Chapter Five #2
I sit there for a second, breath heavy, hands still locked around the wheel. Then I shove the door open and step out, scanning the dimming horizon.
A few feet ahead, a tiny, scruffy dog sits in the middle of the road, staring at me like I personally offended it. Its dark fur is matted, its beady brown eyes full of judgment, but I didn’t hit it, thank fuck.
Exhaling sharply, I rub a hand down my face, calluses scraping along my overgrown beard. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
Without warning, the dog rolls over, giving me a full view of its manhood.
My head falls back, and I stare up at a sky heavy with puffy white clouds. Haven't even wrapped my head around the shitshow that’s become my life. Now I’m dealing with a stray dog that has the survival instincts of a rock.
“Alright, asshole,” I mutter, slowly stepping closer, careful not to spook it. “Let’s get you outta the danger zone.”
My leg protests when I crouch down, but I ignore it, reaching out cautiously. He sniffs at my fingers then throws himself at me, licking at my hand as if to congratulate me on my new family member.
“Not happening.”
Taking a chance I sift through his thick mop of hair. Beneath the dirt and matts, I’m pretty sure he’s a light brown color, but the breed’s impossible to make out. Some kind of mix, probably. I also can’t tell his age, but it’s spastic as hell, so I’m assuming young. No collar, either.
“Guess we’re both lost, huh?”
My eyes scan the road. Archer land still stretches to my left, and unless new homes have popped up in the last few years, this dog’s a long way from civilization.
I stare down at the floppy-eared pup, and my stomach sinks. “You’re a goddamned Archer, aren’t you?”
It latches onto my beard and tugs, growling demonically.
With a sigh, I carefully pry its jaw away, saving myself from an impromptu wax, and cradle him to my chest. Shoving to my feet, I head back to my truck.
Whether the dog is an Archer farm animal or not, it can’t stay out here.
It has no survival skills and won’t last long in the country, especially with a big storm headed our way in the coming week.
There’s no way in hell I can take it back to my place.
I glance at the little demon that’s now curled up on my warm bench seat like it’s his goddamn birthright. He licks a paw, barks, then lets out a sigh so content, it actually makes me jealous.
Snagging my phone, I thumb through my contacts until I land on Hazel. If anyone around here would randomly adopt a stray with attitude, it’s my equally sassy sister.
The line rings once before she picks up—already yelling.
“Oh, now you wanna talk? You ignored all my calls, texts, and apologies for days. Now, suddenly you need something?”
I bite back a sigh. “Jesus, Hazy, can we skip the dramatic intro for once?”
“You can skip my ass. What do you want?”
“Do you have a dog?”
There’s a pause. “What?”
“A dog, Hazel. You know, four legs, tail, drools like a toddler with a sinus infection—”
“No! When would I have time for a fucking dog? I’m running a whole-ass farm, remember?”
“You make it impossible to forget,” I mutter, rolling my neck along my shoulders. “Does Mom have a new dog? Think it’s a puppy.”
“Call Mom yourself, asshole!” she snaps, then hangs up on me.
I stare at the screen. Then the dog. Then back at the screen.
“You should be the one making the calls, bud. It’s your life on the line, not mine.”
He gives me his ass and plops back down, curling into a ball.
I flip him off.
And even though everything in me screams that I don’t have time for this—that I barely have enough in me to keep my own life from falling apart—there’s something about the stupid, cute mutt that gets under my skin.
Whatever it is, it pushes me to do the very last fucking thing I want to do.
Call my mother.
“Kade?”
I clear my throat. “Hey, Mom.”
“Hi, baby. Something you need to talk about, or did you just call to tell your mama you miss her?”
“No.” My jaw snaps shut at the automatic reply. “I mean, sorry, not exactly.”
I really do miss you.
The words hang on my lips, but I can’t force them free, because, again, I’m an asshole.
“Well, color me disappointed.” The sad smile in her voice makes my gut twist. “What’s going on?”
“Do you…” I trail off, tug on my hair, and clear my throat. “Do you happen to have a new dog?”
There’s a long pause, then, “ Huh .”
My brows pinch. “Huh?”
“I might,” she murmurs. “I can’t really remember.”
My lip twitches. “Forgot, huh? Do you have very specific dog amnesia I’m unaware of?”
“Not that I remember.”
“Mom.” I groan, long and annoyed. “Come on. Help me out here. The thing is stinking up my truck.”
“Why would you have a dog in your truck that you think belongs to me, Kade?”
My throat constricts and it takes everything in me to answer her.
“Drove by the farm. Dog ran out in front of my truck.” Deflect. Pivot. Distract. “If the dog’s yours, you seriously need to get the fucking thing a collar, or leash, or fuck, a prison cell. Thing’s a menace.”
“Kade William Archer! Watch your language!” she snaps, then sighs. “What’s your dog look like?”
“It’s not mine,” I huff indignantly and gently shove the pup from my lap. “Small. Brown. Long tail. Dumbass ears. Looks like a cross between a dirty goat and a suicidal rabbit.”
“Oh!” She gasps. “That one!”
My jaw drops. “It’s seriously yours?”
“Could be,” she says brightly. “Might not. You’ll just have to bring it by so I can be sure.”
“Or, and hear me out , I know it’s a wild concept, but you could describe the actual dog you lost.”
“Sweetheart, I keep a lot of animals, you know this. They’re all free range. It’s impossible to keep track of their comings and goings.”
“Free range? Don’t you just mean outdoor?” The camera flashes with a photo. “I’m texting you a picture.”
“That could help, but sometimes these phones distort colors and whatnot.”
“Brown is brown,” I mutter, sending the picture. A moment passes. “So, is it yours?”
“I didn’t get it.”
I stare at the read receipt. “Yes, you did.”
“Well, I forgot my glasses.”
“You don’t wear glasses.”
“I think I might need to, because all I see is a dark brown blob.”
“Because that’s what it is!” I choke on a curse, drop my phone to my lap, and rake both hands through my hair, pulling hard. “So help me God—”
“You’ll just have to bring it to me,” she says sweetly, like I don’t know exactly what she’s doing. Like she didn’t raise me. “Please, Kade.”
My chest convulses and I press a hand to it, my panicked gaze flicking to Archer property.
Fuck. I’m not prepared for this shit. Not today. Not ever.
“I’m downtown,” she quickly adds, and I swear, it’s like she felt my mounting anxiety through the damn phone. “I’m at Thread and Thimble.”
Relief hits hard and fast, knocking the breath from my lungs. For a second, all I can do is sag against the seat, chest heaving like I just crossed a finish line.
“Got it,” I murmur. “See you soon.”
“Drive safe, son. Love you.”
The call ends, and my shoulders finally drop. I glance at the mutt curled up like he owns the place and smirk. “Buckle up, asshole. You’re going home.”
He tilts his head like he’s considering it.
Then, he leaps off the seat, lands with a grunt, and locks eyes with me—full, deliberate, soul-piercing eye contact.
And shits.
I blow out a breath and sit up, shifting the truck into drive.
“Perfect,” I mutter as I pull onto the road. “Just fucking perfect.