TAKE ME, I’M YOURS
Copyright Elizabeth Bevarly
All rights reserved
There were only two things in the world that Keaton Danning abhorred. One was tiny, rodent-like dogs with nasty dispositions, and the other was Teutonic chefs with overblown egos. Or was it Teutonic dogs with overblown egos, and tiny, rodent-like chefs with nasty dispositions he abhorred? No matter. Today Keaton was having to deal with all of them.
“Kurt, listen to me,” he said to the chef in question, using the most placating tone of voice he could muster. Which ended up being not especially placating, seeing as there was a miniature dachshund whirling around Keaton’s right ankle, snarling like a garbage disposal as it tried to turn his pants leg into Sauerkraut. “Kurt,” he tried again, shaking his leg gently in an effort to dislodge the odious little dog, “put down the meat cleaver.”