Chapter 4 Lucy #2
Beau's attention shifts to me, and those gray eyes narrow as he takes in my appearance. I fight the urge to fidget under his scrutiny.
"You must be the assistant."
"Lucy Reid." I hold out my hand, which he completely ignores.
"And you must be the ungrateful owner whose dog would be dead if it weren't for Dr. Mercer's skill."
The temperature plummets to sub-arctic levels. Behind me, I hear Colt make a strangled sound that could be shock or pure admiration.
"Excuse me?" Beau's voice could shatter glass.
"You heard me." I plant my hands on my hips and glare up at him, channeling every ounce of New York attitude I possess.
"Your dog was stabbed multiple times and left to die.
Dr. Mercer spent two hours saving his life, and instead of saying thank you, you're standing here making demands like he's the enemy. "
"You don't understand the situation—"
"I understand that you're letting pride get in the way of Dusty's welfare." My voice rises despite my attempts to stay calm. "He needs to stay here for at least a few more days before he's stable enough to transfer. If you try to move him now, you could kill him."
Surprise, maybe respect flickers across Beau's face. He glances at Colt, who's watching this exchange with an expression I can't read. Pride? Terror?
"She's right," Colt says quietly. "About the medical part, anyway. Moving him today would be like signing his death warrant."
The fight seems to drain out of Beau all at once, his shoulders sagging slightly. For just a second, I catch a glimpse of the fear he's been hiding behind all that controlled fury.
"How is he?" The question is directed at me, not Colt, and I can practically see the knife twist in Colt's chest.
"He's going to be fine," I tell him, my voice softening despite myself. "The surgery was flawless, and he's already perking up. Dr. Mercer did absolutely beautiful work."
Beau nods once, sharp and controlled. "Fine. He stays. But I want updates twice a day, and I'll be checking on him personally."
"That's not—" Colt starts, his voice tight.
"That's absolutely fine," I cut him off smoothly. "You can visit during normal business hours. I'll personally make sure you get detailed updates."
Beau's gaze ping-pongs between me and Colt, and something that might be amusement sparks in those silver eyes.
"You've got yourself a fierce little guardian, Mercer."
"She's got fire," Colt says quietly, and something in his rough tone makes my pulse do gymnastics.
"Indeed." Beau's gaze locks on me again, and this time there's something warmer flickering behind the ice.
"Thank you, Miss Reid. For fighting for my dog when I couldn't."
"You don't need to thank me. I just want him healthy and whole again."
Beau nods and strides toward the door, but hesitates at the threshold like he wants to say something else. "I'll be back this afternoon."
"We'll be here," I promise him.
After he leaves, the clinic falls silent except for gentle animal murmurs from the back rooms.
Colt is staring at me like I just grew a second head.
"What?" I ask, suddenly self-conscious.
"You just went toe-to-toe with Beau Blackwell and won."
I shrug, trying to play it off even though my hands are shaking. "He was being unreasonable."
"He's always unreasonable when it comes to me." Colt's expression is thoughtful. "But he listened to you."
"Maybe he just needed someone to point out he was being an ass."
Colt barks out a laugh, and it completely transforms his face. "Jesus Christ, Shortie, you've got more balls than half the cowboys in this county."
The compliment makes my cheeks warm, but something about Beau's visit is nagging at me. The way he looked when I mentioned Dusty almost dying, the careful control in his voice when he asked about the dog's condition.
Whatever happened between him and Colt, Beau Blackwell isn't the cold bastard he pretends to be.
"I'll be right back," I tell Colt, heading for the door.
"Lucy, where the hell are you—"
But I'm already bolting outside, chasing after Beau's retreating form.
He's almost to his monster black truck when I catch up, slightly breathless. "Mr. Blackwell, wait up!"
He spins around, genuine surprise cracking his carefully controlled mask. "Miss Reid?"
"I just..." I catch my breath, trying to find the right words. "I wanted to apologize. For being harsh in there. I know you're worried about Dusty."
Something fractures in his expression, the granite mask developing hairline cracks. "You don't understand the situation."
"Maybe not. But I understand loving something so desperately that the thought of losing it makes you want to burn down the whole damn world."
I drift closer, pulled by the raw pain I can see bleeding through his armor. "Dusty's going to be fine. Colt really is taking incredible care of him."
"I know he is. Colt's the best damn vet in three counties," Beau says quietly, and there's something broken in his voice.
"Then what's this really about?" He searches my face for an eternity, like he's trying to decide whether I'm worth the risk of honesty.
"It's complicated as hell."
There's something about this man. Something in the way he carries himself like he's shouldering invisible weights, that calls to me. Maybe because I recognize the same kind of fear I've carried.
Before I can lose my nerve, I step forward and wrap my arms around his waist in a quick hug.
He goes rigid with surprise, his hands hovering uncertainly over my back, like he's forgotten how human contact works. But after a moment, his arms come around me, and I feel some of the granite tension melt from his frame.
"Thank you," he murmurs against my hair, his voice rough as gravel.
"For giving a damn about him. For... this."
I pull back just enough to meet his eyes, and they're softer now.
"He's going to be okay. And maybe...... maybe you and Colt will be okay too, someday."
Something raw and achingly vulnerable flickers across his face before the steel mask slams back down. "Don't hold your breath on that one, Miss Reid."
He climbs into his truck and roars away, leaving me standing alone in the parking lot with a chest full of questions and no answers.
When I turn back toward the clinic, Colt is framed in the windows, watching me with an expression caught between confusion and something that might be jealousy.
Probably wondering what the hell I'm doing hugging his worst enemy in the parking lot.
Excellent question. I'm wondering the exact same thing, and coming up with absolutely nothing that makes sense.
But as I walk back inside, past the reception desk I organized yesterday and toward the recovery room where Dusty waits, I realize something fundamental has shifted inside me.
For the first time in over almost two years, I feel like I might be exactly where I'm supposed to be.
Even if I'm flying completely blind.
Even if getting attached to this place, and to these devastatingly complicated men, might be the most dangerous thing I've ever done.
More dangerous than uncle Richard.
More dangerous than running.
More dangerous than anything I've survived so far.