His dad held his stare, long and careful and full of meaning. His father liked the idea of having a dainty puppy around the house almost as much as Harrison did, which was to say not at all. But if there was one thing the two of them had learned, it was that life rarely worked out the way they wanted it to.

“Well, I’m not feeding it.”

Harrison didn’t bother correcting the pronoun this time. “No one is asking you to.”

“And I’m not cleaning up any dog messes.”

Harrison refrained from pointing out that he hadn’t cleaned messes of any kind in the past twenty years. “You’ll barely know she’s here. I promise.”

As if to remind him that she had a will and an agenda of her own, Bubbles let out a yap of protest.

His dad stared at the puppy, hoping—Harrison was sure—to stare her into submissiveness. It didn’t work. That stare might work to intimidate neighborhood Girl Scouts and door-to-door Bible salesmen, but it had no effect on a puppy who’d just enjoyed an hour of pure bliss in the front seat of his truck. Bubbles stared back with all the innocence of one who knew herself to be adored.

His dad gave up with a shake of his head. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Son.”

“Or what?” Harrison couldn’t help asking. As far as he could tell, they were both being punished enough already. What else could you call two bad-tempered men living alone in the woods without even the promise of their careers to sustain them? “What will happen if I admit that I don’t have a fucking clue?”

He got no answer. Apparently, his father didn’t have a fucking clue either.

In other words, they were both screwed.

* * *

If Harrison had thought the transportation question was a tricky one, it was nothing compared to the small matter of where Bubbles would sleep.

And, yes. He meant small in every sense of the word.

“I already gave you three pillows,” he said, staring down at the puppy over the edge of his bed. “There aren’t any more. I’m literally sleeping on my sweatshirt.”

Bubbles didn’t offer a single yap of reproach. She didn’t even whimper a protest. She just sat on her throne of pillows and looked at him as though her heart were breaking.

“Do you want a blanket? Are you cold? Is that it?”

The last thing Harrison wanted was to wake up his father or have to answer a series of questions as to why he was up half the night catering to a puppy’s wordless demands, so he lifted one of the pillows and shook it out of its case. The floorboards in this house creaked something fierce, so it was in everyone’s best interest that he stayed exactly where he was.