Hank knew that was standard for the breed. “You have no idea who she might belong to?”

Kurt shook his head. “My staff and I all asked around. Got nothing. And…” he paused to use the transponder wand that would have detected surgically implanted information beneath the skin “…unfortunately, she’s not outfitted with a microchip that would reveal her identity.”

“Bummer,” Hank said with a frown. Kurt put the portable transponder away, too. “I can tell you that Duchess is definitely purebred. Show quality. On her own, she’d be worth a pretty penny. If those puppies are purebred, too, the whole litter could easily be worth twenty thousand dollars or more. So if that is the case, someone will definitely be looking for her.” He stood and shrugged on his yellow rain slicker. “The real question is, how is Ally Garrett taking this? She still as standoffish as I recall her being when we were all in school?”

“Probably more so.” Hank slipped on a long black duster.

“A shame,” Kurt remarked. Together, they headed out to his covered pickup truck to get the rest of the gear. “She was one good-looking woman.” He reached inside the passenger compartment and brought out a whelping kit with printed instructions, and a warming box, handing both to Kurt. Then he picked up a bag of prenatal dog food and two stainless steel bowls. “And since you’re in the market for a good-looking woman…” he teased, as they carried their loads back up to the porch and set them inside the front door.

Hank held up a silencing palm. “Just because you are happily married now, cuz-” He turned his back to the cold, driving rain blowing across the wraparound porch.

Kurt grinned even as water collected on the brim of his hat. “Paige and the triplets changed my life.”

“Yeah, well,” Hank muttered, “save the Hallmark card for later, will you?”

“Can’t help it, buddy.” Abruptly, Kurt sobered. “I remember how happy you were with Jo-anne, before-”