Chapter 3
CAT
Alright, what’s this guy’s deal?
Yes, he’s hot. Yes, he’s got eyes like a Siberian Husky. Yes, he’s freaking adorable with his pack of dogs.
But one minute he’s treating me like I’m a delicate flower that needs to be protected at all costs; the next, he can barely look me in the eye and acts like I’m a burden he’s taking on due to obligation.
Hello, Mr. Hunky Husky Man, which is it!?
I head into his house feeling a little put out. The thought occurs to me that I could just leave, but six hours on the road in the rain, in muddy clothes, with a throbbing ankle, sounds about as appealing as hitchhiking home.
That and I don’t want to leave.
Arlen’s home is nice and toasty. A little fire is burning, and that comfy sofa covered in blankets is calling to me. I kick off my dirty boots, peeking around the kitchen and his living room. The place is all wood furniture, pictures of dogs, and cast-iron skillets hanging from hooks.
Rustic would be an understatement. I feel like I’ve walked into his cave. Arlen certainly gives off caveman vibes… not in a bad way.
The two old dogs by the fire reinforce that feeling. Wise eyes watch me, hiding behind gray fur worn by the years. They’re lean dogs, and they don’t get up to greet me as I head toward the stairs.
I stop by their beds, kneel, and gently scratch them behind the ears.
“Hi, cuties,” I coo. “Does he let you old boys sleep in the house?”
One of them yawns before slowly rolling over for a belly scratch.
I leave them nice and warm by the fire, smiling as I head upstairs, passing framed photos of smiling dogs. Arlen may act like a grouch, but I can see the evidence of his heart everywhere. He loves these dogs more than anything in the world.
By the time I get out of the shower, rain is pattering the window. Darkness has rolled over the mountain, and I hear thunder whisper in the distance. It’s a cold rain, the sort that makes you grateful to be indoors.
When I find a flannel, sweatpants, and a pair of cozy socks waiting on the counter, I know I’ve made the right decision. Even if Arlen ignores me all night, I’ll be cozy and warm.
As it turns out, he does not plan on ignoring me.
The knock on the bathroom door makes me shriek. “Yes?”
“Sorry…” His deep voice crawls under the door. “Checking on you.”
I open the door. Arlen’s changed into a pair of gray sweats and a ratty old sweater with USMC fading on the front. A military man…
“Will the dogs be alright in the rain?” I ask.
Arlen smiles, just a bit. “They love the barn. Just as warm in there as it is in here. The two pups are already passed out together.”
“You’ve got them all taken care of, don’t you?”
It’s hard to keep the admiration from dripping out of my mouth like drool. Does this man know how special he is? A freaking saint. A pure heart in a world of pricks.
“They take care of me,” he says, meeting my gaze. “Here.”
He hands me a pill bottle. Ibuprofen.
“For your ankle. I kept them in the bottle so you can be sure I’m not drugging you.”
I cackle.
Arlen doesn’t crack a smile.
“Oh, you’re not joking,” I say, unscrewing the cap. “That’s very thoughtful. Thank you.”
He passes me a glass of water, then takes both back.
“I can take your dirty clothes,” he says. “Give them a wash…”
“Wow. I feel like you’re my servant.” I bunch up the clothes and hand them over, trying to keep the mud off my hands. “Isn’t there anything I can do? You’re being very kind, Arlen.”
“All you need to do is get comfortable. Rest your ankle.”
“Oh, I’m fine—“
A hiss slips from my lips as I take a step into his bedroom. That throbbing in my ankle is finally letting me know that it means business. I hobble a bit, keeping my weight off of it.
“Good thing I didn’t drive home…”
Arlen drops my clothes like they’re on fire. “Carefully,” he says, hovering a hand just above my shoulder. “Does it hurt bad?”
“It’s not so bad,” I lie.
“You can’t walk down the stairs like that.”
“Oh, I can handle it. Don’t mind me.”
“I’ll carry you.”
My cheeks go flush. “Don’t you dare…”
Without another word, the giant man stoops down, sweeps an arm under my legs, and lifts me like I weigh nothing at all.
“Arlen!” I throw my arms around his broad shoulders. “Whoa… you’re even stronger than you look. But this is ridiculous! I don’t need to be carried.”
