Only Mabel knew that Morgan had proposed because she’d seen the ring when she’d dropped Mister Rocket off that very morning and guessed, then suggested a winter wedding.
Also, Wolfe Bramwell had come by the day before to inquire whether they had any leather wax. As he scanned Jack up and down, his eyes saw the ring, and his eyebrows went up, though he didn’t ask about it.
Jack had gone into the office to ask about the wax, and Morgan had come out to say that sadly they didn’t, and did Mr. Bramwell want a special order put in? Mr. Bramwell had said yes, and then he’d looked at Jack again and asked where he was from.
“Uh, Lawndale, outside of Philly,” Jack had said. “Why do you ask?”
“You have an east coast accent,” Mr. Bramwell had said with a shrug. “Not like you hear from folks around here, so I figured you must be a long way from home.”
“You don’t have an accent either,” Jack had said, feeling a tad defensive. “You must be a long way from home, too.”
“Cape Girardeau,” Mr. Bramwell said. “But I don’t miss it. Folks are nicer here.”
“That’s good to hear,” Morgan said. “Though sometimes folks are too nice.”
“No such thing,” Mr. Bramwell said. Then, with a tip of his fingers to his forelock, he’d gone outside to his truck and drove away.
As for now, Jack needed to put his ring in a secure place so he could wash the dishes. Then he was going to spend a goodly amount of time on the used laptop Morgan had gotten him to shop for rings.
He gently put Mister Rocket down on the floor with a swift pat to his head, put a little bit of kibble in the dog bowl, and made sure the dog bed was in an out-of-the way spot in the kitchen, on the far side of the table.
Mister Rocket was in sight as Jack attended to the dishes, which Jack was doing because Morgan wasn’t feeling so well. Mister Rocket was snoozing in the dog bed as Jack settled at the table with a happy sigh and booted up the laptop. But in the next second, more like an hour after Jack had dried his hands, put his ring back on, and had narrowed down a zillion choices to only three, Mister Rocket was no longer in his soft, rose dog bed.
Jack stood up, panicked. If he whistled for the dog, then Morgan would hear and know that Jack had lost track of Mister Rocket, so he didn’t.
He checked the bedroom and the bathroom and the parlor. No Mister Rocket. Which meant that Mister Rocket had gonedownstairs, which, with the door to the store closed, meant the only place the dog could go was into Morgan’s office.
Tiptoeing, Jack made his way down the stairs and peered around the corner. Morgan was at the desk, bent over a pile of papers as he tapped the edge of the blotting paper with the eraser end of his pencil. Mister Rocket sat at attention at Morgan’s feet as though he was convinced that, at any second, Morgan was going to give him a command or throw a ball that he might chase.
“What do you want, dog?” Morgan asked Mister Rocket as he reached to flip over a sheet of paper on his desk.
His arm created an archway, which Mister Rocket must have assumed was an invitation, because a second later he’d launched himself upward to settle on Morgan’s lap.
Jack held his breath, certain that Morgan was going to push the dog to the floor and simply carry on with what he’d been doing. Then he’d want Jack to call Mister Rocket to come with him back to the kitchen, and then maybe Jack would put the walking harness on Mister Rocket, bundle up himself, and take the dog for a walk.
But instead, very slowly, Morgan looked down and curled an arm around Mister Rocket’s bottom so he wouldn't fall off his lap. Then he kept the arm in place, tracing the curve of the dog’s hip with his fingertips, continuing on with his work as though the dog’s presence was an ordinary, everyday occurrence.
“So you don’t like dogs, eh?” Jack asked, stepping into the open doorway, unable to resist.
Morgan looked up at him, a guilty, hand-in-the-cookie-jar expression on his face.
“Just being a good host,” Morgan said, covering everything up with a grumpy huff. “I don’t want any reports going back to Mabel that this dog was mistreated in any way.”
Then and there, Jack laid himself a personal bet that, in spite of the dog bed, Mister Rocket would be allowed to sleep with them, on the futon, since it was going to be another cold night. Instead of saying anything about this, though, he would just let it happen as if it wasn’t a big deal, and went over to Morgan to hug his shoulders and kiss his temple.
“I can take him for a walk,” Jack said. “Get him out of your hair.”
“In a little while,” Morgan said, tucking his arm, and Mister Rocket, close to him. “When we have lunch or something.”
“We could all go for a walk before lunch,” Jack said. “You, me and Mister Rocket.”
Which is what they did, with Mister Rocket in his harness and expandable leash, and the two of them bundled up as though for a trek through the Arctic.
Though the sun was shining, it was really too cold and windy to be out for very long, and Jack just about had a heart attack when Mister Rocket decided to race from the road and into the ditch, jerking on the leash that Morgan held. Luckily, the expandable leash did its job, and nobody landed on their asses.
“Please tell me you do not want a dog,” Morgan said as they walked back to the feed and grain, while Mister Rocket made the leash as long as it possibly could go.
“No,” Jack said. “It’s a lot of work, but it is nice to have him over.” He curved his arm around Morgan’s arm under the guise of being close, though they were crossing over a patch of ice at the edge of the parking lot. “Right?”
