Part 199 (1/2)

had turned out ugly-not homely but down-to-the ground ugly. This little

trick of nature didn't bother the dog, either.

Conroy continued to grin as he lifted a paw in what both he and Michael

knew had nothing to do with subservience.

”I'm not going to shake that paw. I don't know where it's been. You

went back to that s.l.u.t again, didn't you?”

Conroy slid his eyes to the left. If he could have whistled between his

teeth, he would have.

”Don't try to deny it. You've spent all weekend rolling in the dirt and

s...o...b..ring over that half-breed beagle tramp. Never a thought to the

consequences or my feelings.” Turning away, Michael rooted in the

refrigerator. ”If you knock her up again, you're on your own. If I've

told you once, I've told you a thousand times. Safe s.e.x. It's the

eighties, bucko.”

He tossed over a slice of bologna, which Conroy caught nimbly and

swallowed in one gulp. Softening, Michael tossed him two more before he

settled down with his coffee-soaked shredded wheat.

He liked his life. Moving to the burbs had been the right decision for

him. It had exactly what he wanted: A nice patch of lawn he could

grumble about mowing, a few leafy trees, and what remained of the

previous owner's flower bed.

He'd given gardening a shot, but when he'd proven inept, had abandoned

it. That suited Conroy as well. No one got antsy when he dug up the

snapdragons.

He'd bought the small brick rancher on impulse, right after the end of

his brief and ill-advised affair with Angie Parks. He'd learned