But now she had freedom and an apartment of her own and a great, if precarious, job. Sixteen years in the house, if she counted this last year in divorced-woman limbo, waiting for it to sell. And then she'd spent fifteen years following her husband's career around, without a dog, in a house she'd grown to hate. But no, she'd married him anyway and moved into that designer mausoleum of a house. "Dogs shed," he'd said when she'd suggested they get one as a wedding present to each other. She'd always wanted a dog, but Guy hadn't understood. The attendant joined her and said, "This way," and Nina followed her toward yet another heavy metal door. After all, that was the reason she was getting a dog of her own. There was something good: she was out of that damn house.Īnd now she was forty. Especially freedom from her overambitious ex-husband and their overpriced suburban castle which had finally sold after a year of open-house hell. So what if yesterday had been her fortieth birthday? Forty was a good age for a woman. "Right." Nina shoved her short dark curls behind her ears, grabbed her purse and walked through the door, determined to pick herself out the perkiest birthday present on four paws. We got perky." She jerked her head toward the gray metal door at the end of the counter. "I want a puppy," she said to the brown-uniformed woman behind the scarred metal counter at Riverbend Animal Control. The last thing Nina Askew needed was Fred.
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