Page 45 of Wanted

Without another word, I cross my kitchen, careful not to come too close to where she stands at my stove.

I pull out my favorite mug, clean from the dishwasher, and pour myself a cup of hot black coffee.

“Meet me at the intake building in half an hour,” I say and head to the lower level to release my dogs.

She might be fucking with my routine.

But I'm going to stick to it as best as I can while she's here.

When she joins me half an hour later my mood has cooled considerably. I'm still annoyed at this breakfast game we're playing. That, and the fact that I’m stubborn so I'm starving.

But I'm over our little morning spat.

I can hear her coming even though I'm inside. The black Wellingtons on her feet make sneaking around impossible. She clomps up to the door, and she pokes her head in.

“Are you in here, Jude?”

I want to hit myself at the thread of timidness in her voice.

“Come on in,” I call back, working to keep my tone neutral.

The trepidation on her face melts away as she spots the kennel I'm kneeling in front of.

“You have puppies!”

“They came in late last night.”

She was in the house, of course, but when Jack stopped by late, I didn't bother to wake her up. She might be my newest employee, but she doesn't need to help with all aspects of the Sanctuary.

She's only on the clock for about six hours a day.

Any more than that doesn't feel right to me.

“You should have told me,” she squeals.

Despite the fact I've been nothing but a grumpy bastard, she scoots right up beside me so close that our shoulders brush. So close that I can hear her sharp intake of breath.

I try not to inhale her pleasant scent, but it’s impossible with her proximity. Whatever shampoo or lotion my sisters picked out for her is really fucking nice.

“I always wanted a dog,” she says quietly, her tone different from the excited one of a few moments ago.

It's softer, reflective, and a little bit confusing.

I don't say anything. Not because I don't want her to continue but the opposite. I want her to give me this piece of information unprompted.

I want her to share.

I want to hear her talk about herself.

My patience pays off as she releases a deep breath.

“My parents could never afford one.” She laughs without humor. “They could barely afford me.”

Pain lances my gut at her brittle confession. Memories fight to the surface, but I push them away. I remember distinctly what that’s like to live a childhood filled with survival rather than security.

“I remember one time…” She pauses almost as if she doesn't want to admit what she's telling me, but then she goes on.

“One time, a dog followed me home from school. It was an adorable pug, round and fat with a squishy face. I wanted that dog so bad.”

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