The Missing Heir(27)

                “In the kitchen,” Amber called to Luca’s back.

                Cole moved into the entry, and Amber shut the door behind him. Zachary heaved a shuddering sigh and laid his head on Cole’s shoulder.

                “Do babies always react to you like this?” she couldn’t help asking.

                “I don’t know. I’m not usually around them. Mostly, they ignore me.”

                “Do you mind if I have something to eat while you hold him?”

                “Not at all.” Cole shrugged out of his jacket, draping it over the brass coat tree. “Do whatever you want. Have a bath. Take a nap.”

                “Tempting,” Amber admitted. “But I’ve got a glass of merlot in there with my name on it.”

                Cole and the dog followed her into the kitchen, where Destiny had dished up some linguini for Luca.

                “Peace and quiet,” she noted, taking in Zachary’s posture.

                His little hand was stroking one side of Cole’s neck, his face buried in the other.

                “Hungry?” Amber asked Cole.

                “You go ahead. But I’d pour myself a glass of wine.” He took the remaining of the four stools, and the dog curled up at his feet.

                Amber took a satisfying sip of wine and another bite of linguini. It was wonderful to have the use of both hands.

                “What’s his name?” Destiny nodded to the dog as she poured wine for the men.

                “I don’t know,” said Cole, looking down. “We met in the alley after the dance, and I wasn’t really planning to keep him.”

                “I think he’s planning to keep you,” said Amber.

                “That’s because I fed him a burger that first night.”

                “Cole’s got plenty of room in Alaska,” said Luca.

                “You’re taking him home with you?” asked Destiny.

                Cole glanced down and seemed to contemplate. “I suppose I am. I’m not liking his chances stacked up against those adorable puppies at the shelter. I don’t know who would choose him.”

                “He’s not that homely.” Amber sized up the square, tan muzzle, the floppy, uneven ears and wiry, mottled coat. “Okay, maybe Alaska’s not such a bad idea.”

                “You’re so diplomatic,” Cole said with a smile.

                “He’ll need a name,” said Amber.

                “Rover?” Cole asked the dog.

                It didn’t react.

                “Spot?”

                Nothing.

                Amber smiled as she ate and drank.

                “Lucky? Butch? Otis?”

                The dog glanced sharply up.

                “Seriously?” asked Cole. “Otis?”