Free The Unforgiven by Patricia MacDonald

stopper and arranged the bottle between two candlesticks. It was almost too pretty to use, she thought. With a happy sigh she headed for her bedroom and her dresser, in search of a sweater.
    Five fuzzy white and nut-brown rumps protruded from the side of the sad-eyed mother. The dog and her pups lay in a large, low-sided cardboard box, atop a dirty, faded quilt. The squealing and sucking of her offspring did not seem to faze the bitch, who stared at her visitors with languid eyes.
    “How old are they, Ned?” Jess asked the farmer, who was leaning against the doorjamb of the musty shed where the pups were kept.
    The dark-haired man rubbed his stubbled jaw and squinted at the beams of the small, peaked roof. “Nearly six weeks now, I guess.”
    “What do you think, Maggie?” Jess asked.
    Maggie watched in rapt attention as, one by one, the pups disengaged themselves from their mother’s teats and began to stagger around the quilt-lined box. The two largest ones curled up on top of each other in a heap in the corner and began to snooze. One of the others remained, sucking at the mother, and a fourth sniffed around the side of the box. The smallest wandered gamely toward the opening of the box, leaned over, and tumbled off the quilt onto the warped, straw-covered floorboards of the shed.
    Ned Wilson reached down and scooped up the tinyadventurer and replaced him by his mother’s side. “There you go,” he said.
    “I love them,” said Maggie. “Especially that little one.”
    “That’s the runt,” Ned informed her.
    “That’s the one I want,” she said.
    “Ned,” said Jess, “seems my friend here wants a dog. What’s the going price on one of these pups?”
    “Well,” said the farmer, “that I don’t know about. I’m gonna have to talk to Sadie about that. Livvy here is her dog, really.”
    “Livvy?” Maggie asked.
    “Yup,” said Ned. “Named after Olivia de Havilland in Gone With the Wind. Sadie’s upstairs vacuuming. Let me just run up and get her,” said Ned. “I’ll be right back.”
    As the farmer departed, Jess and Maggie crouched down to have a closer look at the pups. “Sadie’ll probably just give him to you,” Jess said, running a forefinger over the puppy’s delicate skull. “Nobody ever buys these mutts. Especially not the runt.”
    “Hey,” Maggie protested. “He’s the cutest one of them all. Besides, he’s going to be my watchdog one of these days. Aren’t you,” she murmured to the little animal.
    “Kind of a puny watchdog,” Jess observed.
    “He’ll grow,” she said. Then she looked up at Jess and smiled. “They’re perfect,” she said. “Thanks for bringing me here.”
    “I figured you’d like them,” he said. “Besides, I was glad for an excuse to come and see you.”
    Maggie shook her head. “Don’t say that.” She scrambled to her feet.
    Jess straightened up beside her. “Why not?” he asked. “It’s true.” A darkening in the doorway interrupted him.
    Ned cleared his throat. “Excuse me, folks. I brought Sadie.” A thin woman who only came up to Ned’s shoulder stood in front of him in the doorway. She wore sneakers, baggy gray pants, and a cherry-colored cardigan. Her graying hair was pinned in a severe topknot. The woman peered suspiciously into the unlit shed.
    “Sadie,” Ned went on, “you know Jess. And this here’s his friend, Maggie. They come up to see the pups.”
    Maggie anxiously extended her hand to the older woman. Sadie gave her a perfunctory grip with her thin, muscled hand, then wiped her palm on her trousers.
    “The puppies are beautiful,” Maggie said. “I’d like to buy that little one from you.”
    “I’m not selling ’em,” said Sadie.
    “I don’t understand,” Maggie stammered. “I thought…”
    “I’m glad to get rid of ’em,” said Sadie. “You can just take it.”
    With a beaming smile, Maggie bent down toward the pups.
    “Not yet,” Sadie yelped. “Didn’t Ned tell you they’re too young