Молли Фитц - Retriever Ransom

“Nope. I’m not taking no for an answer this time.” She crossed her arms over her chest and narrowed her gaze threateningly.

“Why not? You’ve taken it every other day.” I was pushing my luck and I knew it.

She motioned toward the galactic space cats calendar that hung on the wall above my desk, then groaned and marched over to it. Flipping the page up, she pointed to a calico kitten flying through the stars in a giant cartoon taco shell. “It’s the first day of a new month. February.”

I stayed silent, accepting that the more I argued the harder she’d come down on me in the end.

Nan, however, refused to be dismissed. “You may have completely flubbed up January, but a new month means a new start.”

“Can I maybe start in a warmer month?” I glanced out the window again. Everything was white—the ground, the sky, my reflection as all the color drained from my face in fear. She meant it this time.

I was doomed, but I still had to give my resistance one last ill-fated shot. “I don’t have anything to run in,” I complained and forced a sad look.

“Ahh, but you do.” A giant smile lit Nan’s face. “You’ll find a new jogging suit that matches mine exactly. I also picked up some sport boots and thick wool socks. Everything’s waiting for you in your room. Chop, chop. Like I said, we have a quick stop-off to make before hitting the trail.”

Not even cute corn shell taco cats in outer space could save me now. I lifted my eyes to meet her, telepathically pleading for her to have some mercy.

It did not work.

“Five minutes,” she said firmly and then began tapping her foot, already beyond the limits of her patience with me. “Then I’m dragging you outside, whether or not you’re ready.”

We both knew she’d push me butt naked into the snow if I took even a second longer. We also both knew that she was the stronger of the two of us.

I raced out of the library and up to my tower bedroom to get ready. Octo-Cat’s smug laughter followed me every step of the way.

Chapter Three

I gripped the handle for the passenger side door of Nan’s little red sports coupe, but it didn’t budge. Normally, Nan not only unlocked the car in advance but she also remote started it so the interior would be toasty warm by the time we took off.

“We’re taking your car,” she called from the porch as she locked up then descended with Paisley in tow.

My car, however, was not where I usually parked it.

Noting my hesitation, Nan pointed toward the far side of the house.

My breaths burst out in icy puffs. As much as I didn’t look forward to running, at least it would make me warm. Right?

The moment I spotted my car, an indignant groan ripped right through me. My once-modest sedan had been outfitted with a hot pink snowplow. “What’s this?” I screamed.

Nan passed by me, opened the door, and situated herself in the driver’s seat. “For making the trail, of course.”

Oh, of course. “Why is it hot pink?”

She shot me a proud grin. “Because that’s my favorite color. You know that. I had it custom made.”

“And did you put it on all by yourself, too?” I managed. Even though my grandmother was in fantastic shape, it was hard imagining her heaving this enormous thing around single-handedly.

She waved off my question with a deft swirl of her hand. “Don’t be silly. I called Cal over to help.”

Great. The next time I saw our favorite local handyman, he’d be getting a very stern talking to. I climbed into the passenger seat and buckled up.

Paisley immediately put her paws on the door and stared out the ice-covered window. I couldn’t imagine she saw much.

“Why are we in the car? We don’t need the car for running. We use our feet!”

Personally, I had other questions in mind. “Are you sure my car can handle this? There’s a reason these things are usually on trucks.”

Nan snorted. “This one’s made of plastic instead of metal. I’m sure we’ll be fine.”

Uh-huh. Famous last words.

Besides, how else are we supposed to carve out our running trail?” She turned the key in the ignition and my tacky, made-over car sputtered to life. We jerked forward, then stopped again just as suddenly.

“What happened?” I demanded of my grandmother.

She ignored me and pushed down on the gas pedal again. Nothing happened this time.

“Huh. Well, it was working last night” was the only thing she said about that.

“Too bad. I guess no running for us today.” I was already halfway out of the car and looking forward to a second cup of steaming hot tea in my favorite reading spot when Nan popped out of the car and called me to a stop.

“Not so fast,” she called after me. “We’ll take my car.”

I kept going, so close to being free to return to my regularly scheduled day. “If my car can’t handle that plow, there’s no way yours can.”

“Paisley, I’m sorry, but you’ll have to stay here. The snow’s too deep,” Nan explained, returning to the porch and setting the Chihuahua down beside the electronic pet door.

The poor little dog whined and looked to me for help. “Mommy, tell Nan I want to come. I always come.”

I didn’t need to translate that. Paisley’s whimpering and low-hung tail said it all. “I wish it was you instead of me, but Nan’s right about the snow being too deep.”

“Nonsense,” Paisley cried, then bolted down the stairs and took a flying leap into the nearest snowdrift, disappearing immediately. Not even the tips of her giant foxlike ears showed above the bank.

I rushed forward and scooped her into my arms.

She was too shocked to do anything other than shiver. “Cold. C-c-c-cold!”

“We’ll be back soon,” I promised loudly, then whispered just to Paisley, “Seriously. As soon as possible.”

She cried again as I set her back beside the pet door.

“Why don’t you go see what Octo-Cat is doing and if you can help?” I suggested.

And just like that, her tail lifted and began to wag once more. She pushed through the pet door, barking happily and calling for our cat housemate.

“All good?” Nan asked, quirking a questioning eyebrow my way.

“With Paisley at least,” I grumbled but followed her back toward the sports coupe and dutifully sank inside. This was going to be nothing short of torture.

“Where are we going?” I asked a few moments later when she still hadn’t explained herself.

“A friend from my community art class needs some extra help. This weather really triggers the arthritis in her joints, and with her twin grandkids off at college this year, she has no one to walk Cujo.”

I gasped in horror. “Cujo? I know we live in Stephen King’s home state, but c’mon. What kind of name is that for a dog, given, well, everything Cujo did?”

Nan sighed but didn’t turn to face me. “Big talk from someone who named her pet Octo-Cat.”

I wanted to laugh but luckily held it together. “Please tell me he’s not a Saint Bernard.”

“No, he’s a mutt. Husky mixed with something else. They’re not sure what.”

Well, we would find out soon enough.

And sure enough, even with the deep snow and icy roads, we were at Nan’s friend’s house five short minutes later.

“Wait here,” she instructed, marching around to the back of the house and returning with an enormous fuzzy beast on lead a few minutes later.

She motioned for me to get out and join them. “Might as well start our run from here.”

“Is that Cujo?” I asked, eyeing the dog hesitantly. He may not have been a Saint Bernard, but he was almost as big as one. His light blue—almost white—eyes made him even more unnerving to look at.

Nan chuckled. “Who else would it be, dear?”