Straight toward me.
Straight toward Cuddles.
“Debbie, no!” I shouted, pushing off from the tree. “That dog isn’t safe—”
The world shifted into slow motion.
I watched her little legs pumping as she crossed the street, her face bright with excitement. I turned to see Cuddles at the gate, alert, ears forward, tail still, focused on the approaching child the way a torpedo focuses on a targeted ship.
This was it.
This was how I was going to watch a five-year-old get mauled by the psychopath neighborhood dog while her father watched in horror.
I pushed off the tree, lunging forward, my legs pumping as I tried to intercept her before she reached the gate. “Debbie, stop! Don’t—”
She skidded to a halt at the fence a half second before I did, her small hands already working the latch.
“Cuddles!” she called out happily. “I missed you!”
The gate swung open.
I braced myself for screaming, for blood, for the horrible sound of a child in pain.
Instead, I gaped in stunned disbelief as Cuddles dropped to the ground and rolled onto her back, tail wagging so hard her entire body wiggled with joy. She made soft whimpering sounds as Debbie dropped to her knees beside her.
“Who’s a good girl?” Debbie cooed, rubbing the dog’s belly with both hands. “Who’s the best girl in the whole world?”
Cuddles’s back leg kicked frantically in the air, her tongue lolling out in pure bliss.
I stared, mouth hanging open, watching the most vicious dog I’d ever encountered transform into a gentle giant at the touch of a five-year-old’s hands.
“She likes belly rubs,” Debbie explained matter-of-factly, glancing up at me. “Don’t you, Cuddles? Yes, you do, you sweet baby.”
Cuddles made a sound that could only be described as a canine purr.
“I . . . I don’t understand,” I said weakly.
“She’s protective of her house,” Theo’s voice came from behind me. I spun to find him approaching with a bemused expression. His eyes were narrowed, staring at my back, before rising to meet my baffled gaze. “But she loves kids. Especially Debbie.”
“Protective,” I repeated, looking at my shredded shirt. “Right.”
“She probably thinks you’re a threat to her family.” Theo’s eyes traveled over the damage to my uniform, and I saw something that might have been sympathy. “Or maybe she just doesn’t like the postal service.”
“Apparently.”
Debbie was now lying on her back beside Cuddles. They were a blur of ribbons and hair and tongues and giggles . . . both of them basking in the afternoon sun like the best of friends. The dog finally stilled, resting her head on Debbie’s tiny shoulder.
“I can’t believe this,” I muttered.
Theo moved closer, close enough that I caught the scent of books and coffee and something uniquely him. “You’re bleeding.”
I looked down and realized he was right. There were several small scratches on my arms where Cuddles had gotten a bit too enthusiastic with her claws.
“It’s nothing,” I said, but Theo was already frowning with concern.
“Turn around,” he ordered, so I did. “Jesus, Jer. Your back is all scratched up. One looks pretty deep.”
I turned back to face him, head lowered. “Guess she got me pretty good, after all.”
