But I wasn’t that lucky.
“I told you that you should have picked Moose,” Cash called out.
Angel yanked backward, thrashing around like a shark caught on an industrial-strength fishing line. “You could come over here and help, you know.” I kept the water flowing as suds continued to bubble up from every inch of that poor dog’s body.
“I could, but that wouldn’t be as much fun.”
I straightened my back and shot Cash a withering look, and that was my fatal mistake. Letting Cash’s merriment break my concentration allowed Angel to slip his head out of his collar and dash away to freedom…
Straight for the mud patch along the fence.
“No!” I shouted as Cash laughed so hard that he cried, doubled over and leaning on Moose’s shoulders. “Get back here.”
It was no use. Angel changed gears and shifted into demon mode as he smeared his face in the mud, running through it and dragging the length of his body across the soggy ground.
“Grab him, Willow!” Cash cheered me on through his laughter, wiping tears from his cheeks with the back of his arm. “Don’t let him win.”
Challenge accepted. This little monster wasn’t going to get the best of me. For the first time that day, I wasn’t scared of him. This was a competition of wits, strength, and endurance. And I was pretty sure I had the little furball beat in at least one of those categories.
Convinced that one pass through the mud wasn’t enough, my very dirty yet soapy little friend turned around and took another trip through the grime. On his second lap, he caked the other side of his face with mud, but that was fine. He wasn’t going to break me.
“He’s heading for the gate,” Cash shouted. This time, he sprag into action. “Stop him.”
I put on the gas, determined to beat Cash to Angel’s side. He’d let this fiasco go on this long, and I didn’t want his help to end it now. But my sudden burst of speed didn’t go so well. I slid through mud made all the more slippery by the addition of fresh soapy water from all the baths going on in the yard.
My feet slipped out from under me, and I performed a first-class belly flop, sliding along the fence line like a ten-year-old playing on a Slip and Slide. I slid all the way to the gate, where Angel slipped through the gap mere inches from my fingertips.
And then I saw it. The most terrifying sight I’d ever laid eyes on.
A pair of stark-white slacks and white, pointed-toed pumps, standing on the other side of the fence. I only knew one person on the planet who wore slacks like those.
Grandmother.
Until the day she’d shown up at my door in stretchy britches, I’d never seen her wear a simple pair of pants in my life. No. She’d always been a slacks kind of a woman. Slacks made of fabric that was so fussy it could only be cleaned in the fine mists of a Central American waterfall by the mystical and rare unicorn monkeys of the rainforest.
Lying on my belly, I watched in horror as Angel, in all of his muddied glory, stood on his hind legs and jumped all over whathadbeen the most blindingly white pair of pants ever worn in the state of Texas. I pushed myself up only to slip back down into a seated position.
I decided to go with it and pretend I liked sitting in sloppy mud pits. I brushed my wild curls out of my face, cringing at the creamy sensation of mud spreading across my cheek at my own touch, and looked up.
“Grandmother, so nice to see you,” I said with as much polish as if I’d just run into her during a casual brunch of lobster and caviar on a dining yacht.
She looked down at Angel and her slacks that were now slathered in mud and covered with tiny paw prints. Color rose in her cheeks as her mouth opened and closed without forming any words at all.
Finally, she spoke. “I told you I’d stop by after the property tour.” Her voice sounded numb, and she seemed to pretend not to notice the mini mongrel destroying her slacks. That was either really good or really bad. Time would only tell.
“Angel,” I called the dog’s name as if I expected him to listen, and to my utter shock, he did!
That little mutt squeezed back through the gate, pranced right up to me, and plopped himself down in my lap. I sat criss-cross-applesauce in the mud and ran my hand along his slimy back with all the aloof dignity of a billionaire heiress petting her powderpuff of a dog. All Angel was missing was a bow on the top of his head. Well, that and a solid wash and blow out.
Cash came up behind me and hooked his arms through mine. He lifted me up with ease and helped me to solid ground. I turned and looked at him with a practiced smile that might have scared a lesser man.
“Thank you, you sweet man, you.” I punctuated every syllable with a firm pat on his rock-hard chest, leaving a new muddy handprint behind each time.
“That’s what I love about this guy, Grandmother.” I shoved my barking little mudpie into his arms. “He’s always willing to lend a hand.” I wiped my hand clean across his chest, gazing up at him with adoring eyes that dared him to stop me.
He threw his head back and laughed, handing Angel off to one of the ladies nearby. I looked down at his filthy hands and couldn’t hold back my own laughter.
Cash tilted his head and inspected my face. “Hold on a second. You’ve got a little something right there.” He reached his muddy hand out and ran it across my nose, smudging even more grime onto my hopelessly dirty face. “There. All better now.”
