Chapter 2Rafe
Chapter 2
Rafe
T oo fucking right, I hadn’t expected all this drama. My idea had been to meet up with the Chocolate Lab’s owner, get the lay of the land, and head back to Pete’s to settle in. My old mentor had offered us a place to crash until we found our own short-term quarters.
That idea had been blasted to bits when a golden retriever took off running down the road in front of me. Good thing I’d caught up with her in time and popped my knife to make short work of the tangled leash.
What caught me off guard—and I prided myself on being ready for anything—was my reaction to the woman.
Actually, my three reactions.
First, how fast my fury about the dog’s safety had shut down— I was wrong, and this gorgeous woman is handing me my ass.
Second, how my gut had clenched— she’s the mother of the boy who’d tied Goldie to the statue.
And third, how my gut had relaxed here at the vet’s— she’s not the mother, and she’s not married to the guy arriving to claim his dog.
I needed to get a grip. Yes, there was something about Rose that yanked me right to her, with her heart-shaped face framed by that out-of-control long blonde hair. Her dark-blonde eyebrows arching over those glittering green eyes. Her plump, sculpted lips between those sweet smile lines.
But I was going to be working for her—she was going to be my boss . Their roaster Mike, who’d broken his leg in a bike-versus-car collision, would only be out of commission for a few months.
After that, I’d be on the road again, first to a gig in Boise, then on to other temp jobs I was lining up. No need to get distracted from my primary mission: get in, get the job done, get out, get on with the next.
So, yeah, I was dealing with these unexpected reactions, this attraction, these fucking sensations.
I was burying them.
The kids’ dad (and thankfully not Rose’s husband, although I tamped down that relief again) walked in the door. Goldie’s tail gave a heavy thump, thump, thump . Rose introduced me to Liam, who apologized for his son, thanked us for our help, and said he would pay for the statue—an offer she declined.
As we were heading out, I turned back to Dr. Mica, a tiny Asian-American woman who didn’t look like she could wrangle a mouse, much less a mastiff.
“My dog Princess is due for her shots soon. I’m new to the area. Would you be willing to see her?”
Rose snapped her head toward me. The biggest smile lit up her face. This time, her eyes were wide and glowing, not narrowed and glaring.
“Rafe, you have a dog? You brought your dog with you?”
I nodded. “She’s a rescue, probably four or five years old now. She chose her own name.” Maybe that was oversharing.
Dr. Mica said, “Of course, I’d be happy to see Princess. I’m assuming you have information on her vaccinations and other care?”
I paused for a beat, not ready to share my history at such short notice. “Yeah, at least for the time she’s been with me, the past three years or so.”
The vet didn’t let up. “Oh, good. Do you know her background before you got her? Sometimes a tough early life can affect health or behaviors later on.”
Made sense, so I volunteered a bit more. “She’s from Afghanistan, one of a group of camp dogs brought here by a rescue group.”
I didn’t add one of the dogs in my camp, rescued by me. Nor did I say dog rescuing is about all I’m fit for these days.