Chapter 3 #2
When she fanned her face, licking her lips with an exaggerated gesture, I relaxed enough to manage a deep breath.
I’d been burned with people pretending to be my friend.
I couldn’t care less about bothering to garner a friendship at this point in my life.
I didn’t need anyone. But at least she didn’t seem to have a clue I’d been labeled a monster.
“Wow,” she breathed. “I mean… How can I help you?” Even the tone of her voice had dropped close to an octave. She laughed even as her face reddened. “I’m Roxie, owner of this fine and intensely fun place. Holden was my dad. He started the company over forty years ago.”
With my eyes narrowed, I continued staring at her.
“I’m sorry. A very bad habit of mine. My friends are always telling me not to undress a man before at least carrying on a decent conversation first. Now, what do you need?”
Her flirtatious behavior brought a smirk but nothing else, which didn’t seem to snuff out her fire.
“I found a dog in the middle of the road. Starving to death. I need some nutritious food, good quality but doesn’t break the bank. And a collar. Leash. Toys.”
“Oh, a dog. That’s mighty nice of you to take care of the poor little thing.” She moved closer. The woman had to be in her late fifties, yet she didn’t hesitate to bat her long eyelashes at me.
When she was only a few inches away, she pressed her hand against her mouth, her gaze falling to my scuffed boots.
“Mmm…” she muttered.
“Which aisle should I start with?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I was just trying to figure out what I wanted for dinner. Aisle four. Try the Farmer’s Dog food, honey. That won’t bite ya too much in the ass.”
“Thank you.” As I headed in that direction, I heard her harsh whisper.
“Course I wouldn’t mind biting you in the ass.”
With an amused huff, I headed to aisle four, finding the brand she was talking about.
Beef? Maybe. Lamb and Rice? Salmon? Oh, fuck me.
I had no clue. From what I could tell, Sailor was pretty young and like all growing boys, he needed meat.
That’s what I picked. After finding a bag of reasonably priced dog treats, I wandered the store in search of a decent collar.
The jingle of the bell over the door drew my attention a couple of minutes later.
Roxie squealed almost immediately and had it not been for the melodic jazz music coming from unseen speakers, her shrill voice would have caused echoes.
I tried not to pay attention, but another female voice managed to pull me away from my scrutiny of collars.
“I’m sorry there’s only one, Roxie. I’ve just been so busy. Trying to establish the clinic. Working on the ranch. All too much.”
“Oh, girl. I am over the moon,” Roxie told her. “You need to have your own art show.”
“Ha! I don’t think so.”
The melodic tone of the woman’s voice caused something troublesome, my cock turning stiff as a rock. When the fuck had that occurred just from a woman’s voice?
I moved to the end of the aisle, peering around the corner. While my luck with women had been shit my entire life, that didn’t mean I couldn’t appreciate a creation of beauty when I was lucky enough to be graced with such a stunning work of art.
While I was no poet, the woman with the honey-blonde hair kissed by the sun whose smile could light up a room darkened by death brought out words of artistry.
If not ones of filthy desire.
Stark, extremely filthy images of her voluptuous, naked body writhing under mine ravaged my mind. In the dirty fantasy, I could hear her soft, vibrant moans just before she screamed my name. Damn, my balls were tight.
She was young, in her middle twenties with a chiseled bone structure and long legs accentuated by a pair of jeans that had seen better days. Much like the ones I was wearing. With Roxie holding a canvas in her hand, the unknown beauty was nervously raking an unseen strand of hair behind her ear.
The silent cry of embarrassment dragged me from my hiding place and further into the open. Maybe she’d sensed movement since she looked in my direction but wasn’t truly focusing. That’s when I realized she was staring at the pictures on the walls as I’d done before.
She was the artist. A painter.
“Oh, Grace. This is incredible. Your best one yet. I cannot wait to add to my collection. Don’t worry about the second painting. It’ll be worth the wait.” Roxie was flustered with her excitement.
It had been a long time since I’d been this attracted to a woman, let alone enough to hide behind a display of stuffed dog toys. But that’s what I was doing, studying and memorizing every inch of her exquisite face like a trained stalker would do.
Grace.
While her name was lovely, the classical, almost religious connotation didn’t match the dirty thoughts that had chained themselves to my brain.
“Let me get you a check,” Roxie continued.
“Thanks, Roxie. Do you mind if I put up a flyer on your bulletin board about the clinic tomorrow? I’ve been so busy, I forget all about it.”
“Help yourself, honey.”
