36. Tee
Tee
The next day
“ W hat are you doing?”
“What do you think, Callan?”
“I don’t know. Cody’s not here.”
I sniff. “Why would that matter?”
“I saw you on the porch swing with him yesterday. What’s going on with you?”
“Nothing.”
“You were crying.”
“Allergies.”
“Ha! You do know how smart I am, right?”
“Not as smart as me.” I glower at him. “If you’re going to be annoying, then go away. Otherwise, you can wait with me.”
All night, I’ve been thinking about Cody’s letter, and it took all my courage to slip mine under his door.
I doubt I’ll ever look at a spoon the same again, so it’s good to smile. Better to think about how this kid is still a kid because of his brother.
“I’m excited,” he admits unnecessarily because he’s bouncing as he kneels on the window seat beside me.
“Me too.”
“But we shouldn’t wait in here.”
“Why not?”
“This is Mum’s room.”
“It’s a sitting room.”
“It’s her solarium.”
“It has the best view of the driveway.”
“It’s still her space.”
I huff. “No one ever told me.”
“I’m telling you now.”
“So, what? I’m not allowed in unless she’s here too?”
He hitches a shoulder. “Typically.”
“You never used it when she was away?”
“Of course not. That’d be wrong.”
“This makes no sense.”
“Doesn’t matter if it does or not. It’s how we roll. Are we on for tonight?”
I let him change the subject because his logic isn’t logicking. “Bet your ass we are.”
“I’ve been practicing,” he warns. “I’m going to whoop your ass.”
I hold my hands aloft and make a show of cracking my knuckles. “Bring it. Zee said she’s making her special sweet n’ salty popcorn for us too.”
“For someone who limits her carb intake, she sure uses a lot in her cooking.”
I grin. “She shows love through food.”
“Huh.”
At his perplexed frown, I ask, “What’s wrong?”
“She barely cooks for Colton. I know she loves him.”
“She loves me more,” I preen, smirking when he scowls at me, but I concede, “It’s a different kind of love.”
“Because you don’t sleep together?”
Amused, I nod. “That and we have an unusual dynamic.”
“What type of dynamic?”
“We look after each other. It’s a habit. She feeds me; I make sure her blood sugar is under control. I think it started out as her paying me in food to keep me around, but she didn’t realize I wasn’t going anywhere. I know a good thing when I see it, and she’s the best person in the universe.”
“There’s no way to measure that.”
“Like you need a calculator to know that Colton’s the best person in the universe for you.”
His grimace is a concession in and of itself. A part of me wonders if he’ll ever find out what Cody did for him—how he spared him from Clyde—but I know that will never come out.
Cody only told me because he’s trying to make up for Dear Johning me.
That’s how it should be, I guess.
“I’ll rock your universe tonight,” he taunts. “How about that?”
Before I can scoff out a laugh, Cody’s deep, low voice rumbles, “That had better be a euphemism, Callan.”
“No,” he disagrees. “I need to show Tee my skills.”
Hearing the innuendo the kid’s unknowingly spewing, I croon, “You got mad skillz, Baby Cowboy.”
“No one ends words in ‘Z’ anymore.”
I glance at Cody. See the warmth in his expression. The welter of feelings that tell me he read my letter.
“You’re killing my buzz, Callan,” I chide, though it’s a lie. (There’s no killing this buzz.) Because Cody’s looking at me that way. Like he wants to hug me. Like he doesn’t want to let me go. And finally, after waiting all night, I can breathe again. “There, another word ending in ‘Z.’”
“Yes, but that’s supposed to.” He rubs his forehead. “Why do I always get a headache when I talk to you?”
“That’s another of my mad skills,” I retort before, with a squeal, I jump up at the sight of the van barreling down the driveway.
When I dash out of the room, I swear to hell that Cody is nowhere near my path.
And yet, from zero chance of collision to 100% code-red alert, he’s there and I don’t have a chance in hell of avoiding him.
Because my boobs act as a buffer, I pretty much bounce off him. “What the hell? You were standing over there!”
Cody arches a brow. “I’ve been by the door the whole time, haven’t I, Callan?”
