“The truth of the matter is that dog was probably dealing with floodwater in his pen for more hours or days than I care to think about.” Gabe headed around to the truck bed, opened it and the camper, and crawled in again. He rooted around in the camping tub until he found the metal tin where he kept a couple days’ worth of Samson’s kibble and a stainless-steel bowl.

When he shimmied out with the one arm full, Olivia let out an appreciative “Oh.” She stepped to the side as he swung off the gate. “Drawing him in with food is a great idea.” She raised her hands, crossing fingers on both of them. “Let’s hope he’s in hearing distance.”

Leaving the gate open, Gabe shot Samson a look through the back-seat window as they passed by. He could just make out his loyal dog in the darkness. Samson was watching them intently, ears perked forward. “I know, bud. You’ll get your dinner in a bit. Promise.”

Olivia laughed softly. “He’s the cutest dog I’ve seen in a long time.”

“Watch out; he knows it.” He offered the tin in Olivia’s direction. “Want to shake it as we walk? I’m hoping he knows the sound. Most dogs recognize it, regardless of what their food’s kept in.”

“Sure.” She took the tin, an old two-gallon popcorn one with a snowman family on the front, and shook it as they fell into step across the yard.

“Gabe?” Her voice was punctuated by the effort she was putting into shaking the tin. “That thing I was trying to tell you before…before we kissed…”

She stopped shaking the tin and paused midstep. Her words tumbled out, the weight of them visible on her shoulders. “I did that same thing. The same thing your ex-fiancée did. Only it was worse. Three weeks. That was all we had left before the wedding. And everyone here knows it. What’s worse, he didn’t do anything wrong. It was me. All me. I just couldn’t do it.” She stopped to collect herself, shifting the tub to rest on her hip. She clamped a hand over her mouth and gave an abrupt shake of her head.

Gabe was determining whether to kiss her or let her finish first when he heard a long, drawn-out yawn that finished off in a whine, just audible over the gurgle of the floodwater. They both froze instantly. The sound had come from the front of the house.

Gabe scanned the littered, darkened porch. In the corner, nearly lost behind the haphazard lawn furniture and a knocked-over table, the pointer was cautiously rising onto stiff or wobbly legs.

From the confines of the truck, as if sensing he was in danger of losing his dinner, Samson let out a baritone woof.