He ignores me, marching us downstairs one careful step at a time. The house creaks and groans under the weight of his footfalls. All the dogs in their portraits smile at me as we descend. They smile knowingly…
If I’m being honest, I wouldn’t mind spending the night wrapped up in his powerful arms. He gives off heat like a furnace, and my fingers dig into the dense muscles along his shoulders.
“You relax on the couch,” he grunts. “I’ll cook dinner.”
“I will not sit here while you slave away in there.”
“You will.”
I smack his chest before he can lower me to the sofa. “ Will not . Take me to the table. I can at least keep you company.”
Like a beagle not getting what it wants, Arlen side-eyes me and grumbles. Still, he takes me over to the big wooden table, pulls out a chair, and carefully lowers me into it.
“Thank you,” I huff, straightening myself out in his oversized clothes. “Now bring me something to chop. What are we having?”
“Cat…”
“I won’t take no for an answer.”
Begrudgingly, Arlen equips me with a wooden cutting board, a lovely little chef’s knife, and vegetables to work on.
“You start on that,” he says. “I need to give the dogs their medicine.”
The big man pulls two daily-divided pillboxes off the top of the fridge. In their beds, the old dogs don’t move an inch.
“How old are they?” I ask.
“Foxy is fourteen. The Shiba mix with the bushy gray tail. That other old bastard is Guinness, and he’s almost sixteen.”
“Sixteen! How long have you been fostering him?”
Arlen shakes his head, shoving pills into little pill-pocket treats.
“He’s mine. Had him since he was a pup. I found him on a hike, all cold and alone.
Poor guy was just a soaked ball of black fur.
Two beady little eyes. Took him home, and he’s been my best friend ever since.
I suppose he was the first, the one that started it all. ”
Now that the treats are out, Guinness and Foxy make their way over on their shaky legs. They take their time, but they actually both move well for their age.
“That’s really lovely, Arlen,” I say, watching him coax the treats into their waiting mouths. He makes sure they swallow it all. “You’re the patron saint of dogs.”
Arlen makes a lazy cross sign and blows a raspberry. “I’d probably burst into fucking flames if I walked into a church.”
For the rest of the night, Arlen dotes on me like I’m the new dog on the ranch. He doesn’t even let me wash the dishes after the delicious dinner he cooked. Every time I try to do something, he grunts and barrels over to stop me.
“I’m going to make this up to you,” I say as he helps me hobble to the couch, “once my ankle feels better.”
“Unnecessary.”
Above the fireplace is a TV, and Arlen puts a movie on. The rain pounds the mountain as we watch Turner and Hooch . I’m sure his library of films consists mostly of classic dog films. The thought brings a smile to my lips as I settle in under a blanket.
We share the couch, but he keeps well to his side. All I want to do is look at him, but I keep my eyes on the movie. In my peripherals, I take what I can get: his big arm, his leg crossing, the occasional stolen glance during a funny part in the movie.
Arlen sits there like I don’t exist. It’s like he’s been holding his breath for hours.
Maybe it’s the lowlight of the fire doing strange things, but I swear he’s teary-eyed when the credits roll. He sniffs, loudly clears his throat, and pops off the sofa.
“Right. Good movie…”
“A little sad, huh?” I ask, peering up at him. “I got a teary-eyed there. Did you cry?”
“ No .” He kneels by Guinness’s bed, facing away from me as he rubs the old dog’s back. “Movies don’t make me cry.”
I smile. “Uh-huh.”
Once he’s dried his eyes, he insists that I take his bed for the night.
“I’m comfy on the couch,” he says, already setting up some blankets. “I sleep down here with the dogs half the time anyway.”
“Oh, you liar.”
“Honest.” He stands before me, hands on his hips. “Ready?”
I narrow my eyes. “Don’t you dare—“
Like I have a choice.
Once again, I’m swept up by the strongest man I’ve ever met. He carries me upstairs, holding back a smile the whole way.
“Don’t look so pleased with yourself,” I say, holding on tightly, fingers clasped around the back of his neck. “You didn’t have to do this. Twice .”
Arlen still manages to shrug with me in his arms. “I want to.”
My instinct is to tell him that I don’t want him to.
I stop myself and hide my smile.
That would be a lie.