Total pages in book: 131
Estimated words: 131387 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131387 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Moxie was quarantined upstairs in the bathroom.
Between my computer research and Winona’s advice, I’d come up with what I hoped would be least stressful on Moxie for introducing her to the house and Tonks.
As such, for the past two and a half days, she, her cat bed, her litter and her bowls had been in my bathroom.
I went in for play and cuddle time, but all the research said small, safe spaces at first for cats so they could get used to scents and sounds, and then you could start giving them the full enchilada.
In the meantime, Tonks and I were getting to know one another.
The first thing I noticed was that three weeks in that shelter had been traumatizing for my gorgeous girl.
She’d been glued to me since I got her. She even slept on my feet with me in bed.
Nevertheless—yes, from research—I’d learned huskies were escape artists. So three times a day, with Tonks on a lead, we walked the perimeter of my open space four times going one way, and four times going the other.
I did this hoping to show her her new home, also to help her with sounds and smells, but further demonstrate what her play area was going to be. I didn’t need to rescue her only to have her take off and join a pack of wolves.
Onward from that—yes, because of Mr. Grouch—we had a half an hour of physically demanding (for Tonks) playtime each day.
I’d learned she knew her name, “stop,” “no,” “sit” and “down,” but she sucked at “stay” and was hopeless at “heel.”
Though, she was hell on wheels with fetch.
It didn’t matter if it was a tennis ball, a frisbee, or one of those braided things with knots on the end (mm-hmm, I went a little crazy at the feedstore), you threw it, she’d chase it and bring it back.
Sometimes she even caught it in mid-throw!
I knew she was special.
Tonks and I had managed (with the door closed) to spend some time in the workshop so I could do the detailed sanding on the bureau. But with her coat, and her curiosity, I didn’t want to do any staining or finishing until I was assured I had control over her, and she understood her boundaries.
Tonks and I were seriously bonding, but I was despairing because Moxie was locked up. She seemed chill (one could say my bathroom, such as it was, was better than a cage at a rescue), but it was no fair Tonks was getting all the fun, and Moxie was still, essentially, in prison.
But the websites said you should take it slow (even as long as two weeks), so I was hoping this sacrifice for both of us would end up being worth it.
That morning, I noticed my sourdough starter was getting out of hand, so I spent the day alternately cleaning, doing laundry, checking my bids and adding new ones on items that intrigued me in online auctions, walking Tonks, hanging with Moxie and making three loaves of bread.
One loaf, I’d take to Abigail. One, I’d keep. The last, I’d give to Hutch.
It wasn’t a peace offering, because as far as I was concerned, he was the one who should offer the peace.
But no matter how much I loved my carbs, no way I could eat that much bread before it went stale.
Loaf three was in the oven when Tonks lost her mind barking and howling.
I looked at the microwave clock.
Hutch was right on time.
I got Tonks’s leash, clipped it on her collar (it was challenging to find one that complemented her glorious copper fur, I settled on light blue), headed out to the front porch and watched Hutch park his truck.
I then watched him angle out of it, and with the grace of a man who knew exactly what every inch of his body could do (something he’d demonstrated magnificently in my bed), I continued to watch as he walked toward me and up the steps to the porch while Tonks barked at him.
He ignored Tonks.
“Glad you didn’t make me hunt you down,” he said as greeting.
God, this guy was a dick.
I made a decision while offering him Tonks’s lead.
This made the dog shut up and cock her head in curiosity.
“I’m letting Moxie out of kitty prison while you two do your thing,” I told him. “I want her to get a good look around, leave her scent, smell Tonks’s, so when I finally get down to introducing them, it might go better for us all.”
His brows were knit. “Moxie is in kitty prison?”
How did he even make saying the word “kitty” hot?
Strike that.
Ultra hot.
And why couldn’t my one-night stand be some faceless mountain man who lived in virtual hermitude, lazing around, writing songs, occasionally gracing The Link with his presence, and as such, I’d never see him again, and not this guy, who I was going to have to put up with training my dog.