A Brand New Ending (Page 56)

Oh, she was going to teach Patrick a valuable lesson.

An evil grin crossed her face. She hitched the plate of scones higher in her arms and snuck quietly back to the front porch. Then she made a big production out of stamping her feet and making enough noise to give them a heads-up.

She rang the bell. He greeted her with a stony stare, his gaze dropping to the plate. “Still can’t find a place for him, huh? Whatcha got today?”

“Scones,” she sang merrily, stepping into the house. Charlie was cuddled up on the sofa. He didn’t seem too interested in checking her out. “How’s the dog doing?”

“He’s a pain in the ass.”

“That’s a shame. Have you given him a name yet?”

“Nah, I’m not gonna have him for too much longer. Why bother?”

She stared into his face and caught the tiny flicker of emotion in his green eyes.

The man was damn good at telling lies, but now she had him pegged. This would be fun.

“He looks like a good boy. Not too demanding.”

Patrick snorted, grabbed the plate from her, and laid it on the table. “You have no idea the work involved with taking care of him.” He grabbed a scone and began munching on it with sheer greed. “But I guess I can keep him longer—if I don’t have to worry about cooking for myself. I’ve been thinking about a nice tray of chicken parm. It’s one of my favorites.”

“Really?”

He shoved the rest of the scone into his mouth. “Yeah. With garlic bread. Might as well throw in some of those nice gravy bones for the mutt. He may like them.”

“I really appreciate your willingness to help, Patrick. But I have great news.”

“Yeah? What?”

“I finally found a place for the dog. I can take him back now.”

Patrick stared at her, a touch of panic lighting his features. “What do you mean? You said he had nowhere to go!”

She shrugged. “We got a shelter to agree to take him. It’s really too bad, though. Lord knows what will happen to him there. Wanna pack up his stuff?”

As if he sensed danger was near, Charlie picked up his head and sniffed the air. Regarded his new owner with those big brown eyes. Ophelia swore if her practical joke didn’t work out, she’d bake all the chicken parm Patrick wanted to make him keep the dog.

“Wait a minute. He can’t go to a shelter. They’ll kill him!”

Harper only dealt with no-kill shelters, but there was no reason to tell Patrick that.

She gave another shrug. “They’ll do their best to get him a home before his time expires. At least he’ll finally be out of your hair. I appreciate you taking him.”

“So you’re just gonna let him die? For no reason other than he’s old, a bit broken, and has no family who’ll claim him? Just lock him in some cage for the last few days of his life and hope for the best? That’s your solution?”

Fascinated, she watched a rare bubble of emotion spill over Patrick’s usually tightly contained facade. She wished Kyle were there. This is what he needed to see—that Patrick still held the vulnerability of humanity—and that it didn’t have to come from lashing out or drowning in drink.

“Well, you could keep the dog. It’s the only way to ensure his health and safety, but I understand if it’s too much for you.”

He spun away, cursing.

Charlie let out a whimper, jumped off the couch, and limped over to nudge his master’s leg. It had only taken a short time for Patrick to break down the dog’s barriers and allow himself to try and love again. Ophelia held her breath and hoped.

“Fine. I’ll take him,” Patrick said, distractedly patting the dog’s head.

She let out her breath. “Thank you,” she said.

“Does this mean no chicken parm?”

She crossed her arms and regarded him suspiciously. “Only if I’m asked and not blackmailed.”

He didn’t even look sheepish. “Of course. I really do like chicken parm. And Charlie likes the bones you use for your gravy.”

“I may be able to manage that. Also, they have a great dog park in town. Charlie may like it.”

She emphasized the dog’s name, but Patrick just shrugged. “Had to call him something. Seemed like a good enough name.”

She smiled, her heart light. “I’ll drop by with dinner tomorrow. Call me if you need anything.”

“Has Kyle asked about me?”

She froze, but told the truth. “I tried to ask him to come visit you once, but he refused. He’s stubborn. He needs some time to think of you as someone other than a parent who hurt him.”

Patrick nodded. “I get it. There’s something I want you to give him, though. Something important.”

He trudged into the dining room and picked up a cardboard box. “Tell him I should’ve given this to him a long time ago. Tell him it was all my fault. Okay?”

She blinked, then swallowed the lump in her throat. “I’ll tell him.” She took the box, called out a goodbye to Charlie, and left the dog and man in the house behind her.

When she got back to the inn, Kyle was waiting for her. He took the box from her arms and set it on the table. “Ethan and Mia want to go to Bea’s Diner tonight for dinner. You up for a burger and fries?”

“Sounds perfect. What time?”

“Around seven. Do you need me to bring this box somewhere?”

She shrugged off her coat and squeezed his hand. “It’s for you. From your dad.”

He blinked. “You went to see him again? Why?”

She let out a breath. “Remember that dog Harper couldn’t find a home for? I mentioned it a few weeks ago?”

“Yeah.”

“Your dad took him in for me.”

Those forest-green eyes hardened. “Why the hell would he have done that? Patrick’s not great with animals—or kids. Hell, he’s not good with humans. He can barely take care of himself, let alone a dog.”

She gave a small laugh. “I promised it’d only be a few days, but it ended up being much longer. Let’s just say I bribed him with some home cooking. Anyway, I found him playing with the dog in the backyard. They’ve obviously formed a bond. Patrick was smiling.”

Kyle tightened his lips. “He doesn’t smile.”

“He was. He was laughing. I told him I was there to take the dog to the shelter, just to play a joke on him. Sure enough, he agreed to keep him permanently. It was sweet.”

He turned away from her. The line of his shoulders stiffened. “Why didn’t you tell me about this before?”

She reached out and rubbed his arm. “After the last time we talked about your dad, I figured you wouldn’t want to know. But he asked about you again. He wanted me to bring you this box and tell you he was sorry, that it was ‘all his fault.’”

He spit out a curse. Glanced at the box. “There’s nothing he can give me that will take back what was done.”

“I know. But talking to him may help give you some closure.”

“How many times did I hide at your house because I was afraid to go home? Afraid that in one of his drunken tirades he might actually beat the crap out of me instead of just giving a slap here and there? How about the time he found me in the basement looking at pictures, desperate to see a photo of my mother? Do you remember that?”

Anguish filled her, but his pain was his right. She nodded. “I do.”