Chapter 6
Chapter Six
BARRETT
I haven’t planned what to say when I get Wren alone—I haven’t had time—but I trust that I’ll come up with something.
I know this woman better than she thinks and far better than I did three months ago.
About a week into her leave of absence, it became clear that the emptiness gnawing at my chest wasn’t going away. I realized I missed Wren, probably more than missed her, judging by how often memories of our last night together played on my mental screen. Two weeks in, with still no sign of an ease in the pain, I had to admit I was probably in love with the woman, and that I likely have been for much longer than I realized.
Since that day, I’ve made it my business to become an expert on all things Wren Marie Baxter. I’ve eavesdropped on the other nurses’ conversations, reread Wren’s chart notes on especially difficult cases, and stalked her social media feeds like a creep who lives in his mother’s basement.
I’ve seen how selflessly she supports her friends and family, how hard she works to find the light in the darkest times, and how incredibly intelligent and well-respected she is by her peers. The woman could have easily been a doctor and probably should have been, since her bedside manner is far superior to mine.
I’m a calm, kind presence in a crisis, but Wren makes people feel loved.
She’s incredible, rare, and as beautiful on the inside as she is on the outside. And she loved me—or at least had a serious crush—but I fucked it all up.
Because she certainly isn’t looking pleased to see me now.
As soon as my demand for a private audience is out, I realize how bossy and entitled I sound. My lips part on an apology, but before I can backtrack, Kyle flies at me with his wings spread and his claws scrabbling.
“Kyle, no!” Starling shouts, but the hell beast isn’t listening. “Sit!”
The turkey emits a sound somewhere between a gobble and a banshee’s scream and climbs my body like a tree. I lift my arms, shielding my face from his attack, while the bony spurs near his heels tear at my bare arms, making me regret rolling up the sleeves on my dress shirt.
“Kyle, sit down! Sit!” Wren shouts, followed by a warning from my brother for her to, “Stay back, he could take your eye out,” and a plaintive screech from Starling, begging Kyle to “Sit, buddy, please, sit! You’ve been doing so well, don’t backslide now!”
I stumble backward, blinded by feathers and my own arms, but determined to protect the others in the event the deranged gobbler decides to turn his fury their way. Once I’ve put a good amount of distance between us, I place my palm at the center of Kyle’s ample chest and push as hard as I can.
But fighting back only buys me a second to catch my breath before he’s on me again, like some kind of avenging angel.
I’m beginning to think the only way I’ll get him off me is to dive into the still-freezing lake—it’s May, so the water’s only been unfrozen for about a month, but better hypothermia than death by turkey spur—when a sound like a blender full of rocks sounds from the grass by my feet.
I glance down to see a giant rat snarling up at Kyle.
Or maybe it’s a very small, very ugly dog.
Or perhaps some unholy union of a rat and a dog with a pink, hairless tail and an overflowing mouthful of teeth that look like enough for at least three dogs, let alone this one tiny beast.
To say I don’t expect much of the new arrival is an understatement. At best, he’s an annoyance I might trip over on my way to the lake. At worst, he’s going to bite my ankle and give me rabies while Kyle is shredding every inch of flesh, he can get his claws on.
But then, something unexpected happens.
Kyle warbles in alarm and flaps his wings anxiously in the air. A beat later, he lands on the grass a few feet away and makes a beeline for Starling, a playground bully rushing to his mother after learning there are bigger, meaner toddlers on the seesaw today.
Rat Dog chases him for a bit, snarling and making that terrible blender sound that makes me suspect he might not be long for this world. Surely, no creature that sounds that much like a utensil-filled garbage disposal can be in good health.
But the beast does an excellent job of scaring Kyle into submission.
The coward leaps into Starling’s open arms and tucks his quivering wattle under her chin, warbling for comfort.
As soon as Kyle’s off the ground, Rat Dog spins and bounds back toward me. I brace myself for an attack, but the unfortunate creature only rolls onto its back by my feet, offering me its speckled pink belly and a toothy grin.
“Aw, Keanu likes you!” Starling says, adding in a softer voice to the still-trembling turkey, “I know, honey. I know the puppy scared you, but it’s your fault. If you hadn’t attacked Barrett, Keanu wouldn’t have had to step in and save the day.”
