Defending Angels Read Online Free

This kind of intrusive, loving, crazy-making concern was one of the reasons she was here in Savannah, and not practicing law at home.
    “You know how you get.” Francesca pressed on. “You’ve been sleeping okay, Bree darlin’? She hasn’t been eating again, Royal. I just know it.”
    “I’ve been eating just fine,” Bree said firmly.
    “You’re going to keep on working after the kind of day you had?” Francesca demanded.
    “I’m going to need someone to answer the phones, at the very least,” Bree said. “I’ve been getting some pretty good responses to the ad I put in the Savannah Daily . And since I’ll be moving into the new offices tomorrow, it’ll be a good thing to have someone around to give me a hand sooner rather than later. So I need to start interviewing.”
    “For all of that, sweetie,” her father said instantly, “we can come on down and give you four hands.”
    “Yes, indeed,” her mother said. “And you’ll want someone to help you pick out the right color paint. And what about drapes?”
    Bree suppressed a groan. “I appreciate that. I truly do. But I have to go now. And thanks for calling, y’all. I’ll talk to you later in the week.”
    “But Bree . . .” her father said.
    “Now, Royal,” her mother said. “Don’t scold. Bree, you just let me know what your color scheme is going to be and I can bring down a couple of samples . . .”
    In desperation, Bree jiggled the call button in the handset and shouted, “Hello? Hello? Mamma? You’re fading on me!”
    “We’re losin’ you, Bree!” her mother shrieked. “Royal, it’s that cheatin’ phone company again! I swear that company has it in for you, Bree.”
    “Sorry, Mamma! You’re breaking up! Bye, Mamma!” Bree set the phone into its rest and sank into a nearby armchair with a sigh of relief. “Woof,” she said.
    “Woof,” said the dog at her feet.
    She sat up. “And you ,” she said to the dog, severely, “are an illegal alien, pup.”
    The dog looked into her eyes and gently wagged his tail. He lay nested on an old duvet she’d found tucked in the back of the linen closet. A neat acrylic cast encased his injured leg from hock to ankle. The veterinary clinic she’d taken him to had bathed and clipped him, too. Free of burdocks and dirt, his coat was a yellow that would deepen to burnished gold once she got him onto healthy food.
    “The town house covenants don’t allow pets over forty pounds,” she added. “So you’re looking at a temporary stay. Just till you get on your feet.”
    The dog flattened his ears and cocked his head sorrowfully. Bree suppressed a stab of guilt.
    “When you get a bit better we see about taking you home to Plessey. Mamma and Daddy could use a project other than me and Antonia.”
    The dog cocked his head in the other direction, looking, if possible, even more sorrowful than before. Bree scowled at him in exasperation. “For heaven’s sake, dog. I’m just—” She stopped in mid-sentence. Was she really sitting here trying to justify her actions to a dog?
    She rose briskly from the armchair. “Think you can eat a bit more, pup?” The vet had been gravely shocked at the animal’s condition. A few ounces of digestible food every three hours was the most the dog could handle for the first few days. Bree had given him a cup of cooked rice and hamburger when she’d brought him home a few hours ago. It was time to give him another.
    The dog struggled to his feet.
    “No, no. You lie back down. You don’t want to jiggle that leg any.”
    The dog sank back against the duvet with a resigned sigh. The vet had guessed he was a cross between a Russian mastiff and a golden retriever. “That round skull is a characteristic of the golden, Miss Beaufort. And the square, rather intelligent face is wholly mastiff.”
    “Rather intelligent,” Bree said aloud, remembering the conversation. “You smart dog, you.”
    The dog grinned, reminding Bree of her own long-dead golden,