Clinic. Whatever she was advertising piqued my curiosity.
With a mental push, I continued my shopping. By the time I did, Grace was just heading out the door.
I quickly glanced at the new picture where Roxie had placed it against the wall, which she continued admiring until I moved toward the register. Then all eyes were on me, Roxie’s lips pursed.
Saying nothing while the items were rung up, I noticed Sailor was at the passenger window of the truck, pawing the partially cracked glass.
The bright exterior light presented a scene closely resembling The Exorcist. Grace moved closer to my vehicle, her face pinched, obviously angry with the dumbass who’d left him in the car on a hot summer night.
Her shoulders tensed. Her breath was sucked in. Her fists clenched. And she snapped her head in the direction of the store. And I’d be damned if through the thick glass she didn’t lock eyes with mine.
Two seconds later she was back inside the store, just about foaming at the mouth.
After a quick scan of the store, her eyes settled on me just like they’d done before, now satisfied I was the horrible person.
If she’d had a spear in her hand, she’d be inclined to drive the sharp point straight into my gut.
Or my heart.
With two steps, she was suddenly right in front of me. “Are you the asshole who left a dog inside the truck without leaving it running? Huh? Are you?”
Between her caustic tone and the wildfire of light in her eyes, I could almost find amusement in the situation.
However, I’d been through too much shit in my life to warrant finding humor in almost anything.
Yet before I could find a series of biting words to counter her heavy-handed accusation, she launched into me again.
Her hands on her hips.
Her eyes burning holes into my retinas.
Her nose wrinkled.
Her eyes were what captured and held my attention. The color of green gems set in soft sand, her smoky gaze clenching tightly a depth that felt both inviting and distant.
Yet on this night, they held a hint of rage with a full scope of despair that I sensed she tried desperately to hide.
Especially from unwanted, unneeded strangers who’d evoked such intense emotion.
“Did you know that a dog could suffer a heat stroke or even die within six to eight minutes of being locked inside a hot car? Did you? My guess is you’re one of those men who barely thinks about anything but hunting and gathering your food at night while guzzling back a six-pack.
Well, consider this my first and only warning.
Next time, I’ll break your window. With joy in my heart. ”
“Gracie, honey. He just found the dog on the side of the road and popped in so he could purchase some dog food for him and a collar and leash.” Roxie’s voice held more of a motherly chastising voice than before.
Grace was immediately flustered, jerking up and glancing toward the woman. I was gifted with the same nervous tic of almost ripping her hair behind her ear. Without looking at me, she continued her barrage. “Well, that’s fine, but consider yourself warned. Don’t do it again.”
Turning on her heel, she stormed toward the door and was gone in a flash.
Roxie chuckled. “Don’t mind her. She’s usually much nicer. Unless you piss her off. Grace has been through a lot lately with losing her parents. She cares about animals more than she does manners. And I don’t blame her one bit.”
“Evidently more than people.”
“You are so right. I could tell you stories about every one of my ex-husbands that would curl your pubic hair.” Her smile was lascivious. “Although my guess is yours is already soft and nicely curled.”
“She needs to stop assuming. Not everything and everyone fits into a neat package.” When she didn’t say anything for a few seconds, I shot her a guarded look.
“If you knew her story, you’d understand. That’ll be seventy-five twenty-two, honey.” Maybe Roxie sensed I was in no mood to play games.
It was seventy-five dollars I didn’t have, but Sailor was worth it if for no other reason than to keep the loneliness away. As I pulled out the dollar bills, I mentally counted what I had left. Maybe I could stretch it into a couple of nights at a motel.
If I was lucky.
With the items in my arms, I headed to the door, stopping long enough to see what Grace had posted on the bulletin board. A free veterinarian clinic at the Farmer’s Market. I memorized the address. “Is this for real?”
Roxie remained behind the counter. “Absolutely. Gracie holds one every Saturday from nine until one.”
“I thought she was a painter.”
“Oh, heavens no. I mean yes, she is, but she’d a licensed veterinarian. Thank God since two of our local vets recently retired. She’s a godsend.”
Nodding, I kept the idea in the back of my mind as I headed to the truck, Sailor happy to see me.
When I slipped inside the cab, he was all over me, offering sloppy kisses while his backside wiggled. Other than finding a place to stay for a couple of nights, all I could think about was the woman who’d accosted me with full intentions of hating me.
At least for the first time in over two years, I felt like a man because I hadn’t lost my touch.
I could still drive a woman batshit crazy.