2 Chapter 2

“Hamburger?” Flynn sputtered.

The redhead laughed. “Yeah, that’s his name.” He squatted down by the dog and scratched him behind the ears. “It’s his favorite food. Mine too.” He looked to Flynn, face all quizzical. “What were you calling him? Barley?” At the mention of the word barley, the dog again got to his feet and started straining at the leash, wanting, it seemed, to get near Flynn.

Flynn stood, tried to remember to be kind, to breathe. No good could come from being confrontational. “Barley. Yeah. That’s his name.”

The redhead smiled, though his green eyes shifted away from Flynn to gaze out at the lake, which this morning looked so still and blue it could have been a mirror. He looked back at Flynn. “Sorry, dude, but I think you’ve mistaken Hamburger here for somebody else.” He wrapped the leash tighter around his hand, shortening it so the dog couldn’t come any closer to Flynn.

Flynn didn’t want to argue, but this wasBarley. It had to be. No other dog barked like that. No other dog looked like this one. Flynn shook his head. He’d heard the old saw about possession being nine-tenths of the law, so he knew he needed to go easy here, to try to be reasonable, nonaccusatory. It was a tall order, because everything in Flynn at this moment was telling him to give the redhead a good shove, snatch the leash from his hand, and just take off with the dog. He could get away too. Flynn was fast—he could do a 5K in under twenty minutes, no problem. And Barley, he knew, on the trail of a squirrel, was even faster.

But common sense, fear of the law, and the tiny—very tiny—lingering doubt in his mind prevented him from being so bold. Instead he asked the redhead, “When did you get him? And where?”

Again the redhead shifted his gaze away to the left before he answered. “Um, what’s it to you?”

“What’s it to me? Well, um, I kind of think that’s my dog. He looks just like him. He sounds just like him.” Flynn sighed. “I lost him last fall in Discovery Park and never found him.” Flynn tried to stop his lower lip from quivering. He wanted so much to beg, to just say “Please give him back to me, sir. He’s mine. We both know it.” But something—propriety, the miniscule chance of being wrong—prevented him from lowering himself that much.

The redhead smiled, but Flynn could detect nervousness creeping into those handsome features—a little twitch at the corner of his lips, the way he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Flynn swore he could see the wheels turning in the redhead’s mind.

At last the redhead spoke, smiling. “I’ve had Hamburger here since he was a pup. Eight weeks old. Got him from a breeder out in Monroe. So you see, man, this isn’t your Barley, or whatever you called him. Sorry about your loss, though.” The redhead looked out at the lake again. “Really.”

Flynn didn’t miss that the dog’s ear perked up when the redhead said “Barley,” but doubt was creeping in again. Doubt and desperation.

“You’re telling me the truth? Because I’ve gotta tell you, he is the spitting image of my old dog. He even soundslike Barley. And he seems to know his name too.” Flynn said, very softly, “Barley,” and the dog strained at his harness to come nearer. “See?” Flynn said, eyeing the redhead. It felt like this moment, on this sunny July morning, when all the world had seemed so right, had just transitioned into a nightmare. It was like finding Barley and then losing him again, all in one horrible moment. He tried to keep the wheedling, begging tone out of his voice as he offered, in a soft voice he hoped was convincing and persuasive, “Listen. It’s okay if you found him. I get that. I bless you for taking in a stray. You did the right thing.” Flynn, in spite of how difficult it was, smiled. “I appreciate you taking care of him, giving him a good home. And God knows, I understand if you fell for the little guy. He’s totally irresistible! He’s got the sweetest temperament of any dog I’veever known. So it’s okay if you thought you were doing the right thing when you took him in. But please, if you’re lying to me, please, please, please tell me the truth. I promise I won’t be mad, only grateful.” So much for keeping the begging at bay.He stared into the green eyes, which Flynn noticed flicked away once again after only a second or two.

“I’m not lying,” the redhead stated in a tone Flynn thought conveyed the exact opposite. He crossed his arms.