“Uh-huh,” Callan replies, but when I turn to look at him, I can see he has his hands pressed to the glass as he watches the van approaching the ranch, so he’s no use as a witness.
“I thought you were out,” I grouse.
“No. I was on the phone. Bast says Elena can see us tomorrow.”
“She’s feeling better?”
He nods.
“That’s tomorrow’s problem.” Bouncing on my toes, I screech, “Callan, come on. We need to go.” I beckon him onward, spying and ignoring Cody’s confusion.
He, after all, doesn’t know what the van contains.
Leading the way to the veranda where a special truck has pulled up, I clap in delight. The driver must have turned around to make it easier when leaving because as soon as I cross the doorway, I can see straight into the back, and there are kennels for transporting?—
“What the fuck?” Cody’s declaration has me smirking.
Ignoring him, I rush over to grab the driver’s hand so I can shake it. “Thank you so much for bringing them home!”
“Um, y-you’re welcome,” he stutters as I keep on shaking.
“Home?” Cody drawls, closer than I expected. Fingers cup my shoulder, making a shiver trickle down my spine. “You can let go of his hand now, Tee.”
Cody must have central heating in his palms because it sinks straight through the bone and warms me up from the inside out. I want nothing more than to step into him, have his arms tighten around me?—
The back door of the van slams to a close.
“What are you doing?” I complain.
“They’re driving over to our paddock,” Cody murmurs in my ear.
“Why?”
“Apparently, they’re all ours?”
“It was supposed to be a surprise.”
“I think we can agree it’s that.” Amusement flitters over his features. “Surprise a minute whenever you’re around, Tee.”
“Is that a complaint?”
“I’m never bored.”
Throat bobbing, I mutter, “I live to entertain.”
His hand moves from my shoulder and trails down my arm. When his fingers toy with mine, I blink up at him until he rasps, “I’m prepared, Tee. I’ll fight for this final chance.”
Relief and hope flutter inside me so, of course, I tease, “You haven’t seen the dog we picked for you yet.”
“Callan said there’s a dog for each of us. I thought he was building a haven, not turning the ranch house into one.”
“When did he say that?”
“Just now.” He arches a brow at me. “You okay?”
“Is it possible to have cold turkey for touch?”
“Huh?”
“Never mind,” I mumble, studying his fingers which are entwined with mine.
Those fingertips worked magic on my body. I know I shouldn’t be thinking about that, but he’s so fucking hot that I want him to play me like the piano.
I bet my moans would create a score.
The chords light up my brain, making me twitch with the need for my notepad and pencil.
On the brink of seeking out both items, a yap from the van draws me back to the situation at hand.
“Why are they taking the dogs to the paddock?”
“It’ll be easier to let them loose in there without fear of them running off.”
God, he’s standing so close.
“He is building a haven,” I mumble, well aware that I’m really bad at keeping this conversation linear. “But that doesn’t help now so we’re fostering them.”
He scoffs. “You’re not the type to foster.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You don’t foster; you adopt,” he drawls, taking the wind from my sails. “It’s not in your nature to discard something.”
I huff at his accurate take. “I’ve always wanted one, but my mom says they’re dirty so we weren’t allowed any when I was growing up. Then, in New York, our landlord didn’t permit them in the apartment.”
“I remember. So, here’s your chance.” He hums his understanding. E2. So deep. Yum. I bet if he did that when he was sucking on my clit— “Does anyone else know they’re about to be adopting a dog, or did you think that surprising them would be the best idea?”
“Callan and I agreed that an ambush was the best option?—”
“Of course you did. I swear the pair of you are too clever for your own good but dumb in the ways of life. You know the others might not want a dog?”
“If they don’t, Callan and I agreed?—”
“I’m beginning to fear those words.”
“Which words?”
“‘Callan and I.’ But keep going. What did you agree on?”
“That if anyone didn’t actually want a beautiful fur baby who desperately needs a home and has nobody to love them—” I don’t even falter when he rolls his eyes. “—then we’d look after them and adopt them once the haven was fully established.”
He purses his lips. “This is what all those questions were about in the letters, wasn’t it? ‘How important is loyalty to you?’ ‘Are you disciplined?’”
I chirp, “Of course.”
