necessarily. And God knows the local shelter would be grateful for anything you could do. It’s no-kill, so they get overcrowded from time to time.”
“Let me...think about it.”
“Fair enough.” Zach took another bite of apple, rubbing the dog’s rump with the toe of his boot as he chewed, then threw the core into the ravine as her phone pinged—a text from Mama.
“She’s asking if we’d like to join them.”
One side of Zach’s mouth lifted. “Her way of saying she’s reached her limit?”
“Not that she’d ever admit that.”
Chuckling, Zach pushed himself to his feet, brushing off his butt as he walked toward her. “Yeah, it’s all fun and games until somebody slugs somebody. My own mother regularly threatened to put us up for sale. Unfortunately for her, we knew it was a hollow threat.”
They started back toward the house, Zach’s stride comfortably matching her wheelchair’s pace. And right then, in this perfect setting with this incredibly sweet man walking beside her, Mallory felt almost...whole.
A moment to cherish, for sure.
* * *
Zach had just buckled the boys into their car seats when Dorelle came scurrying out to the truck, an enormous plastic container clutched to her chest.
“Cookies,” she said, a little breathlessly, practically shoving the container into his hands.
“For the entire town?”
“I might’ve gotten a little carried away.”
Zach smiled. “Well, thank you. My mother used to bake up a storm until my father had a heart attack—”
“Oh, no—”
“It’s okay, it was some time ago now, and he’s doing great. But things like cookies are pretty much off-limits. And no sense in tempting the poor man, she says. Anyway, there’s a whole bunch of us who have no problem with cookies, so these won’t go to waste, believe me.”
She beamed. “I’m so glad. Enjoy—”
“Can I ask you something?”
The question had popped out completely without his brain’s permission. Except if it hadn’t, it would’ve bugged him like an invisible thorn that hurts like hell even though you can’t see it.
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