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13 | LUCKY DOG

"Oh. Well, he doesn't have fleas."

Roman shouldn't be teasing the kid, but he couldn't help himself. "Good to know, but I don't need a pet."

The boy shoved the dog toward Roman and without thinking, he took it.

"See, Mutt likes you."

Damn, now he knew his name. Roman tried not to look at the scruffy mongrel, but he licked his hand. He came to his senses and thrust him back to the boy. "Sorry, no deal."

The kid cradled the pup, sat down on the sidewalk, and cried.

Roman heaved a deep breath. Holy hell.

When he got back home workers were in full swing. Roman unloaded, put everything away, and strapped on his tool belt. In the new bedroom, two men taped and bedded sheetrock, while in the bathroom another guy laid tile.

Roman headed back outside to work on the porch addition. Over the last year, he'd given a lot of thought to how he wanted his master suite. Spacious enough for a king-sized bed. French doors opening out to a deck. Wood-burning fireplace. Surround sound. He figured this would be a trial run for his future cabin.

By the time the carpenters left for the day, he noticed real progress. Paint and carpeting would come next. Bricklayers still had the chimney to finish, but the stone fireplace and hearth was ready for winter. And soon he'd have an inside shower.

From the radio Roman had brought outside, a new country song blared. Roman hammered to the beat, nailing the last board. He didn't know why he was in such a good mood. Maybe it was because the house was finally coming together. Or because he took pride in his accomplishment. Or perhaps the encounter with the kid in town. Whatever it was, he shuffled a couple of dance moves and twirled around.

Zoya stood in the doorway, holding the puppy from earlier.

He holstered the hammer and plastered on his poker face. "Where'd that come from?"

She held the animal close to her chest. "I found him outside. Can we keep him, or are you an enemy of dogs, too?"

"I'm not an enemy of anything, but you have to admit, The Golden Girls needed to go. Even the vet said one of them was sick. She was in pain."

"Well, this dog looks healthy."

Roman moved closer, then leaned down and studied the pooch. "Looks a little wormy to me."

"He's just small. I'll keep him in my room. You won't even know he's here."

He let the silence hang between them. Wouldn't want her to think he'd gone soft. "Tell you what. I'll let you keep him if I can name him."

She pulled her brows together. "I've already thought of names. I like Finley or Bentley."

He shook his head. "Those are stupid names. I'm thinking... Homer."

"No. That's terrible."

"Let him decide. Put him down."

She eased the pup to the floor.

Roman crouched. "Here, Homer. Come on, boy."

The puppy scampered to him and licked his outstretched fingers. "See, he likes it."

Zoya frowned. "Well, I don't."

Roman rose to full height and smiled at her. "Since we need to go to town for dog food, I'll take you to get a burger. You won't have to cook."

She lowered her head. "I don't really..."

"I know. You don't like crowds. We'll drive through and get something then go to the park and eat in the truck. How about it?"