Brendan had been waiting for her to realize that he was the common denominator in all the failed relationships.
“This is strike three, you know.” And he was out. “You’re going to have to chew someone else out of house and—” Brendan paused as his cell phone began to blast the theme song from Mission: Impossible, signaling an incoming call from his youngest brother.
Brendan stabbed at the green circle on the screen. “What?”
“I’m fine. Thanks for asking.” Aiden’s low chuckle rattled in his ear. “Are you busy?”
“I’m always busy.” Brendan narrowed his eyes at the basset hound. She’d dropped the ficus branch and was eyeing his shoelaces as if they were the next item on the buffet. “Don’t even think about it,” he muttered.
“Don’t think about what?”
“I wasn’t talking to you.”
“Okay,” Aiden said mildly. “Then who are you talking to?”
Busted.
“No one.”
“Disturbing. And proof you need to get out more.”
“Fine. I was talking to…Missy.” Brendan was forced to be honest, although he hated giving his kid brother any ammunition that could potentially be used against him in the future.
“Are you kidding?” Aiden hooted. Obviously forgetting the fact that he was four years younger, two inches shorter and had yet to beat Brendan in hand-to-hand sibling combat. “Liam and I didn’t think she’d last a week.”
Brendan silently counted backward. “You were right.”
The statement was followed by a whistle that threatened to pierce his left eardrum. “Have you broken the news to Mom?”
“Not yet.”
“Can I watch?”
“Very funny.” Brendan swept up a handful of damp leaf debris. “I tried to tell her this was destined to fail.”
Missy cast a reproachful look in his direction, took a few waddling steps forward and leaped onto the couch. No easy feat for an animal roughly the size and shape of the pillow she’d recently shredded.
“You know Mom,” Aiden said. “She wants everyone to be happy.”
“Then why isn’t she leaving dogs on your doorstep?”
Brendan relocated an African violet from the windowsill to the stone ledge above the fireplace. Just in case.
“Maybe she thinks you need the practice,” his brother said cheerfully.
Brendan scowled. “What kind of practice?”
“Uh…the commitment kind?”
“I am committed.” To the business he’d poured his heart and soul into for the past fifteen years. At sixteen, Brendan had saved Castle Falls Outfitters from bankruptcy. Ten years later, he’d doubled its annual profit. And any day now, if everything went according to plan, he would be signing a contract with a large sporting-goods chain, making their custom-made canoes available throughout the Midwest.
No one seemed to realize that kind of responsibility didn’t leave a whole lot of time for anything else. Not that Brendan was complaining. It would take a lifetime to repay the debt he owed Sunni Mason, a woman who’d taken in three aspiring juvenile delinquents when they’d had nowhere else to go.
“Or…Mom knows you practically live in your office, and she doesn’t want you to be lonely.”
“Lonely.” When Brendan barely had a minute to himself? He worked out of an office at their mother’s house, and even though his two younger brothers had converted storage space above the garage into a spacious apartment, they spent more time hanging out at his place than they did their own.
“You’ve heard the word, right?” Aiden laughed. “It’s one of those pesky little things people sometimes refer to as emotions.”
Brendan rolled his eyes. He didn’t have time for those, either.
A car door slammed, and he glanced at the clock. Five o’clock on the dot. Sonia, affectionately known as Sunni to the people who loved her, was always punctual.
“I have to go.”
“Wait—”
Brendan hung up the phone. A split second later, he heard Sunni humming the chorus of a familiar praise song as she made her way up the sidewalk.
Missy tipped her nose toward the ceiling and let out a mournful howl.
The humming stopped.
Great.
“Tattletale,” he grumbled.
The dog ignored him—naturally—and launched herself off the sofa. All four paws shot out in different directions on the hardwood floor like the points on a compass, and yet she still managed to beat him to the front door.
“Hi, sweetheart.”
Looking, Brendan noted wryly, not at him but at the overweight basset hound nibbling on the laces of her pink hiking boots.
“How are you two getting along?”
Also directed at the dog.
Brendan decided to answer the question anyway. Since he was the one who had opposable thumbs—and actually could speak. “She shredded my favorite tie yesterday.”
“Good girl, Missy,” his mother whispered. “I never did care for that tie.”
“You’re the one who bought it for me,” Brendan pointed out.
“Only because I knew you’d like it.” Bending down to give Missy’s glossy head a pat, Sunni spotted the dog bed and basket of toys stacked neatly beside the door. Shook her head. “What seems to be the problem?”
She didn’t add the words this time. They were implied.
“Missy is a great dog.” A slight exaggeration, considering her penchant for turning everything into a chew toy. “But I just can’t give her the attention she deserves.” Brendan braced himself for the fallout. Again.
Sunni smiled. Smiled. “I understand.”
“Really?” Because he remembered saying the same thing the day she’d dropped off Raquel, the incontinent Yorkie, and Bette Davis, a Doberman pinscher who’d hidden under the bed whenever someone knocked on the door, totally undermining his mother’s claim that she’d be a great watchdog.
“I’ll take Missy with me to church tonight and introduce her to Ed Wilson. His wife passed away a few months ago, and I heard him tell Pastor Tamblin the house is too quiet.”
Brendan’s eyes narrowed.
That was it?
“She’ll be happier,” he said. “You know that, right?”
“But will you?” Sunni murmured.
Brendan took a moment to think about that.
Yes. Yes, he would.
“I’ll put this stuff in the car for you. I’m sure Missy and Mr. Wilson will get along really well.” He grabbed the box of toys before she could change her mind.
“Thank you, sweetheart. I have some last-minute packing to finish up before choir practice starts.” Sunni followed him outside to the gray Subaru parked in front of the house, Missy happily chugging along at her heels.
Brendan popped open the trunk and blinked. “What’s all this?”
“Paint.” His mom grinned. “The house is long overdue for a makeover.