I practically high-five myself for the stroke of genius in rescuing the little dude and deciding to be his foster home for the short term.
Chloe helps me put Whiskey into his crate, and I load it into the back seat of my jeep. It only takes ten minutes to arrive at my place, and I park in the garage.
Chloe parks on the street in front of my town house and joins me in the garage.
“Look familiar?” I ask Whiskey. “I found him by the bush,” I tell Chloe, pointing to the plant. “I have no idea how long he’d been there or where he came from. I only know he doesn’t belong to any of my neighbors, and they didn’t recognize him.”I lower his crate to the ground and open the trunk to collect his supplies.
“Let me help,” Chloe says.
“That’s okay, I’ve got this.”
She doesn’t listen and grabs the big bag of puppy food.
“I can get that. It’s heavy.”
“It’s not that bad. I can manage. I’m stronger than I look.”
Strong isn’t the word I’d use to describe Chloe. She’s all soft, warm woman.
“I’m sure you are, but how about you bring his bed instead? Or maybe the bag with the toys I bought him?”
She shifts the oversized bag to one arm, grabs the handle of the cloth bag containing the puppy-friendly toys, and tosses me a smug, get-over-it-caveman grin.
Shaking my head to myself, I remove the rest of the supplies from my vehicle and close the trunk.
Once we get everything into the town house, I put Whiskey’s crate in his temporary bedroom and open the wire door. Happy to bail on it, he climbs out and places his paw against my calf.
“You’re supposed to rest,” I tell him. Vet’s orders.
I scoop him up, taking care not to hurt his leg. He gives me a little puppy bark, and I carry him into the living room like he’s a football, one hand supporting him under the belly, the other carrying his dog bed.
I set it on the hardwood floor and carefully lower him on top of it. “Stay here while I get dinner started,” I tell him. To Chloe, I ask, “Would you like some wine?”
“No, I’m good.”
“You sure? I’ve got an open bottle of Zinfandel from Enchanted Springs Winery.”
If the winery name sounds familiar, Chloe keeps the recognition off her face.
“I love wine, but I prefer to save it for the weekend.”
“Do you have a favorite brand?”
She shrugs. “Not really. We might be in wine country, but I really don’t know much about wine. I always order Riesling from whatever mid-range wine is listed on the menu.”
“Riesling? That’s your favorite white wine?” It’s not one I remember being part of the Enchanted Springs inventory.
She nods.
“What about red wines?”
“Syrahs.” Another wine that isn’t part of the Enchanted Springs inventory. “But I’m more of a white-wine girl.”
You would think if you owned a winery, you would favor the wines you produce.
So maybe the Feds are right, and she really is clueless about the winery in her name.
“Do you do your own taxes?” I ask.
