Читать книгу Too Close To Home - Maureen Tan - Страница 14

The smell of frying bacon awakened me.

I opened my eyes, glanced first at the window—still dark outside—and then at the clock. It was 5:00 a.m. I shut off the alarm, which wasn’t due to ring for another thirty minutes, stretched, then slid from my bed. When I opened the bedroom door, the aroma of hickory smoke was joined by mellow undertones of coffee and a hint of sweet vanilla. Pancakes or French toast, I guessed, as much from experience as from an intimate knowledge of the groceries I had on hand. Though I couldn’t smell them, I knew that there would be scrambled eggs, too. Chad enjoyed a big breakfast and was an enthusiastic cook. Something I’d never complained about.

Lack of barking from the kennel and the kitchen meant that he’d already fed the dogs, too. No doubt he’d doubled Possum’s morning ration because Possum would have greeted Chad—and the sight of the food dish—with a brown-eyed, starved-puppy look and tail-wagging enthusiasm. Highball was far from being a puppy of any kind and definitely more dignified. But he would undoubtedly have received a double ration, too, because Chad took pride in being a fair man and, besides, loved the old dog almost as much as I did. As I got dressed, I thought about the canine ability to manipulate mere humans. Especially soft-hearted guys like Chad.