Page 46 of The Cul-de-Sac War

He began to race toward her. She started to jump back over the line and then realized: It didn’t matter anymore. There was the fresh line of soil going all the way across the yard, a solid two feet from their cars. She had absolutely nothing to worry about.

Bree sighed with relief and moved to stand next to her stepdad.

If that ignorant dog jumped over the new fence line, he’d feel a nice jolt.

Was it such a bad thing that the very idea made her smile? Giggle a little inside? Have an urge to twiddle her fingers like an evil mastermind?

She reached up with one sleeve of her birthday sweatshirt and rubbed her mirthful smile down. She would not smile. But she would watch. She would stand there, offering up no warnings to the animal whatsoever, and watch with silent glee as the dog got his due punishment.

She glanced Chip’s way. For such a devoted dog owner, Chip didn’t seem too concerned about Russell running headlong into an electrical barrier. In fact, Chip wasn’t even commanding Russell to slow down or stop. In fact . . .

Bree squinted at Chip.

Noted the way his eyes were on her at that very moment.

She looked down, noticing that the dog had not only touched the line but was now a foot beyond the line and giving no indication of slowing.

“Chip!” Bree screamed. In a single movement, she jumped, rolled across the back of the trunk, and landed on the other side. It was a Tony Stark moment born of adrenaline and terror. She could never repeat it.

“Oh, honey!” Bree’s mother exclaimed with a smile. “That was splendid!”

“Dan! Watch out!” Bree cried.

Panting, Russell skidded to a stop beside her stepfather.

“Who’s this fella?” Dan said, reaching down to pat his head.

All Bree could think about was the heart surgery Dan had the year prior. And Russell’s paws going straight through his still-tender chest like a boot through an empty cardboard box.

“Stop!” Bree cried, leaning across the hood. “Be careful! He’s—”

“Such a good boy,” Dan purred at the dog, rubbing his head and ears. “What a good boy you are.” He craned his head up to Chip. “How old is he?”

“Just over two, sir,” Chip said.

“Practically still a baby,” Dan replied, turning his attention back to the docile dog.

To Bree’s horror, Dan began to kneel. “I wouldn’t—”

But there he was, staring Russell in the face, both of them with slaphappy smiles. Her stepfather moved to rub his neck. The dog tilted his head and leaned into the rubbing. No drool to be seen anywhere.

“This can’t be the dog you were telling us about, can it?” Bree’s mother murmured. “I mean, he’s large, I’ll grant you, but he seems like nothing but a harmless teddy bear.”

There the both of them were, beaming at Russell as if they had driven two hours east just to visit him. A dog that was evil.

Bree glared.

At the dog.

Then at the owner of the dog.

“So well-mannered,” her mother added, and Bree slammed the passenger door shut.

“Ooookay then,” Bree said, holding a cardboard box full of gift bags. The metallic tissue paper flapped at her face. “Let’s take the party inside, shall we?”

Nobody moved. Her stepfather was starting some conversation with Chip about dog training while her mother slipped over to the dog to give him a rubdown too.

“Boiled eggs? You’re kidding. Did you hear that, Ginny? He says he uses boiled eggs to get him to roll over.”