Before I could protest, he put down some bills on the table and pushed to his feet, heading for the doors, making it clear the conversation was over.
I had no choice but to follow him or be left behind without a ride.
10
VINCENT
“I’m worried, Little Dog.”
Little Dog looked over at me from the plush bed I’d bought her at the pet store. It had taken me thirty minutes to choose the right one. I’d pushed and prodded at all of the different options, frowning at some that were too hard and would hurt Little Dog’s broken leg, and others that were made from a horrible, cheap, scratchy material that would rub on her grazes and cuts. Eventually, I’d decided on one that was too big for the tiny, helpless creature, but it was made from a soft material and thickly padded. It was pink, just like the cast on her front leg.
The same agonizing had been done over a collar, feed and water bowls, and a selection of dog toys. Although she was not in any sort of shape to be playing just yet. Soon, though, when her leg healed.
She couldn’t walk very well, but she wagged her tail at my voice, like she was trying to participate in the conversation.
I shifted in my bed, rolling onto my side, and propping myself up on one elbow so we faced each other. “Bethany-Melissa wasn’t at work yesterday. Her friends at the daycare center said she was sick, but when I drove past her house, her small white car wasn’t there.”
Little Dog cocked her head to one side.
I mimicked the action. “Are you wondering about the fact you’re a little white dog, and she has a little white car? Perhaps you’re meant to be her dog? That would mean you’d have to live with Caleb with an eight instead of a B, though, and I’ll remove his testicles with a rusty blade before I let him near you again.”
I sighed and fell onto my back to stare at the ceiling, giving up on talking to the animal but not on talking in general. “I don’t like that she’s ill. If he’s willing to hit her, he’s not taking care of her when she’s sick.”
There was still two hours before I needed to get up for work, but I’d been worried about it all night, and sleep had almost completely evaded me. “She should have someone making her chicken soup.”
I sat upright at the idea. There was chicken in my refrigerator.
I could make her soup.
Before I even had the chance to move though, my front door crashed open downstairs, cracking off the wall behind it.
I was on my feet half a second later and flat against the wall between my bedroom door and Little Dog’s bed on the floor. I looked down at her and pressed a finger to my lips, willing her to be quiet.
I needn’t have worried. She hadn’t barked once since I’d rescued her. She didn’t start now. She just struggled onto her back, offering me her belly to scratch.
I frowned at her. “You’re a terrible guard dog,” I murmured.
But then there were footsteps on the stairs, and all my attention focused on the door. I didn’t have a weapon, but I’d never needed one. There was plenty I could do with bare hands and an urge to kill.
Not that I had that urge. Of course. My hands were not shaking with the urge to wrap them around someone’s throat while the life drained out of them.
I didn’t do that.
Anymore.
But if someone was in my house, they clearly wanted to die, so…
“Vincent! Please tell me you are not still in bed. It’s after six!”
My shoulders fell as my bedroom door swung open. “Good morning, Mother.”
She glanced over at me like she’d been expecting me to be behind the door, waiting to strangle her. Her gaze flickered down my body, then she quickly clapped a hand over her eyes. “Vincent, for goodness’ sake. Put some clothing on. Of all the things for a mother to have to have to see first thing in the morning, your penis is not one of them.”
I shook my head, stalking to the closet and pulling out a robe to cover my nakedness. “Perhaps if you didn’t barge into my house like you own it—”
“I do own it.”
“Reasonable argument.” I pushed my arms into the sleeves and tugged the robe closed, fastening it with the belt. “However, I would argue that since you don’t actually live within these four walls, perhaps you could try knocking? Especially at dawn, when I’m likely to be still in bed.”
“Or you could wear pajamas.”
I scrunched my face. “I’d prefer not to, thank you.”
She waved a hand around, dismissing the conversation. “I came to ask you—oh my! What is that, and why is it in my house?”