An ancient Suburban, the paint sandblasted off one side and mottled with rust, lumbered up the road and parked next to Darcy’s 4Runner. A tall, slim woman stepped out. She gathered up her hair, brown streaked with blonde, and tied the unruly mane into a ponytail. “Darcy McClain?” she called out.
“Ann Gilroy, but call me Gil.” A smile lit Gil’s weathered face; her dark skin was wrinkled by the strong New Mexico sun but warmed by sparkling blue eyes. “How cool—you own a giant schnauzer!”
Darcy laughed, pleased Gil recognized the breed. “Not many people know what he is.”
“I owned one. Shadow—black like yours. He died last year. Broke my heart. But I have a pup reserved from a litter in California. I should have him next month. Miss my old boy.” The minute Gil kneeled, Bullet buried his muzzle in her chest. “Hey, big boy.”
“A hundred pounds of solid muscle and boundless energy.”
“How old is he?”
“Five. I inherited him.”
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