Page 4 of Overdue for a Cowboy

“Yes, I do. And you’re right. For the most part, the Johnson’s are good people.”

“Except for Brick,” they both said at the same time.

Dodge laughed. “I don’t normally like to speak ill of people, but Brick Johnson is a mean son of a gun and about as dumb as his name implies.”

“I hate to say it, but I agree with you,” she said. Brick and his wife, Lisa, had a farm outside of Woodland Hills, and their three kids were some of Maisie’s favorites on her bookmobile route. “His kids are sweet though. And smart.”

“They must have got that from Lisa.”

She grinned then the dog nudged her hand as if asking for her to pet him some more. She obliged by rubbing his fuzzy neck. “Did you know how big he was when you took him on?”

Dodge chuckled. “No. That was a surprise. Along with the five hundred pounds of dog chow the guy dropped off with him. Although I should have guessed when he told me the dog’s name was Moose. I’d been hoping the name would be ironic.”

She laughed. “The name fits. But holy cow. That’s a lot of dog food. How long are you keeping him for?”

Dodge shrugged. “He wasn’t sure. Could be a year. Or maybe two.”

“That’s not dog-sitting. That’s custody.”

He shrugged again. “No one has ever suffered from the company of a good dog.”

Maisie swallowed at the sudden burn in her throat. Her voice was soft, and she couldn’t look at him as she said, “You’re a good man, Dodge Lassiter.”

“I don’t know about that. My brothers just think I’m a sucker for any animal in need.”

“Like I said.”

Chapter Three

Dodge eased the truck into a parking spot in front of the pharmacy. The hospital had called in a prescription for some pain meds for Maisie, and he wanted to grab them before he took her home.

They hadn’t been in the emergency room for as long as he’d thought they’d be. Although every minute there had seemed like hours to him. He hated hospitals, hated the antiseptic smell and the hushed hallways that only amplified the sound of someone’s phlegmy cough. And there wasalwayssomeone in the hospital with a phlegmy cough.

The doctor had checked Maisie out and ordered an ex-ray of her arm, which thankfully turned out to be sprained instead of broken. Dodge was a little surprised to hear she didn’t have a concussion, considering all the nonsense she’d been spouting about llamas and lemony underpants.

He cut the engine and turned to tell her he would just be a minute, but she was sound asleep, slumped against the passenger door. Moose was pressed against her hip, his head in her lap, Maisie’s good arm wrapped around his neck.

That crazy mutt was already smitten with the sweet librarian.

A smile pulled at Dodge’s lips as he looked at Maisie. It was easy to see why the dog was so taken with her. She was one of the kindest people he knew, and she looked adorable in little pink sneakers, jeans that rolled at her ankles and a pink T-shirt that read, “A bookworm is my Patronus”. A lock of her curly brown hair fell across her forehead and rested against her bruised cheek.

His smile pulled into a frown, and his heart twisted at the sight of that bruise and the blood caked in the edge of her hair. The nurse had splinted and wrapped Maisie’s wrist then secured it in a blue sling strapped around her shoulder. Three small steri-strips held together the cut on her brow. Another smudge of bruising darkened her other cheekbone.

But things could have been much worse.

He closed his eyes and inhaled a deep breath, fighting the panic building in his chest and trying to block out the images of another car accident that filled his head.

Stop. Maisie is okay. She isn’t Julie.

He swallowed and pulled in another deep breath before opening his eyes. His hands hurt, and he realized he was clenching his fingers tightly around the steering wheel. He loosened his hold and forced himself to relax back against the seat. The dog lifted his head and offered him a concerned whine.

“I’m okay, boy,” Dodge assured the dog as he scratched his flank.

Moose dropped his head back onto Maisie’s lap. The nurse had already given her a pain pill, and it must have really knocked herout because her steady breathing hadn’t changed with the dog’s movement.

Dodge considered his options. It was after six and the night had cooled enough that the truck wasn’t hot. And this was Woodland Hills, population of less than fifteen hundred people, so he knew she would be safe if he left her for the few minutes it would take him to run in and grab the prescription.

He eased out of the truck then leaned his head through the open window to talk to the dog. “Keep an eye on her, boy. I’ll be right back.”

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