“Who answers with a ‘1’?” He barks out a laugh. “You weren’t as stealthy as you thought anyway. Colt thinks Callan is a germaphobe.”
“Huh?”
“Never mind. Mum doesn’t like dogs, so you might have to take care of hers and Mrs. Abelman’s…”
“Callan told me. But there was a fifteen-year-old pomsky that he picked for her. So, we’ll see if they vibe or not.”
“This has disaster waiting to happen written all over it,” he warns.
“That’s how I live my life,” I return, beaming a smile his way.
When his eyes widen, I take it as a win because at least he shuts up. Until… “It feels like a lifetime since I saw that smile.” His fingers hover by my jaw. “Like the sun hitting your face after polar night.”
Though I gasp, Callan shatters the moment by hollering, “TEE! Where are you?!”
Seeing as this is our mutual plan, one we’ve been crafting for ages, I can’t dump him now.
Though I want to kiss every inch of Cody’s face (and sit on it), I grab a hold of his arm and haul him with me to the paddock, where Callan’s bouncing on his heels.
There, the driver and his assistant are carefully removing each dog from their cage.
Callan’s joy is so effervescent as he’s gifted leashes that he puts on the medium-sized dogs then hooks onto one of the newel posts.
With every bark, every yip, every instance a dog licks his face, he lights up brighter than a Christmas tree.
Knowing the many sacrifices his older brothers have made for Callan, I can’t imagine Colt and Cody doing anything to wreck that joy.
As expected, Cody just heaves a weary sigh as he leans against the fencing.
The driver’s more careful with the next lot and takes over binding the larger ones to the posts himself.
“You won’t be able to abandon the little man we picked for you,” I tell him, pointing to the German Shepherd. “He’ll stalk you and keep you in line.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” he rumbles, his arm shifting so that he can curve it around my shoulders.
I know that I should shrug it off, but the only person who’d suffer is me. Instead, I snipe, “This is a way of proving that. He’s a K-9 reject and the guy who adopted him had a heart attack last month.”
“Why was he rejected from the program?”
“He doesn’t like smooth and shiny floors, but he should be fine here seeing as nothing about Pigeon County is smooth.”
He doesn’t comment, but I can tell he won’t reject the dog—I don’t even question it.
“Which did you want for yourself?”
The miniature greyhound barks as he’s finally let out of his cage. “That one,” I warble, standing on tiptoe to get a better look. “What if he doesn’t like me?”
“Of course he will.”
“You don’t know that.”
“See those scars on his side?” the driver points out as one of his assistants ties the pup to a post. “He’s used to scum. If you’re quiet around him and gentle in your handling, he’ll fall for you, but you need to be patient.”
“I’m not known for my patience,” I admit.
Cody tuts. “That’s a lie. There’s no way someone could play as many instruments as you do if you weren’t patient?—”
“That’s exactly why I play so many, though,” I confess, more anxiety plaguing me. “They’re easy for me. I don’t have to work hard. It’s instinct. I was lazy taking it up as a career because I didn’t have to think much.” Then, because he told me his secret, I tell him one of my own. “I-I’ve never wanted something like I have this though.”
“Then you should go and introduce yourself.”
When his hand slots into mine, I let him tug me over to the pooch that’s shivering like it’s negative ten out here.
Instead of approaching us, the mini greyhound backs off, so Cody moves us aside and helps me over the fence. When he’s joined me, he leads me on a roundabout path to my dog, completely ignoring his own for my sake, and, keeping his voice gentle, instructs, “Get on your knees.”
I stumble into a kneeling position and wait for his next order.
“Lay your hands in your lap,” he murmurs as he lets go of his hold on me. “Wait—did you bring treats with you?”
Nodding, I pluck the bag out of my jacket pocket, relieved I was prepared.
The crinkling of the wrapper draws the pack’s attention and has them either cautiously approaching me or straining at their leashes. The pomsky is one of the few close enough to bound forward, feet stomping on my knee to get nearer to the bag.
Chuckling, I pass her one after I’ve ripped open the packet. Only her toothless state keeps my finger intact when she snatches it then scampers off to eat it.
“Hold out your hand and place the treats on your palm in the future,” Cody directs, wryly tacking on, “The rest have teeth.”
