3. Tyler
THREE
TYLER
How in the hell did I think sending my darling daughter to Becca Martin’s farm was a good idea? Of course she got hurt. If we’re lucky, it’s just physically hurt and not emotionally ruined along with it.
I pass the school bus on my way in. Did Miss Kristen seriously leave my child with possibly the worst influence in this town? I pull into the drive to find all my fears confirmed. Ellie sits on the porch, as does the wildest head of blonde hair I’ve ever known.
I barely remember to turn off the truck before my feet hit the dirt, slamming the door behind me as I stomp their way.
Becca Martin should probably be in jail for something or another.
Even if Becca has evaded arrest, it’s probably because she’d sweet talked the cop, and if all else failed, put her filthy mouth to use to get out of it.
I ignore the way my insides squeeze and jealousy flashes through me at that thought. Any positive feelings about Becca are ancient history, lost to a less complicated time.
What matters is the fact that Ellie’s running my way, so her ankle can’t be that bad off.
Ellie leaps off the porch with a “Daddy!” While I’m relieved she’s not seriously hurt, I am concerned that I was called away from work for this.
My relief is a sneeze in a hurricane compared to the rage I feel.
Ellie got hurt on Becca’s watch.
When I’m about twenty yards out from them, a set of paws jab into my stomach, followed by a ferocious growl.
Oh, sweet Jesus, I’m being attacked by a wolf.
“T-Bone, down!” Becca calls. “Sorry. She’s actually friendly.”
To demonstrate her docile nature, the wolf pants and circles me to stand by my hand, nuzzling me to beg for pets.
“Your wolf is friendly?”
My daughter’s laughter tinkles through the crisp fall air. “Daddy, she’s a librarian husky!”
“Siberian,” Becca corrects with her little smoker’s laugh. Whether that comes from her regularly scheduled hootin’ and hollerin’ or still smoking a pack or twelve a day, I don’t know.
“What kind of Russian wolf are you subjecting my child to?”
The wolf-dog barks at Ellie, then flops onto its back and wollers around on the ground. If I weren’t so pissed, I’d say it’s cute.
But I am that pissed, so it’s not cute.
“Yeah. She’s super ferocious,” Becca says, pursing her lips and crossing her arms. She puts a little amusement in her raspy voice. “Good to see you, Tyler.”
I wish her voice didn’t feel like nails digging into my back and scratching down my spine, a unique blend of pleasure and pain. I know all too well the pleasure Becca can bring, and the pain she leaves in her path of destruction.
I scoff. “Wish I could say the same.”
Ellie giggles again and bear hugs that damn dog. Becca gives me one last entertained look before crouching down to Ellie’s level. “T-Bone’s favorite ball is over there. If you throw it for her, she’s real good at playing fetch.”
Ellie skips off and I’m left standing here with some shadow of who I used to be, wondering why the hell she’s being nice to my child.
And it doesn’t even seem fake.