Inheritance (The Lost Bride Trilogy, #1)(66)

“Thanks for that. I like you, too. What you do is just lovely and loving.”

“Come on into the kitchen. We’ll get those t’s, and the paperwork. My husband works for your cousins.”

“At Poole Shipbuilders?”

“That’s right.”

“I met Owen this weekend, and Jones. And there’s Mookie, so Yoda will have some friends.”

“Trey Doyle’s dog.” Lucy nodded as she passed out treats. “Would you like some coffee?”

“If you’re having some.”

“Let’s have some coffee, deal with this paperwork. Then you can take your boy home.”

Since Lucy loaded her up, Sonya skipped the shopping. Anything she needed she could pick up when she got the dinner party supplies.

On the drive, Yoda jumped into the back seat, planted his front paws on the window, and watched the world go by.

“I need to warn you, odd things happen at the manor. But we’ll look out for each other. And look, just look at it. Is that the coolest house ever? I’m going to put your leash back on. We’ll walk around. Lucy said it’s smart to find a place for you to do what you need to do, then you’ll mostly go there to do it.”

She snapped the leash on, cuddled him again.

“Let’s walk around our domain. I think around back’s the best place for doing what you need to do.”

She got out with him, and though she’d worried he’d pull on the leash, try to run, he just trotted along beside her.

“How could those people let you go? You’re such a good boy.”

He sniffed—a lot—trotted, then, to her delight, did what he had to do.

After rounding back to the car, she got the adoption basket. Made the second trip out for his bed before unleashing him.

The iPad played “Every Dog Will Have His Day.”

He wandered and sniffed, but stayed close while she hung up her coat. Then followed her when she took the basket into the kitchen.

“Let’s take your bed upstairs so you know where you sleep.”

For the next hour she showed Yoda around, took pictures to text to her mother, Cleo, sent one to Lucy, and, after some mental back-and-forth, to Trey.

For that one she added the comment:

Presenting Mookie’s new pal, Yoda. It’s your fault. Thank you.

“Okay, there’s a lot more house, but you don’t have to see it all at once. We’ve hit the main places I live—for now. And I really need to squeeze another hour in on this project.”

She cupped his face, kissed his nose.

“So you could maybe take a nap by the fire.”

For the first nap, in any case, he preferred under her desk. But she got her hour in, even with pauses to answer Yoda texts.

Since the dog seemed content, she put another hour in before shutting down to make them both dinner.

After a successful post-dinner walk, they settled down by the library fire. Yoda curled beside her while she read another section of Poole family history.

“In 1864, Hugh Poole’s wife of nine months, Marianne, died in childbirth delivering twins. Owen and Jane. He remarried—Carlotta—in 1866, had three more kids. One son died in infancy. And how awful is that?”

She closed the book. “That makes Marianne the third bride, if we’re counting.”

After taking the dog out for one last round, she settled in for the night. Yoda appeared to find his bed by the fire more than acceptable.

She didn’t wake at three when the clock sounded, or stir at the drifting music. But the dog’s ears pricked up. He wandered out, wandered down.

And tail wagging, walked through the candlelight to the piano to sit.

When invited, he perched his front paws on the bench and nuzzled the hand that stroked him.



* * *



In the morning, Sonya started her new routine. She made coffee, put on her outdoor gear, leashed the dog, and walked him outside.

She had hopes that, in time, he’d handle the early-morning and late-night session on his own.

He ate his breakfast while she ate hers and checked her emails.

“Gotta go to work,” she told him.

He followed her to the stairs, started up with her. Then stopped by the hidden door, wagged his tail.

“Something in there?” She shook off a chill. “Maybe, but we’re not going in there. Not today.”

In the bedroom, she let out a long breath at the bed—freshly made, pillows plumped. Yoda’s dog bed had been nicely smoothed out.

“Okay. Okay, thanks. It’s not necessary, but thank you. Fine.”

After she’d changed into sweats, Yoda walked with her to the library.

He took his place under the desk; she put her mind into the work.

Twice she heard doors closing. So did he, as he lifted his head.

“It’s not me,” she muttered, and kept working.

She decided to consider walking-the-dog time as thinking time. The catering project had some challenges. The packages, the à la cartes, all the images, the pricing. And she wanted it appealing but streamlined so potential clients wouldn’t have to wade through everything.

By the time she shut down for the day, she’d rejected two designs before settling on one that hit appealing and streamlined.

And because Yoda paused by the damn hidden door every time she went up or down, she opened it.