Unable to tease the others, I get off the ground and move around the paddock to pass out the treats.
Brogan, the German Shepherd, seems to recognize who he was assigned to without Callan or I doing anything. One second, he’s eyeing us up, the next he’s nosing at Cody, who joins me in handing out treats, and accepting a couple pets from him. Brogan even hovers by his side like I wanted my miniature greyhound to, barking when Cody moves away.
The only disinterested ones are the two Callan and I earmarked for ourselves—the miniature greyhound and the mutt that’s half-rug, half-fluff—both of whom stay close to their part of the fence.
“Do I smell bad to him?” I whisper once I make it back around to mine.
“Your anxiety is putting him on edge,” is Cody’s answer. “Look how he’s shaking. He’s nervous enough for the two of you. So relax and he’ll nose his way over to you because he’ll want a treat too.”
It’s almost reassuring that the mutt Callan picked keeps on trying to bite him.
I know, I know, I’m a bitch.
But in the following ten minutes, it’s clear to me that Cody’s really good with dogs and Callan and I aren’t when the pack approaches him as, gradually, they’re let off their leashes, while avoiding Callan and me like we have pooch plague.
When Cody scratches behind Brogan’s ears after the German Shepherd nuzzles his head on Cody’s knee, I declare, “I think I’d make a good doggy matchmaker.”
“Hey. I helped pick too,” Callan grumbles, hopping over to us with his dog hanging onto the hem of his jeans.
“Maybe you’re better at picking matches for others than for yourselves,” Cody points out dryly. “Though, I’m not going to lie, that Bernese mountain dog and Colt are going to be a perfect union.”
“They’re both BFGs with bite,” Callan says with a laugh.
The dog is 85% floof.
“Zee’s going to kill me if she expects to sleep on their bed,” I muse, taking in the furry Goliath.
Cody snorts. “Colton won’t let that happen. She’ll need a super king to herself and probably eats more than all the other dogs combined.”
“You might be right. Her old owners had a farm, but they went bankrupt and couldn’t afford to feed her anymore.”
He grimaces. “That’s sad.”
“I figured a billionaire would be able to keep her belly full, and the haven assured us that she was good around cows and horses.”
“There’s a difference between dairy cows and steers.”
“Callan said it’d be fine.”
Cody hoots loud enough to stir Brogan, but because he’s some kind of dog whisperer, Brogan just nudges his new owner’s hand for another stroke. “Because he knows so much about the ranch.”
“Hey! I resent that.”
“You’re into admin, dude. Simmer down.” Cody rolls his eyes. “What was the logic behind the Bichon Frisé for Zee?”
I hide a smug smile. “She’s an ex-service dog. Her old owner had diabetes but she died. They wanted to retire her because she’s getting up there in age, but there’s life in the old girl yet.”
Said ‘old girl’ is currently pissing around the paddock like her scent is Chanel and the whole space needs to smell like a perfume shop.
“Seems to me that she has a lot of life left in her.”
“She does!” I agree happily.
“What about the… Is that a beagle? Who’s that for?”
“Beagle and poodle cross. Mrs. Abelman is a busy person. What better than a mix of two hunting dogs! She’ll bustle around and have a buddy with her.”
“You put a lot of thought into this.”
“We developed an Excel spreadsheet about dog breeds,” Callan calls out as he runs past us to escape his dog. “Cross-sectioned them with your personality types according to Briggs-Myers testing.”
“We made many assumptions about you all as human beings,” I drop in. “But we asked as many questions as we could.”
“You two are sneaks. You’d belong in the CSIS if you weren’t so averse to following orders.”
“Wait until I tell Zee you think I’d make a good spy.”
“Don’t look now,” Cody rumbles, “but your dog’s edging closer. Place the treat on the ground and let him come take it.”
“But I want to hug him,” I whine, desperately wanting to peer at the mini greyhound despite Cody telling me not to. “He needs to know he’s loved.”
“You’ll scare him. Trust me, Tee. I wouldn’t steer you wrong.”
My throat bobs as his promise threads through the words.
So, I drop a treat on the ground and trust in the Cody I’ve come to know since moving back home…