He wasn’t sure he was one of them.

“Go on, dog.”

Cutter never moved. Adam tried to look away. He found the top of a dead tree in the distance that was rather sculptural to stare at. And after a moment of that he knew he was losing it, because he would have sworn the dog’s stare was burning a hole in his skin.

Again Cutter nudged him, and almost against his will he looked back at the dog. Back at that compelling, staring gaze. He resisted, fighting the urge to do what the dog clearly wanted him to do, which was follow Amanda’s...order? Request? Invitation?

“Damn,” he muttered, shaking his head sharply.

And then Cutter came forward, sat in front of him and rested his head on Adam’s right knee. It was, in its way, a gesture as compelling as the stare. Maybe more, because it warmed him in an odd sort of wave, reminding him of just how cold he was after sitting out here for a couple of hours.

Slowly, unable somehow to resist, he laid a hand on the dog’s head. His right hand, since the dog was almost exactly within reach of his damaged arm. As if he knew just how close he had to be for Adam to be able to reach him. Which was as insane a thought as the rest he was having.

Cutter gave a low, worried whine. Adam sucked in a long, deep breath. And gave in. “All right, dog. You win.”

He stood up, and the animal backed up slightly. And stood between him and the steps down from the deck to the yard, as if blocking that path, leaving him only one way to go. Inside.

“I already said you win,” Adam said to the dog wryly.

Cutter woofed quietly, as if saying “Just making sure.”

This, Adam thought as he headed for the door, was one determined—and different—dog. He thought of Joker again, which made him think of his dad. Who might be worried about him by now, although he hadn’t been very specific when he’d called to say he’d be staying here on the rainy side awhile. He’d said only that Greg’s daughter needed some help, but that was all Dad had needed to hear. He understood about responsibilities. Hadn’t he been the one to teach Adam, growing up?

Still, he should call. Even if Dad wasn’t worried, Mom would be. Because that’s what she did, worry about her kids. She’d probably still be worrying about him when he was fifty. So when he got inside—where it was indeed blessedly warm—and after pausing for a moment to determine that Amanda was in the office, he walked over to the kitchen counter where he’d plugged his phone in to charge. It was at 100 percent now, so he unplugged it and made the call.