Free Winter at Mustang Ridge by Jesse Hayworth

pressure was kind of nice, making her feel like she was his protector, his safe place. Granted, she was the only thing around that was even slightly familiar, but still.
    Going down beside the dog, she edged around so the others could see him, saying softly, “Nothing to worry about here, buddy. They just want to get to know you.” Even her mom was smiling, standing there next to her dad, and Big Skye might’ve been giving one of his
goldens aren’t ranch dogs
scowls, but there was a suspicious twinkle in his eyes.
    “Turn me around,” an unexpected voice said suddenly. “I can’t see him!”
    Jenny’s jaw dropped. “Krista? What are you doing back— Oh!” She grinned when her dad reached over to an end table and reversed an open laptop, and she saw her sister on the screen. “Hey!”
    “Hey yourself. Who have you got there?”
    “Don’t you recognize him? Imagine him wearing five pounds of matted fur and wishing he could jump in the truck with you and Junior.”
    “Wow, he looks great! What did Nick say about his ribs?”
    Hoping the sudden heat in her face was of the invisible variety, Jenny played it cool. “We’re supposed to keep him leashed or confined for the next week or so, then gradually increase his exercise, etcetera. Otherwise he looks good. His blood work is fine and he’s heartworm negative.”
    “That’s a relief.”
    “I’d say he dodged a few bullets. You here to chime in on names?”
    “You betcha!”
    All eyes went to the dog, who had come out to stand in front of Jenny with the leash slack and his tail doing a hesitant back-and-forth as the sisters chatted. Now, he cocked his head, eyes a little worried, as if to say
Do you like me? Am I being a good boy?
    Jenny heard the words in a goofy, hopeful voice. “I was thinking maybe we could call him Rusty Too,” she said. “R2 for short.”
    Krista gave a
meh
shrug. “I think he deserves his very own name. Weasley?”
    “Because a
Harry Potter
reference is more original than naming him after Rusty?”
    “Hello, R2-D2?”
    Their dad put in, “If we’re going for
Star Wars
references, how about Chewie?”
    “Gimpy?” Big Skye suggested. “Stumpy?”
    “If he was a she, we could’ve called her Biscuit,” Gran said wistfully. “Or Cinnamon.”
    “What about Emeril?” said their mom.
    “Or Drop-off?” Big Skye added unhelpfully.
    “Mack, for the truck that almost got him?” Krista offered with a grin.
    “No, and not ‘Roadkill,’ either, thankyouverymuch.” Jenny ruffled his fur. “Come on, people, let’s help the poor guy out! No clichés, either. Not Fido, Yeller, Lassie, Rex—”
    The dog’s head whipped up and he gave a low “whuff.” It was the first noise he’d made since coming into the house.
    Jenny looked down at him. “You’re kidding. Your name is Rex?”
    His eyes were bright, his body quivering. “Whuff!”
Yes, yes, that’s me!
    “Seriously?”
    Their dad chuckled. “If that wasn’t his name before, I’d say it is now. What do you say, Rex?”
    When that got another indoor-voice bark, Jenny threw up her hands. “Okay, cliché it is. Welcome to the family, Rex m’boy.” She patted the dog bed by the fireplace, with its laundry-smelling cover and newly donated fleece blanket. “I think you should park it here. You’re supposed to be taking it easy.”
    The dog obediently curled on the bed, forming a loose ball of reddish guard fur and rabbit-soft undercoat, and looked up at her as if to say
Now what?
    And suddenly Jenny knew exactly what came next.
    “Come on, everyone.” She waved toward the hearth. “Get yourselves organized. It’s family photo time.”
    As she headed up the stairs for a camera, she heard her mother say, “I should go change. And my hair—”
    “Looks great,” her father interrupted firmly, wrapping an arm around her waist.
    From her bedroom, Jenny snagged the big padded bag that contained her second-best yet absolute favorite camera, a Nikon she called Old