Rat Dog—Keanu, evidently—blender barks, his tongue flopping out as his bare tail begins to wag.
I crouch down, giving his belly a gentle rub. He’s so tiny that my hand completely covers his speckled undercarriage. “Thanks, Keanu. You’re a good boy.”
“Actually, he’s a terrible boy,” Christian says. “He pees in volunteers’ shoes and snarls at children and barely tolerates the people who feed him. The only reason he’s here for the fundraising flier photograph is because Kane thinks people love an ugly dog.” He glances toward where the other rescues are still kenneled by the lake. “I have no idea how he got out of his crate, but we’d better get him back in it before he scares the kids.”
My brother takes a step our way. Keanu vibrates a metallic warning low in his throat before turning back to me and starting to wag again. He swipes at my hand with his tongue and flashes his toothy grin, as if assuring me that reports of his terribleness have been greatly exaggerated.
And for some reason, I hear myself ask, “Is he up for adoption?”
“Well, yeah, I guess,” Christian says. “Or fostering until we can sort out if he’s really a dog or some kind of genetically mutated possum with anger management issues, but no one will take him. And you shouldn’t either, Barrett. He’s a menace. Even though he hates people, he also hates being left alone. You’ll come home after work to a house filled with shredded toilet paper and tiny demon dog turds everywhere and pee in your expensive shoes and you’ll lose your shit. Trust me, this isn’t the time to grow a heart and start liking animals.”
“He’s always had a heart,” Wren says, giving me hope only to crush it again as she adds, “He’s just not great at listening when it speaks.”
I glance up, holding her gaze for a beat, wondering if Christian and Starling can feel the tension swelling in the air between us.
“Fostering a dog might be just what he needs,” she continues, “to get him in touch with his softer side.”
Just like that, I know I’m going home with Rat Dog tonight. Not only do I feel a strange affection for my tiny, hideously ugly savior, but I also want to prove to Wren that I can get in touch with my softer side. I’ll never possess the easy charm of Drew or Christian or the devil-may-care attitude of my other younger brothers, Wes and Matty, but I can do better. Be better.
For her.
“I’ll foster him,” I announce. “I’ll come fill out the paperwork as soon as you’re done with the fundraising photos.”
“Speaking of, I’d better get Kyle fed and calmed down before the photographer gets here,” Starling says, bouncing the feathered bully in her arms like a baby. “He gets nervous around the dogs sometimes.”
“He should be nervous around Barrett,” Christian shoots back, adding in a higher-pitched voice aimed at the bird, “That’s right, keep it up, buddy, and you’re going to end up the star of an early Thanksgiving dinner.”
“Stop it,” Starling says, her bright green eyes, so similar to Wren’s, flashing at Christian. “He’s been really well-behaved lately. He’s learned to sit and fetch and go to his bed all on his own every night, and he hasn’t pecked or clawed anyone in ages. I think Barrett just scared him, is all.” She glances my way, adding apologetically, “You were kind of loud and intense when you walked up, Barrett. No offense.”
“None taken,” I say.
“So, what did you want to talk to me about?” Wren asks.
“Do you have a minute to speak privately?” I glance down at where Keanu is still slobbering on my hand like it’s the most delicious thing he’s ever tasted. “Or…with Keanu, I guess?” To Christian, I ask, “Why is he named Keanu?”
“His full name is Keanu Reeves,” Christian says with thinly disguised mirth. “His owner thought he was as handsome as Keanu in Point Break. At least that’s what she said when she surrendered him on her way to a long-term care facility that doesn’t allow dogs. But she needs cataract surgery so…”
“Keanu Reeves,” I grumble, frowning down at the happy monster. “What a ridiculous name.”
“Not any more ridiculous than any other,” Wren says, an edge in her tone that wasn’t there before. “I think you should keep it. And keep an open mind about things you find ridiculous. You might realize some of them aren’t ridiculous at all, they’re just different. But not in a bad way.”
Cursing myself for forgetting how much Wren hates the term “ridiculous,” especially when I use it in reference to her, I say, “Good point.”
“I make lots of good points.”
“You do,” I agree. “As a person in need of pointers, I appreciate that. And I’d appreciate your company at the benefit ball, as well, if you don’t already have a date.”
