Page 85 of Courting Danger

Chapter 23

Pope

“How’s your head?” Pope asked, gently carding his fingers through Danger’s hair on his way past the couch.

Their yellow lab mix, who the boys had lovingly taken to calling Grunge, due to how grungy he’d been when they’d first brought him in off the beach, was stretched out along Danger’s side, head pillowed on his shoulder, snoozing. As soon as the dog realized that he would not get into any trouble for jumping on the furniture to lie down with one of them, it had been game on. Those big critters, who were already showing signs of gaining weight after three days in their care, saw themselves as lap dogs and attempted to fit wherever possible. Their husky, who’d earned the name Diesel due to the stench of his farts, nearly drowned Pope with his fluff every time he scrambled up into the easy chair with him.

“Sore,” Danger grumbled. “The same as the last time you asked and the time before that. It’s going to take forever for the parts they shaved to grow as long as the rest of it.”

Chuckling, Pope leaned over his grumpy pup to stroke Grunge, who sighed, and let out a snort and a loud huff.

“We can fix that for you if you’d like,” Pope declared, grinning when Danger met his gaze.

“How?”

“The way I see it, there are two solutions,” Pope said, his grin growing wider as Danger narrowed his eyes at him.

“If you’re about to suggest shaving it so it matches, you can just go right back to the kitchen and whatever it is you three are doing in there,” Danger grumbled.

“Now see, who said anything about shaving it?” Pope declared, deliberately giving him shit to try to shake him out of the grumpy mood he’d woken up in this morning. “That was all you. I was just going to suggest getting a few extensions braided in to cover the spot, or a hat. Saw a few interesting ones when we were online the other night, including an old-school leather biker cap. Of course, you could go a completely different route and try one of the jester ones that popped up, but it’s totally up to you.”

Danger’s lips twitched, the grumpy pout slipping, before he grinned and rolled his eyes.

“Much better,” Pope replied. “As for what’s going on in the kitchen, I’ve been teaching the boys a few dog food recipes. We’ve almost got the last batch finished, and lunch, which we’ll bring out when we join you.”

“Good, getting bored out here alone.”

As if on cue, Grunge lifted his head, as if offended by the fact that even with him present and there in Danger’s arms, he still considered himself to be alone, and sneezed on his chin in retaliation. Danger just snickered, rubbed his chin, then stroked the pup’s ears until he settled back down.

“Diesel proved to be an attentive supervisor as we worked, casting judgy looks from his cushion in the corner every time weput a scrap of something in the trash. Since no one has replied to any of my posts about the dogs on social media, I think it’s safe to say they are ours. I doubt there will be a chip for them to find in either of them when we take them to the vet tomorrow.”

“Do I get to go with, or will I have to spend another day making a dent in the couch?” Danger asked.

“Well,” Pope hedged, “it’s still not fully formed in places. The middle fills back in as soon as you move, so a few more days in that spot might be in order, just to ensure that the divot maintains its shape.”

Pope had to give him credit; he tried to scowl, but his lips kept quirking until he gave up trying to look annoyed with him.

“You’re not as funny as you think you are,” Danger huffed.

“Couldn’t tell by the look on your face.”

“I hate lying here being useless.”

“From where I’m standing, Grunge seems to have found a perfectly acceptable use for you.”

“Not funny!” Danger growled as Pope left the room, chuckling the whole way.

When he reached the kitchen, he spotted his boys working in tandem to fill air-tight containers with the dog food and stack them in the double-sided fridge, each carefully labeled with the type of food contained inside. They’d made two batches, one with beef, carrots, sweet potatoes, and brown rice, and the other with chicken, peas, carrots, and brown rice, each cooked in broth to ensure they were flavorful. They had an order of salmon coming too, and a turkey Pope intended to roast so they could create a meal for the pups with it. Everything had to be delivered or retrieved from the next town over, aside from the assortment of items carried at the gas station mini-mart. Fortunately, the Martinezes stocked all the basic household stables, from milk, eggs, and bread, to boxed pasta, rice, flour, sugar, and even a variety of cereal and infant supplies. Until the grocery storecould be rebuilt, everyone would be facing the same struggle, so Pope had already started looking into a few sites online where he could set up regular delivery.

“That’s the last one,” Roan said as he closed the container he’d been working on after wiping the edges clean.

“I think I can fill two more,” Ocean declared, scooping and then smoothing the food into the container until it was full.

“Perfect,” Pope said as he plucked the pot off the counter. “I’ll get these scrubbed. Why don’t you guys clean up then take the sandwiches and brownies to the den and see if you can find something for us to watch. Beware the grumpy lump on the couch; he’s trying to cling to the bad mood he woke up with, so proceed with humor and a healthy dose of snark.”

“That’s easy enough,” Ocean replied as he finished filling his second container. “If all else fails, I’ll just bust out the jellyfish jokes.”

“Jellyfish jokes?” Roan said. “How is anything that stings, funny?”