bed. He liked that there was a fire blazing in the kitchen fireplace when he came in from work. He liked the whole gig. Cyrus liked it too. The dog had made friends with Gus’s father. Out of the corner of his eye he’d see Gus’s father scratch Cyrus behind his ears and call him Buster from time to time. He knew at night that the retriever spent part of the night with him and part of the night with his father. He grinned at the thought.
“Here we go, big guy. You get chicken, mashed potatoes, a little gravy, lots of broccoli and even a buttered roll. I get the same thing, but just a little broccoli because I hate it. That berry pie looks pretty good, too.” Cyrus woofed, gobbled down his food and then went to the door. He knew when he got back he’d get his dessert.
Gus filled his plate twice, saving just enough room for a slice of pie. When he finished, he leaned back in the captain’s chair at the head of the table and let his mind go back over the day’s work. Another week of hard work with his crew and he’d be ready to cut the trees to go on sale the day after Thanksgiving.
He felt so proud of himself he decided he would have an extra large slice of pie—as soon as Cyrus pawed at the door to get in. While he waited he added two more logs to the fire. A shower of sparks raced up the chimney.
Outside, Cyrus was barking his head off. Gus listened to the tone. It wasn’t a playful bark, or an I-treed-a-racoon bark, or an Okay, I’m-done-and-ready-for-dessert bark. This was a bark that meant there was an intruder on the premises. He reached up and turned on the outside floodlights. The entire backyard was suddenly bathed in a blinding white light and Cyrus was escorting a young woman to his back door.
Cyrus must like her, Gus thought, because his tail was swishing back and forth at the speed of light.
Gus opened the door and stared at the young woman in the purple hat and scarf. She smiled. He smiled—and fell in love on the spot.
His love opened her mouth and spoke. Suddenly he wanted to shower her with diamonds and rubies.
Maybe pearls. “I know it’s late, but is it possible to speak with Mr. Moss?”
“Uh, sure. I’m Mr. Moss. Gus Moss. Come in, come in.”
His love spoke again. “I’m sorry. I meant the other…Mr. Moss senior.”
“Oh, that Mr. Moss. He isn’t here. Will I do?”
Cyrus, never known for his patience, barked and pawed at the kitchen counter where the pie was.
“Excuse me. Cyrus is relentless. He won’t give up until he gets his pie. I was just about to have some. Will you join me?”
Amy stared at the good-looking young man. She thought her blood was boiling in her veins. “You know what, I think I will join you. I have a sweet tooth.”
His love had a sweet tooth. “Me too. All my teeth are sweet.” Gus grimaced, showing his teeth. His love laughed.
“Is that good for a dog?” Amy asked pointing to the pie Gus just put in Cyrus’s bowl.
“His owner refuses to give him dog food. I’m just dog sitting old Cyrus. People food seems to agree with him. Do you want ice cream on your pie?”
“Well, sure. What good is pie without ice cream? Do you have any coffee to go with that pie?” He watched, mesmerized when the purple hat and scarf came off, then the jacket. Lean and trim. Just the right kinds of curves. His love was perfect, and she was standing right there in his father’s kitchen.
“Absolutely. Big slice or little slice?”
His love laughed again, a tinkling sound that sent shivers up Gus’s spine. “Oh, a big slice. If you’re going to eat pie and ice cream, you need a big piece to really enjoy it. I haven’t had pie in a long time. What kind is it?”
“Berry. What should I call you?” Gus said, turning his back on her to cut the pie.
“I’m sorry; my manners are atrocious. Amy Baran. Nice to meet you, Gus Moss. I didn’t know Mr. Moss had a son. I used to come out here every September with my dad to tag a tree. Then we’d come back
“Here we go, big guy. You get chicken, mashed potatoes, a little gravy, lots of broccoli and even a buttered roll. I get the same thing, but just a little broccoli because I hate it. That berry pie looks pretty good, too.” Cyrus woofed, gobbled down his food and then went to the door. He knew when he got back he’d get his dessert.
Gus filled his plate twice, saving just enough room for a slice of pie. When he finished, he leaned back in the captain’s chair at the head of the table and let his mind go back over the day’s work. Another week of hard work with his crew and he’d be ready to cut the trees to go on sale the day after Thanksgiving.
He felt so proud of himself he decided he would have an extra large slice of pie—as soon as Cyrus pawed at the door to get in. While he waited he added two more logs to the fire. A shower of sparks raced up the chimney.
Outside, Cyrus was barking his head off. Gus listened to the tone. It wasn’t a playful bark, or an I-treed-a-racoon bark, or an Okay, I’m-done-and-ready-for-dessert bark. This was a bark that meant there was an intruder on the premises. He reached up and turned on the outside floodlights. The entire backyard was suddenly bathed in a blinding white light and Cyrus was escorting a young woman to his back door.
Cyrus must like her, Gus thought, because his tail was swishing back and forth at the speed of light.
Gus opened the door and stared at the young woman in the purple hat and scarf. She smiled. He smiled—and fell in love on the spot.
His love opened her mouth and spoke. Suddenly he wanted to shower her with diamonds and rubies.
Maybe pearls. “I know it’s late, but is it possible to speak with Mr. Moss?”
“Uh, sure. I’m Mr. Moss. Gus Moss. Come in, come in.”
His love spoke again. “I’m sorry. I meant the other…Mr. Moss senior.”
“Oh, that Mr. Moss. He isn’t here. Will I do?”
Cyrus, never known for his patience, barked and pawed at the kitchen counter where the pie was.
“Excuse me. Cyrus is relentless. He won’t give up until he gets his pie. I was just about to have some. Will you join me?”
Amy stared at the good-looking young man. She thought her blood was boiling in her veins. “You know what, I think I will join you. I have a sweet tooth.”
His love had a sweet tooth. “Me too. All my teeth are sweet.” Gus grimaced, showing his teeth. His love laughed.
“Is that good for a dog?” Amy asked pointing to the pie Gus just put in Cyrus’s bowl.
“His owner refuses to give him dog food. I’m just dog sitting old Cyrus. People food seems to agree with him. Do you want ice cream on your pie?”
“Well, sure. What good is pie without ice cream? Do you have any coffee to go with that pie?” He watched, mesmerized when the purple hat and scarf came off, then the jacket. Lean and trim. Just the right kinds of curves. His love was perfect, and she was standing right there in his father’s kitchen.
“Absolutely. Big slice or little slice?”
His love laughed again, a tinkling sound that sent shivers up Gus’s spine. “Oh, a big slice. If you’re going to eat pie and ice cream, you need a big piece to really enjoy it. I haven’t had pie in a long time. What kind is it?”
“Berry. What should I call you?” Gus said, turning his back on her to cut the pie.
“I’m sorry; my manners are atrocious. Amy Baran. Nice to meet you, Gus Moss. I didn’t know Mr. Moss had a son. I used to come out here every September with my dad to tag a tree. Then we’d come back
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