How to Knit a Love Song by Rachael Herron

wasn’t hers, that she was sharing with someone who liked a strange dog better than her. Honestly? If she had a home that she was suddenly forced to share with a stranger, she’d hate them, too.
    But she’d be nicer about it.
    Well, he had offered the dog bowls and the food.
    Offered them to the dog, who was pulling her through the boxes, through the house.
    “Clara! Stop pulling!”
    Clara looked up at her and gave a happy little bounce.
    Great. Now she’d done it. The dog’s name was apparently settled.
    “Clara?” A lick on her hand was the answer.
    “I really meant to name you myself. I was kind of looking forward to it, actually.” Abigail paused, looking around the living room. It was still dark in here, even with the curtains pulled back. The windows needed washing. It smelled funny—musty and old.
    How would she make this home?
    “Let me show you something,” she said to the dog. “It’s upstairs.”
    Abigail led Clara, panting and slobbering with excitement, up the narrow staircase into the rooftop room. Without being encouraged, Clara ran through the clutter to the center of the room and hurled herself onto the little divan, looking intensely out the windows at the trees.
    Abigail sat next to her. “It’s nice, isn’t it?” She looked around the little room. No bats. She took a deep breath. “And oh, it is mine. It’s mine.”
    Clara licked her cheek.
    She spent several more hours out in her shed, before the sun went down, working on making the alpacas comfortable. They were nervous about the dog, so she left Clara tied up on the other side of the fence, and Clara watched their every move with fascination. Abigail had a rudimentary set of tools out in her truck and had discovered the immense satisfaction to be gained in hammering fence boards. Even though Cade had checked the fence line, she walked every step of the small outside pen area, pushing and pulling boards. When she found one that wiggled a little, she smacked it, hard, with the hammer until the old nails sunk back into the weathered board.
    Only once had she hit her finger, and even then, she hadn’t cried out. She lived on a ranch now. She owned livestock. She was tough.
    She could so do this.
    She managed to get close enough to Tussah to pat her on the side. She was as soft as she looked. Neither looked like they’d been shorn anytime recently, which, on the one hand, was a good thing, because she’d be getting their fleece that much sooner. On the other hand, she’d have to learn to shear them.
    She wouldn’t think about that now.
    After making sure and doubly sure that her new livestock wasn’t going anywhere for the night, she led Clara around to the house. They went up the stairs quickly, Clara nosing into corners, Abigail pulling her so they’d keep moving. “I know, we’ll explore when he’s not here. Keep going, baby.”
    True, he’d been nothing but nice this afternoon, offering information on the mating habits of alpacas, and helping her get the dog out of the car.
    But he’d been mocking her, she was sure of it. He’d enjoyed telling her that not only had she bought two animals that she didn’t understand, but she’d let herself in for progeny, too. Great.
    Alpaca sex. She couldn’t even think about what that looked like.
    And he’d gloated when he’d released Clara from the truck. Abigail’s face must have been terrified. How stupid she’d been. Clara’d only been excited. On any other day, Abigail would have known that. But today, well, a lot had happened today. And she was still jumpy.
    She would have remembered the dog food. She felt stupid for not having thought of it earlier. It had been kind of him to offer some. He had a soft spot for dogs, that was all…
    Abigail brought up some of the offered kibble, and a bowl for water. Clara ate as if she’d been starved all her life and then jumped up onto the bed. She was asleep on her back and snoring within minutes.
    Abigail got under the covers and