Page 21 of Lace 'em Up

I hear the soft click as I fold out of the car. I close the metal panel then hustle up to the front door, pulling it shut and starting to reach for the lock when I remember.

The animals.

“Shit,” I mutter, thinking about the room that Chrissy has in her house for her rescues—and how it’s full more often than not.

Crap.

What kind of menagerie am I going to have to Tetris into the back of my car?

Back down the driveway, to her door, cracking it open. “Where are your dogs?”

Her eyes come to mine.

Then slide away and my stomach sinks like a fucking anchor heading straight for the ocean floor.

“Where, princess?” I murmur.

“All adopted.”

“No,” I say. “I mean your dogs, baby.”

Her throat works. “Adopted,” she whispers, glancing back at me. “After Teddy died, I didn’t take any more permanently. Phillip—” A shake of her head.

Fuck.

“They’re all adopted,” she whispers. “The final one went last week and my fosters have the rest. I need to check in with them. But they’ll be good for a bit. I already made the arrangements for the honey?—”

She inhales sharply, exhales long and slow.

I touch her cheek, a gentle brush along that silken skin, a touch that could make me feel some things, could really make me feel something.

If I let it.

Which I don’t.

But still I press, “Why don’t you have any dogs at your place?”

Her eyes drift away, but then I watch her straighten her shoulders, lift her chin. Those deep pools of emerald come back to mine. “Phillip didn’t like them.”

The fucking man was marrying a woman whose passion was animal rescue…

And he didn’t like animals.

What the actual fuck had he been thinking?

What the actual fuck had she?

But I don’t ask either question, just nod and maneuver out of the car, round the hood.

And then I get into the driver’s seat and take her home.

To my place.

Because that’s where I can keep her safe.

Eight

Rory

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