Good Girl (Love Unexpectedly 2)

“We’ll find her.”

“But Noah…” I follow him onto the porch, and he’s all blurry through my tears.

“Hey,” he says, catching my chin in his hand. “We’ll find her. Take Ranger,” he orders, bending down and picking up a stick that he hands to me. “Walk to the south side of the property.” He points. “I’ll take the north side.”

“We should leave Ranger here,” I say, my hand touching the big dog’s silky head. “If there are alligators…”

“He’ll be fine,” Noah soothes. “You see one coming, make a shit-ton of noise. He’s too big to be worthwhile prey for a gator.”

“But Dolly’s not,” I say.

“We’ll find her,” he says firmly.

I nod, wanting to believe him—needing to believe him—as I adjust the stick in my palm and go running in the direction he indicated. Ranger somehow understands and follows me, and over Ranger’s mad barking I hear Noah calling my dog’s name, his voice growing fainter as he moves in the opposite direction.

I lose track of time. I lose track of where I walk, how far I walk, or even how I walk in these stupid flip-flops.

Over and over I call her name, my voice growing hoarse as my vision gets blurrier.

I’ll find her. I have to find her.

But as dusk settles into full night, there’s no sign of her, and the sound of the bayou at night is all around me now. I hear a rustling noise to my left, and for a moment hope soars. I spin around. “Dolly!”

My heart is in my throat.

Not Dolly.

Gator.

It’s smaller than I expect it to be, but no less terrifying. It’s frozen just like I’m frozen, and its wide-set eyes are creepy as hell. I can’t tell if it’s looking at me or at Ranger. I can’t tell if my poor little dog is in its belly, and for a heart-wrenching moment I wonder if the reason the gator’s not charging at Ranger is because it’s no longer hungry, satisfied by Dolly.

Am I supposed to run? Charge?

Too late I realize I should have asked Noah for more information. Out of the corner of my eye, I look at Ranger, and he’s frozen, the fur on his back standing up as he growls low and mean at the gator.

Instinctively I know that he’ll protect me, that he’d die for me.

I tighten my grip on the dumb stick. “Don’t worry,” I tell Ranger. “I’ll protect you too.”

In the end, I don’t have to.

The gator looks at the two of us for a moment longer, seeming almost bored, before slithering away into the darkness.

I drop my stick with an exhale, relieved not to be fighting off alligator teeth, but no more reassured that the beast didn’t just devour Dolly.

My eyes fill all over again. “Come on, boy,” I say with a sniffle. “Take me home.”

I let Ranger lead the way back, watching as his brown tail bounds a few feet in front of me, his head with its floppy ears turning back frequently to make sure I’m close. All the while I call Dolly’s name.

The house comes into view, and I cross my fingers—literally, I cross them—that I’ll find her waiting at the front door, little tail wagging, looking up at me like, Hello, Mom? Can we get into the freaking air-conditioning now? My fur is frizzing.

I take the last few steps at a run even though my legs are aching, my feet cut into a million pieces.

I make it up the steps before my knees buckle.

She’s not there. My baby girl is not there waiting for me.

I let out a keening wail at the realization that my dog is gone. A dog like Ranger surviving a night on the bayou? Sure. But Dolly…Dolly barely even survived Rodeo Drive.