“You’re going this year? I thought you were busy, and aren’t you the guy who said the ball was a waste of fundraising money?” Christian asks, a subtle taunt in his voice.
I make a mental note to put extra hot sauce in his Bloody Mary at the next family brunch. Christian has a mild pepper allergy and right now seeing my baby brother covered, head to toe, in puffy hives sounds good.
“I can figure it out and I think it’s time I get out more.” I glare at Christian for a beat before turning back to Wren and adding in a gentler voice, “And you’re right. I should start giving ridiculous things a chance. Maybe they aren’t always as ridiculous as I think.”
“Good,” Wren says, “but unfortunately, I’ve already had an invitation to the ball. Christian asked me right before you came over.”
“Aw, that’s okay, and I just got a text that the event has been postponed by two weeks thanks to a scheduling conflict with another charity,” Christian says, proving he isn’t a complete asshole. “You two can go together. I’m sure you have a lot to catch up on after three months.”
“We can catch up at the office,” Wren says pleasantly. “I’d rather go to the ball with you. It’s been so long since I had a dance partner who could really dance.”
“Well, Christian can certainly do that,” Starling says, sounding less than thrilled about her sister’s decision. “Trinity Thompson had nothing but good things to say about that routine you did at her bachelorette party.”
“What?” Christian looks stricken. “She wasn’t supposed to tell anyone about that. That was a favor, a one-time thing for a friend in need.”
Starling smirks at him over Kyle’s head. “Nothing’s a one-time thing once it’s on social media. The internet is forever, Mr. Banana Hammock. See you guys later. And see you at home, Wren. I’ll be back no later than five. I’m cooking you a big welcome home dinner. I bought all the stuff for that spring pea and mint pasta you like.”
“Thanks, babes,” Wren says as Starling starts down the hill toward the kennels.
Christian mumbles, “Excuse me, but I need to ask her a few follow-up questions about bananas. And hammocks. I’ll touch base with you soon about ball plans, Wren. Excited to spend some time with you.”
“Me, too,” Wren replies, making my head feel like it’s about to explode as Keanu licks my hand with renewed vigor.
I know some people say dogs can sense when their people are upset.
If so, Rat Dog is going to be working overtime to soothe my savaged soul.
“I’ll see you at work tomorrow?” Wren asks when we’re alone. “Assuming I’m not fired for going on extended leave without asking permission?”
“You’re not fired,” I rumble.
“Good,” she says. “I’m looking forward to getting back to work. I’ve missed the other nurses and our patients and all those sweet new babies. Should I call Kinsey and let her know I’ll be stepping back in as head nurse again? Or would you rather take care of that?”
“I’ll take care of it,” I say. “But let’s hold on the transition until next week. We only have three days in the office this week. We’re taking a long weekend to attend a conference on collaborative care.”
Wren’s brows shoot up. “The one I wanted to go to last year that you said wouldn’t help us much, anyway, since we already worked so well as a team?”
“Since you’ve been gone, I’ve seen that there’s possibly room for improvement when it comes to communication between myself and the rest of the staff,” I say. “And it’s in Excelsior this year, near Minneapolis, so we’ll be able to get there in a couple hours’ drive. You’re welcome to attend if you don’t already have plans for the weekend.”
“I’d love to,” she says, before adding in a more guarded tone, “but you’re right, I should check my calendar. I can let you know by Tuesday. Does that work?”
“That’s fine,” I say, but nothing is fine.
Not the fact that Wren’s going to the ball with my brother or that Kyle will be the one sleeping over at her house tonight.
And the fact that I leave the park an hour later with Keanu Reeves in a kennel? That’s really not fine, a fact Keanu proves by peeing in my shoes as soon as I take them off inside the door.
“Fuck,” I say, as the tiny monster finishes his business and bounces away to inspect his new domain.
Nothing is going the way I hoped, and I only have three weeks to turn them around before Wren is at the ball with Christian, falling under his blue-eyed, tattooed, bad-boy-who-owns-a-bike-repair-shop-but-also-loves-and-nurtures-animals spell.
I’ll have to do some serious thinking and perhaps call for backup.
But first, I have to lock every pair of yet-to-be-soiled shoes in my closet where Keanu Reeves can’t find them.