Perhaps the same metamorphosis would occur in Luke.
She thought of his forceful nature. How he suppressed his emotions. How he isolated himself. He’d been avoiding showing love to others. But he couldn’t avoid it now.
In her office, she fed Dudley a bit of dried apple and opened his door in case he wanted a jaunt-about.
Settling at her desk, she pulled out a drawer and contemplated the small home safe Luke had purchased. She tapped in the code, opened its door, and pondered the two treasure hunt notes they’d found so far.
Do you remember the train depot we visited together, Finley?the most recent one read.I never enjoyed trains as much as I did when seeing them through your eyes.
Did the second sentence have a hidden meaning? Was he hinting at something when he saidthrough your eyes? Eyeglasses? She’d never worn any.
She tugged on her earlobe.
If that second sentence held a hint, she couldn’t figure it out. She opened her laptop. Best to look at photos of depots in this region to see if one of them sparked a memory.
Agatha had a death wish.
Every time Luke placed the ball of terror down in his apartment, she went straight for the nearest electrical cord or darted for the space under the oven.
He’d trap her and stick her in the “playpen” Finley had provided—a circle of short metal gates attached to the open side of her crate. Agatha would cry, so he or Ben would pick her up. She’d stay still for a minute or two, then squirm to get down. They’d go through the whole cycle again.
“Aren’t puppies supposed to sleep a lot?” Luke asked irritably.
“I think so, but I really don’t know.” Ben went down on all fours to shovel her out from beneath the oven again. “You go ahead and eat. I’ll handle this.”
Back at the Center, Luke had agreed when Ben had offered to pick up dinner for them both. Then Luke had driven the dog here and taken her to the patch of grass and trees between his building and the parking lot.
She hadn’t liked the leash. She’d either plant her tiny legs, pull, or try to get herself flattened by rushing beneath his boots while he was walking.
Finley had tried to send him home with a pink leash and pinkcollar. He’d flatly refused. The dog had ended up with a black leash and black collar. Even so, it insulted his masculinity to be seen with such a sad excuse for a dog.
He’d waited and waited for her to go to the bathroom. Instead, she’d chewed leaves and acorns. As soon as he’d taken her upstairs, she’d immediately peed on his newly refinished hardwood floors.
Luke now sat on his sofa, hunching forward to eat from the take-out container on his coffee table. Ben had bought a rice dish with egg, meat, bean sprouts, and carrots from the Korean restaurant. Luke opened a second packet of sriracha with his teeth and squirted it on top.
For two decades, the other four of the Miracle Five had never stopped reaching out to him, even though his refusal to be a part of their group hadn’t changed. He’d been forced together with them in that crushed basement in El Salvador. He hadn’t had a choice then. Ever since, his choice had been to distance himself from them. It hadn’t worked.
Natasha and Genevieve had written to him in prison. Ben had visited him there every few months.
Now that he’d returned to Misty River, they were ramping up their efforts. He’d walked out of the gas station shortly after arriving in town to find Sebastian waiting next to his truck. Genevieve and Natasha had each come by the apartment a couple of times back when he’d been renovating. Ben had showed up at his workplace.
Ben set the dog in her playpen. Right away, she started whining.
“Can you see if she’ll eat something?” Luke asked.
Ben stepped inside the fencing, took a seat, and held a few pieces of dry food on his palm. She trotted in the other direction.
Finley had told him how important it was for puppies to eat and drink. She’d described the steps he should take if the dog wouldn’t eat due to the “trauma” she was currently experiencing. She’d recommended softening her dry food and mixing itwith wet food. If that didn’t work, feed her liquid oatmeal with a syringe.
He was not going to make oatmeal and squirt it down the throats of puppies. At the same time, his puppy hadn’t eaten one bite of food since he’d taken over her care, and concern had started to darken his thoughts.
Why wouldn’t she eat like a normal dog? He’d feel better if she’d eat.
Ben kept trying to entice her with food, and she kept ignoring him.
Ben picked her up and walked her back and forth in front of the wall of industrial windows, murmuring endearments and patting her. It was the kind of thing parents did with babies on TV shows.
The puppy calmed, so Ben continued.
