Chapter 11
Jude
My bones crack in protest at the alarm screaming early Monday morning. I pull my groggy ass from the twisted bedsheets. Only once I’m upright do I slam my hand down to shut the ungodly noise off.
At the empty bed beside me, I huff.
My palm chases away some of the grit in my tired eyes.
Somehow, I’ll have to extract Ashe from Frankie’s room without waking her up. The last thing I need is for her to discover me while I’m retrieving my dog like some fucking creep. I know it’s technically supposed to be her first day at the Sanctuary, but she can sleep as long as she needs. There are plenty of tasks to complete after the sun rises.
But if she insists on catering to my dog’s preferences, she’ll swiftly learn we are sticklers for our routine. When you have to feed fifteen dogs, things can get a little noisy if you’re late to serving breakfast.
This past week was an exception. One I don’t want Ashe, or any of the pups, getting used to.
I file away the topic. Frankie and I can revisit my expectations when I bring her some breakfast once the sun is up.
I change from my sleep clothes into a pair of well-worn jeans and a long-sleeved black Henley before donning a pair of thick, warm socks. It’s not unusual for my morning to be spent outside, and it’s still cold as fuck in Minnesota.
I stumble into the en suite to complete my morning tasks. After my hair is combed, both on my head and my beard, my teeth are brushed. A spritz of cologne finishes the routine, and I make my way into the dark hall.
The smell of something cooking drags me down the stairs.
I pause on the landing.
One. Two. Three—fuck it.
“What in the hell are you doing?”
I cross into the brightly lit kitchen with a scowl twisting my face.
“Holy crap!” Frankie jumps, dropping a greasy spatula from her hand. The utensil clatters at her feet. She hastily bends to pick it up and rises with a scowl to match mine. “You didn’t have to sneak up on me like that.”
Her words bounce right off me. I’m too busy studying her appearance to reply. The messily twisted knot of hair on top her head looks both wild and stylish. As does the oversized tee, my tee, she wears hanging off one shoulder. The pair of blue jeans she wears hugs her tightly in all the right places.
The only thing out of place is the purple plaster cast on her right arm.
I lick my lips. I suppose I should be grateful her outfit is one appropriate for the work we do around here.
“What are you doing?” I ask again, eyeing the pans sizzling on my stovetop.
“What does it look like? I’m making breakfast.”
“It’s six o’clock.”
“And?”
“And? It’s fucking early.”
“I like to be on time for my first day of work.”
“When I said you were working for me, I didn’t mean you had to start first thing in the morning.”
Frankie turns her back on me to fiddle around with the stove. When she turns back, she holds out a steaming mug of coffee.
And it’s in my favorite cup.
She extends the beverage to me. “Why not? You start first thing in the morning, don’t you?”
I take the peace offering with a grunt.
“I make you breakfast,” I grumble around the rim, not giving that first shit when the liquid burns my tongue.
“Exactly.” Plates clank loudly together as Frankie sets them beside the stove. Apparently, she’s already been up long enough to investigate my kitchen cabinets.
I wonder if she found the secret snack stash.
“You cooked for me every day last week. It’s only right if I pull my fair share.”
“No.”
She releases a frustrated grunt. “Yes.”
“I didn”t ask you to stay here so that you could cook for me.”
“And when I agreed to stay here, I wasn”t asking for you to wait on me hand and foot,” she fires back.
A warmth pools in my stomach, and a muscle clenches in my jaw.
The sight of a woman, any woman, standing in my kitchen first thing in the morning cooking me breakfast is unfamiliar, one that”s not entirely welcome.
I don”t know what to do with the situation I’ve found myself in.
What I do know is that I don”t want to fight with her.
Not this morning, not any fucking morning.
I enjoy my peace and quiet, and this isn”t it.
With that thought, I drain my hot cup and loudly deposit it on the counter.
“Here.” She turns around with a full plate in her hands. “Eat some breakfast. It”s the least I can do.”
“I”m not hungry,” I mutter and stride from the room, jogging down the steps to find my pack of dogs.
The following morning,the smell of bacon cooking wakes me up.
You have got to be fucking kidding me.
I throw the covers off angrily. My feet hit the cold floor, and I”m out of bed in a flash. Without bothering to change, I jog down the steps, pausing at the bottom as a litany of numbers races through my head. My fingers curl into tight fists at the surge of adrenaline coaxing my heart into fight or flight.
“What are you doing?” I growl at the petite woman standing in my kitchen, her back to me, spatula in her hand much the same as yesterday.
I”m surprised at the rumble in my voice she doesn”t drop it again.
“What does it look like I”m doing?” she answers without turning around.
“Didn”t I tell you yesterday I don”t want you cooking for me?”
“Yep.” She still doesn’t bother to turn around and face me.
I cross my arms over the cotton stretched over my chest and scratch the stubble on my left cheek with my thumb. My fingers tingle. A sign the compulsion hasn’t yet left. “And is there a reason you didn”t listen?”
Her slim shoulder encased in my navy tee rises before dropping. “I didn”t feel like it.”
I ignore what the sight of her in my clothing does to me and focus on her words instead.
“If this is the game we”re playing now, we need to put an end to it.”
That finally gets her to turn around. The combination of curiosity and concern on her face makes me wish she didn’t. Not if she’s going to study me with fucking pity.
“I don”t know what you”re talking about. This isn”t a game. I need to eat and so do you and somebody has to make breakfast.”
