Quinn Foxworth had never really realized just how loud a dog’s bark could be. For an instant, when Cutter exploded into earsplitting noise inside the closed vehicle, a vision of distant sands and guard dogs trumpeting a warning of an enemy inside the perimeter shot through his mind.

That hadn’t happened for a long time. He consciously eased his muscles, especially his hands, on the steering wheel and instinctively slowed the SUV down.

“Loud when he wants to be, isn’t he?”

Quinn looked over at his fiancée, and the last of the memory vanished. He was grateful she hadn’t noticed his reaction. And then her gaze locked on his and he saw in her eyes that Hayley hadn’t missed a thing. But she had intentionally not prodded.

No wonder he loved her beyond measure.

“Yes,” he said belatedly, having to raise his voice just as she had to be heard over the cacophony from the back of the SUV.

“He’s not usually like that in the car,” she said. “You know he has exquisite manners. Well, except for when that guy tried to reach in.”

“Good for him. And lucky for the guy it wasn’t me.”

She smiled. Yeah, he loved her all right. And their wedding wasn’t soon enough to suit him, even though it was less than a month away.

The barking suddenly morphed into a howl, and Cutter clawed at the back hatch of the car.

“Well, that’s a new one,” Hayley said, wincing at the sound.

“Easy, dog,” Quinn said, but the howling continued.

He’d learned by now that ignoring Cutter was never a good idea. They were on a rather narrow lane, headed home from the indulgence of a breakfast out, but they’d passed a park a few yards back. He checked the mirrors, then put the SUV in Reverse. The moment they began to back up, the howling subsided to a mild whine that at least allowed room for thought.

He backed up until he could swing into the small parking area. The whine stopped. But Cutter was clearly still on full alert, ears and tail up, staring out toward the park.

“I suppose he wants out.”

“It’s raining,” Hayley said, “of course he does.”

With a sigh, Quinn hit the button that raised the hatch. Before he could even get his door open Cutter was out and running across the wet grass of the park.

“Well, he’s thoroughly unleashed now,” Quinn muttered as he walked around the back of the car to where Hayley stood, watching the dog go.

“Did that look full of intent to you?” she asked.

Hayley was focused on Cutter. Quinn stole the moment to just look at her again. He never got tired of the little jab of wonder that struck him when he realized she was his, that she would always be by his side.

“Quinn?”

“Sorry,” he said, not meaning it in the least. “I was distracted by the view. As usual.”

He loved that she still colored up when he said stuff like that.

“Thank you,” she said simply. “But...”

She gestured toward the far side of the park, where their rascal of a dog was approaching the child who sat on one of the swings. A blond boy in jeans and a sweatshirt but no jacket, with a small backpack beside him. He was staring at the ground, digging a sneakered toe into the mud.

“If you mean did all that ruckus in the car and then the beeline over there seem very specific, then yes,” he said in answer to her original question. “We’d better go rein him in. Don’t want the kid getting scared.”

She nodded, and they started across the grass. The rain was coming down steadily, but lightly. Cutter was almost there, but the boy hadn’t seemed to notice. In fact, he didn’t seem to be noticing anything except the way the mud oozed around what looked to be fairly new, once white sneakers.

Cutter had come to a halt about two feet away from the boy. “Maybe he just wants to play,” Hayley said. “There haven’t been any kids around for him to play with lately, since Brian moved away.”

The dog sat. Waited.

“Well, he’s not playing,” Quinn said. “And the kid doesn’t look much like he wants to.”

“It is raining.”

“When I was that age, I couldn’t have cared less if it was raining if there was playing to be done.”

Hayley laughed, a light, lovely sound that never failed to expand the warmth he always felt when he was with her.

“Not every boy is a bold adventurer such as yourself,” she teased.

“That’s what I get for being born before kids became tethered to a video game console.”

“Thank goodness.”

She turned her gaze back to the pair they were nearing. Cutter had reached out with his nose, and the boy had responded perfectly, holding out his hand, low and slow, for the dog to sniff. Someone had taught him, Quinn thought.

And then the dog rose and went forward, turning sideways to lean against the boy’s knees. The boy moved then, reaching to pat the dog. Cutter leaned harder. The boy’s fingers burrowed into thick fur. And Cutter leaned even more. They were just close enough to hear the odd sound the boy made before he leaned forward himself, wrapping his arms around the animal’s neck as if he were a life preserver. Cutter twisted his head up and back, and swiped his tongue across the boy’s cheek. A smile broke through, and only when he saw it did Quinn realize just how downcast the boy had seemed.

“You’re right, Cutter isn’t acting like he wants to play, either,”

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