But he’d just pulled me into his arms and said, “Happy wife, happy life.”
We hadn’t eventalkedabout marriage at that point yet, but Zane putting my fur baby in my arms had been the perfect proposal.
To this day, neither of those men had spilled the beans on what they’d done to get my dog back.
What Ididknow is that Wade, the most aggressively litigious man I’d ever met in my life, never did a thing about it.
No police report.
No lawsuit.
No cuffs for either man.
Zane had already been my hero. After that day, he was my hero for life.
I set Quincy’s bowl down and watched him eat, then let my eyes drift to the corner of the kitchen where two dog beds sat side by side.
The second one was still empty, but not for much longer.
The animal shelter had called on Tuesday. A little French bulldog terrier mix, eight months old, was moving in. Her previous owner had to make an emergency move and couldn’t bring the puppy with them. But they were ecstatic to find out she’d be living in a Frenchie household.
Little Star would be coming home with us at the end of the week. Quincy was about to have a sister.
And she wasn’t theonlynew addition on the horizon.
I stroked my belly.
The doctor had called this morning, confirming what I’d already suspected.
I hadn’t said a word to anyone yet. Not Kelly, not Rose, not my parents, or even Zane’s mother, who had taken to calling me every Sunday afternoon. She had made it abundantly clear that she was ready to be a grandmother as soon as I was willing to cooperate.
They’d all find out in good time.
But first, it was time to tell Zane.
I pulled on my winter boots and threw on the heavy canvas work coat that I’d claimed from him.
The coat swallowed me whole, but it reminded me of him. I loved wearing his clothes for some reason. They made me feel like he was giving me an all-day hug.
Then I grabbed his coffee thermos and opened the back door.
Quincy shot past me immediately, bounding into the snow, already knowing where we were going.
I followed the trail of Zane’s boot prints across the yard toward the barn, as snow crunched underfoot.
I could hear him before I reached the barn door, the low clank of metal on metal, a wrench working at something stubborn.
It didn’t matter that it was Saturday morning. Zane was always hard at work.
I pushed the door open and found him crouched beside one of the skidders, his long dark hair pulled back, flannel sleeves pushed up to his elbows despite the cold.
He looked up when I came in, and he grinned at me with love in his eyes.
“Coffee?” he asked. “You’re the best wifey ever.”
“That and something even better,” I said.
I put his thermos down on the workbench as he stood.
