Page 27 of Always Almost You

“I promise I won’t leave you,” he said. “Not unless we find your owner. And if we do, I promise I’ll make sure you get home.”

The stray leaned into his hands.

Mike kissed the top of his head and stood.

“Wish me luck,” he murmured. “And keep quiet in here, okay, buddy?”

The dog lowered himself to the floor and rested his muzzle on his paws.

Mike opened the door to the corridor. A crumpled carrier bag bearing the hotel’s logo lay on the carpet just outside. It looked as if someone had dropped it in a hurry. Mike bent and picked it up. Inside was a pair of red dog pajamas.

Mike’s grin spread like butter on hot toast. He studied the floor of the hallway. There wasn’t a note. But he didn’t need one. He stepped back into the room, holding up the pajamas. The dog hadn’t moved.

“I think somebody’s got an admirer,” Mike said, lifting the flannel garment like a trophy.

The dog lifted his eyes but left his chin on his paws.

“I slept in mine last night,” Mike added. “They’re surprisingly comfortable.” He tossed the bag onto the desk and stepped into the hallway again, closing the door behind him. He paused two doors down, listening. No barking, scratching, or whining emanated from his room. This dog was a champ. Satisfied, he headed toward the lobby at a brisk pace.

Now, more than ever, he needed to find Lauren.

CHAPTER 21

The line to check out of the hotel was five deep in front of both reception clerks. In the hour since Lauren had boarded the shuttle to the airport, the lobby had gone from deserted to packed. The storm had passed overnight, and stranded guests were eager to return to the airport and continue their holiday journeys.

To one side stood a young mother with twins in a stroller, a kindergartner, and an older elementary-aged boy. Their father was at the desk, reviewing the bill.

“Where’d you get that?” the older boy asked his younger brother.

The younger boy clutched an envelope. “It was in that bag you knocked over.”

“I didn’t knock it over! You did!”

Their mother spun on them. “Let me see that.”

The boy handed her an envelope addressed to: Mike + Pumpkin’s friend. “This note is meant for someone,” she said. “Where did you get it?”

“On the floor. When he knocked over that bag by the door.”

The older boy jumped in. “I was rolling those two suitcases—” he pointed to a pair of battered rolling bags. “The wheel came off the black one again and got tangled in the other one. I tripped, and he fell on top of me.”

“You were right in front of me!” the younger boy protested. “I couldn’t stop! And you ran over that package with the suitcase.”

“I was trying to move it out of the way.”

“Well, you didn’t.”

The mother pressed her palm to her forehead. “Boys! Stop. It’s going to be a long day. We are not starting it by arguing.” She looked at the envelope again. “So, this note was with a bag?”

The younger boy nodded.

“Then why didn’t you leave it there?”

“I didn’t know I had it,” he said. “When I fell, I dropped my sketchpad. I must’ve scooped it up with my papers.”

She blew out a breath. “Okay. We’re not taking this with us. Stay here with your sisters. Do not move. Our shuttle will be here any minute.”

Her husband stepped out of line, credit card and receipt in hand.