Page 3 of Throw Down

Wordlessly, the man unzipped his wet canvas jacket.Briar had assumed the bulk at his waist was a beer gut, so he stared in astonishment as the soggy fabric parted to reveal a shivering bundle of fur.

“A…dog?” he asked blankly. His voice was high and thin.“You mean you’re here for treatment?”

“It’s pissing buckets outside.Why else would I be here?” The stranger’s face was nothing but shadow, but Briar still tracked the precise moment he connected the dots.The man went perfectly still.Slowly, his head tilted. “What did you think I wanted?” he asked silkily.

Briar swallowed hard. His throat was so dry it felt like it had been scrubbed with steel wool.Fear left him in a rush, leaking out like he was a popped balloon and leaving him strangely deflated.

“I didn’t…” His gaze skittered away, searching the empty clinic for any excuse that would be halfway believable.It was too dark to see much beyond the vague, angular shapes of the waiting room.He latched onto the first thing that came to mind.“The generator! I thought you were here to fix it.”

The man’s head turned toward the back of the clinic, as if he knew exactly where the generator would be.Maybe that was another of those things the men around here learned in the womb, along with how to skin a deer and the complete history of football.

“What’s wrong with it?” he asked, sounding annoyed.More annoyed than murderous, anyway.Briar wasn’t sure how reassuring that was.Plenty of people had told him he was annoying enough to kill.It was his defining characteristic.

“It didn’t start automatically when the power went out,” he explained.

“Did you check it?”

“I hadn’t gotten that far,” he said lamely.

There was a beat of silence, and then a soft, derisive snort.

“I’ll take a look,” he said. He held the dog toward Briar.It looked small and fragile in his huge arms, but it probably weighed a full third of Briar's own weight.

“I can’t take it,” Briar said, warding him off with one hand.

“Why not?” The man was sounding more irritable by the moment.

“I, uh…I’ve got a little problem of my own.” He gestured to the passenger clinging to his neck.

The man leaned forward to get a better look, and Briar took an instinctive step back.His shoulders hit the wall, but he couldn't escape the man's surprisingly pleasing scent.It was crisp and clean, despite his dirty and bedraggled appearance.Fresh and masculine, like the mountain storm.Better than anything from a bottle.

“Is that a snake?” he asked. Somehow, he’d managed to put a disdainful spin on even that simple question.

“Well, it’s not a fashion accessory.The lights went out and I couldn’t just—dammit.Doesn’t matter.” As a demonstration, he waggled the fingers of the hand trapped between his throat and the snake’s coils.“I can’t unwrap it on my own, and I need both arms to hold a dog that size.”

“Hold still,” the man huffed.

“Careful. It's got burns—”

“I see them.” His tone was brittle, like he resented being forced to deal with someone as stupid as Briar on principle.He zipped the lethargic dog back into his jacket before fearlessly grasping the boa by the tail and unwinding it.

Briar held perfectly still, barely breathing.Darkness was closing around them, suffocating him.The man's bulk crowded him against the wall, sealing him off from the outside world.His huge body radiated no heat.Just icy chill.

Briar couldn’t control his shiver.

The man noticed—he must have—because something in his manner gentled as he peeled away the last of the unhappy boa.

“Does the generator shed have a lock?” he asked, handing over the snake.

“I don’t know,” Briar admitted.

“You don’t know?” The question was full of scorn.

“It’s not part of my job description,” Briar snapped defensively.“You’re welcome to take a look yourself.”

He wasflusteredand embarrassed, off-balance and wrong-footed ever since the man had barged inside.So, he scrambled away, retreating to a pitch-dark exam room to return the snake to its tub.Moments before, the room had felt like a coffin.Now it meant safety and a door between him and the stranger watching him like he was the stupidest man on earth.Not that a door had kept him out the first time.

The moment he turned away, the hair on his necklifted.It felt like he’d just turned his back on a junkyarddog. When he gathered the courage to glance over his shoulder, the stranger was gone.

---