The logic in her statement continues to piss me off.
“And I told you that I”ll take care of it myself.”
“Fine,” she says through gritted teeth. The spatula clatters to the counter. “There”s a pot of coffee made unless you don”t want to touch that too because I pressed the brew button before you got a chance.”
She has me with that one, and she knows it because what monster would empty a fresh pot of coffee just to make one for themselves?
Without another word, I cross my kitchen, careful not to come too close to where she stands at my stove.
I pull out my favorite mug, clean from the dishwasher, and pour myself a cup of hot black coffee.
“Meet me at the intake building in half an hour,” I say and head to the lower level to release my dogs.
She might be fucking with my routine.
But I”m going to stick to it as best as I can while she”s here.
When she joinsme half an hour later my mood has cooled considerably. I”m still annoyed at this breakfast game we”re playing. That, and the fact that I’m stubborn so I”m starving.
But I”m over our little morning spat.
I can hear her coming even though I”m inside. The black Wellingtons on her feet make sneaking around impossible. She clomps up to the door, and she pokes her head in.
“Are you in here, Jude?”
I want to hit myself at the thread of timidness in her voice.
“Come on in,” I call back, working to keep my tone neutral.
The trepidation on her face melts away as she spots the kennel I”m kneeling in front of.
“You have puppies!”
“They came in late last night.”
She was in the house, of course, but when Jack stopped by late, I didn”t bother to wake her up. She might be my newest employee, but she doesn”t need to help with all aspects of the Sanctuary.
She”s only on the clock for about six hours a day.
Any more than that doesn”t feel right to me.
“You should have told me,” she squeals.
Despite the fact I”ve been nothing but a grumpy bastard, she scoots right up beside me so close that our shoulders brush. So close that I can hear her sharp intake of breath.
I try not to inhale her pleasant scent, but it’s impossible with her proximity. Whatever shampoo or lotion my sisters picked out for her is really fucking nice.
“I always wanted a dog,” she says quietly, her tone different from the excited one of a few moments ago.
It”s softer, reflective, and a little bit confusing.
I don”t say anything. Not because I don”t want her to continue but the opposite. I want her to give me this piece of information unprompted.
I want her to share.
I want to hear her talk about herself.
My patience pays off as she releases a deep breath.
“My parents could never afford one.” She laughs without humor. “They could barely afford me.”
Pain lances my gut at her brittle confession. Memories fight to the surface, but I push them away. I remember distinctly what that’s like to live a childhood filled with survival rather than security.
“I remember one time…” She pauses almost as if she doesn”t want to admit what she”s telling me, but then she goes on.
“One time, a dog followed me home from school. It was an adorable pug, round and fat with a squishy face. I wanted that dog so bad.”
“Why didn”t you keep it?” I ask when the silence becomes too much.
The puppy in my lap squeaks, drawing her attention there. I can nearly feel her eyes caressing my fingers as she watches me stroke the pup’s fur.
“Because it didn”t actually follow me home from school. I kind of stole it.”
I can”t help the chuckle that slips free.
“Are you telling me you”ve been a klepto since you were a kid?”
She sighs and bumps her shoulder into mine.
“I didn”t steal it, steal it,” she says. “When I walked by its house, the dog was off its leash, and it started to follow me. We walked together a couple of houses down the street and then it stopped. And instead of letting it just turn around and go back home, I called it to me.”
“So you didn”t technically steal it?” I ask.
“No, I didn”t steal it. I merely encouraged it to find a new home.” She strokes her fingers over the fawn-colored hound mix near her lap. “I was only ten, okay? The owners got their dog back.”
”How did you manage that?”
“He was wearing a collar. When my dad said no to keeping him, I had to call the owners and tell them I found their lost dog.”
At that, I can”t hold it back anymore.
I burst out laughing.
Full belly rumble.
It isn”t until I catch her eyes as she watches me slack-jawed that I realize what I”m doing, and I abruptly stop.
“What?” I say, harsher than intended as the familiar discomfort creeps through my system.
“Nothing. It”s just you have a really nice laugh.”
I clear my throat, fighting against the soft swish in my gut.
“I’ve got to get these puppies cleaned up.”
“Is that what we”re doing today?”
I can tell the moment is broken by her tone.
“Yep. They need baths. Once they”re clean, I”ll put them in a fresh kennel. Then I have to clean this one out and prep it for whoever comes in next.”
“Okay,” she says softly.
“You up for the task?”
Her voice is much stronger when she says, “I think I can manage bathing some stinky puppies.”
I could almost breathe a sigh of relief that her voice holds a smile again.
“Good.” I heft the pup from my lap into my arms and stand. “Then you can help by managing them while I get started.”
Her brows dip in confusion. “I thought I was bathing puppies.”
“In a cast? No. You’re keeping them entertained while I bathe them. Then you can keep them busy while I clean their kennel.”
“Jude, that’s not what I’m here for.”
I turn my chin to my shoulder. “Are you arguing with your boss?”
I bite back a grin when her confusion transforms into something heated. I’d bet money there’s an argument on the tip of her tongue. Something flares to life beneath my skin. Something that feels like… fun.
Her glare melts when an eager puppy pounces into her lap.
“I wouldn’t dare. In fact, maybe I could fetch you a coffee while you’re hard at work. Do you have any dry-cleaning I could pick up while I’m at it?” she bats her eyelashes.