Free Colorado Christmas by C. C. Coburn Page B

swim.”
    “He what?” Becky sat up in alarm. Exactly what was going on down at that pool?
    “Chill out, Mom. He’s a friend of Jessie’s. They went to school together. He even said that if I get some training, I might be able to swim in races.”
    “And how does he know this?” Nicolas would never have the strength to swim races. It was a miracle he could even walk! “I don’t want you talking to strangers. I’ve told you how dangerous it can be.”
    “But he’s a friend of Jessie’s. He’s big and strong and everyone at the pool knows him.” Nicolas crossed his arms and sighed. “Mom! Sometimes I don’t think you listen to me.”
    “Of course I do, sweetie. I’m just tired and wasn’t concentrating. I’m sorry.” She sat up straighter and looked intently at her son. “I’m all ears.”
    “Okay.” Nicolas drew in a breath. “You know how I’ve been writing to Santa and asking him for a puppy? For three years?”
    Becky didn’t like where this was going; she didn’t have time enough for her son, let alone a dog. “Ye-es,” she said cautiously.
    He crossed his arms, his mouth set in a determined line Becky knew only too well.
    “Well, I’m writing to him again this year, and if he doesn’t bring me a puppy, then I’m not going to believe in him anymore!”

Chapter Eight

    “I’ve found homes for Charles, Dermott and Edward,” Will informed Miss Patterson the next evening. He scooped up another of her chocolate chip cookies before Edward could claim it. The sheepdog was sprawled across the sofa, and over Will’s lap. Henri sat prissily on Miss P.’s lap, apparently following their conversation. Dermott chewed on a toy. Charles was fast asleep at Will’s feet, while Dugald perched along the back of the sofa, watching Will eat, his wiry head turned in query as if to ask, When do I get some?
    “Oh, you dear, dear, boy!” Miss P. said and clasped her hands to her chest. “Tell me, who wants to adopt my boys?”
    He broke off a bit of cookie, picked out the chocolate chip, then fed the cookie to Dugald when Edward’s attention was elsewhere. “Well…you know most of the folks at the Twilight Years, since you grew up with them.”
    “The Twilight Years?”
    Will frowned. Maybe it was time Miss P. should consider moving there herself, seeing she was having trouble remembering things. “The retirement home out near the golf course,” he prompted.
    “I know what the Twilight Years is, dear. But I don’t understand how anyone there can adopt Edward. They aren’t allowed pets.”
    “No, they aren’t. But I had a chat with the director, who wasfeeling kindly toward me because of the ironing, and I suggested Edward would make an excellent therapy dog.”
    “A therapy dog?”
    “A dog that helps people who have disabilities or just cheers them up.”
    “I know what a therapy dog is, dear,” she assured him with a grin. “But Edward’s never been trained as one.”
    “Doesn’t need it. His area of expertise is lying around doing nothing much. The residents enjoy petting him. That makes them feel good—cheers them up no end—and Edward likes it, too. It’s a win-win situation all around.”
    Will had reconsidered moving Edward to the ranch. In doggy years, Edward was a senior citizen and would probably be worn out by three boisterous young girls even if he wasn’t herding sheep. So this morning, Will had taken Edward to the dog-grooming parlor. Then he’d borrowed Matt’s SUV. Matt had grumbled about Will’s borrowing his vehicle yet again and pointed out that it was high time Will got wheels of his own. But once Will explained what he had in mind, Matt had handed over his keys and said, “Good luck.”
    After loading Edward into the SUV, he drove out to the Twilight Years, introduced the director to the dog and asked if it would be okay for Edward to visit with the residents while he did a few hours’ ironing and snow shoveling. Impressed with Edward’s grooming and how