Page 19 of Pigeon

The adults, minus Axel, all laugh at Craig’s comment, but the little boy is still in a snit. He feels left out, and his feelings are hurt. My soft side responds to him immediately.

“Craig, if your parents agree, I would love to have you spend a shift with me at the rescue. We have some new piglets, a couple of tiny goat kids that have to be bottle-fed still, and I could use the help,” I offer.

Craig’s entire face goes from angry to happy and excited.

“Really, Ivy? I could come for hours?” he asks.

“Absolutely. I’d enjoy having the company,” I assure him, and I realize I mean it wholeheartedly.

“You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into, Ivy,” Axel says with a hoot of laughter. “Hide the Sharpies is my advice.”

“Shut it, Assman. Can I go, Pooh?” Craig asks excitedly.

“I’ll double-check with your mom, but I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Pooh answers while Craig throws his arms around Pooh’s legs for a moment before racing around the bar, coming at me.

At the last moment, Pigeon removes his arm from around my shoulders and throws his hand up, landing it on Craig’s forehead. It stops Craig’s forward motion and saves me from whatever is now all over Pooh’s jeans. Craig steps back, glares at Pigeon but then turns a beaming, dirty face to me.

“When?” he asks.

“Talk to your mom, and we’ll work it out. I promise,” I tell him.

“I can’t wait! Thanks, Ivy!” Craig shouts, fist-bumps Pigeon, and turns to Snots.

It takes effort and determination, but the dirty little boy gets the lazy dog to his feet, and they walk out.

“If he swears like a sailor while he’s with you, it’s because his mom has a potty mouth,” Pooh says with a grin.

I get home that night to find that Ted and Todd have left the ranch for the next few days. I feel like a huge weight has been removed from my shoulders, knowing they’re gone to a cattle auction in New Mexico. It’s like being a prisoner and finding out you just got paroled. I pick up Tabitha, cuddle her close while letting Cody in the back door. Turning on some music, I drop into a kitchen chair and simply relax. Looking around, I groan at the mess the guys left in the kitchen. I set Tabitha down, grab a garbage bag and make a round of the house picking up beer bottles. It takes time, but eventually, the downstairs looks like it did when I left today.

It’s late, and I need to get to bed, but I decide to take a bath first. I’ve only taken showers for ages now, partly due to lack of time and partly because I’m not comfortable taking one with the men in the house. Sad, maybe a bit paranoid, but true. I don’t trust them. Grabbing a Coke and my phone, I gather clean jammies and make my way to the bathroom. Closing the door behind me, I twist the water on and search for some bath salts. Finding a tiny bit left, I add them to the water and strip. I remove my contacts and slip on my glasses. Sinking into the warm, fragrant water, I sigh at how good it feels.

While shaving, I hear the door rattle. Two of Tabitha’s paws, upside down, are poking under the door. She hates it when I close any door on her, and she’s letting me know. She continues rattling the door and now adds some pitiful meows. After another moment, I step out of the tub and crack the door open. Walking in, tail swishing, she gives me an earful of cat attitude. I slide back into the water and finish shaving before scrubbing my body clean. Leaning back and relaxing, I close my eyes. I could get used to this kind of pampering.

I must doze off because the sound of a text jerks me upright. Looking for my phone, I find it on the floor with Tabitha batting it around.

“No, Tabby, don’t,” I say while leaning out of the tub to grab it.

Just as my fingers get a grip, the phone starts ringing. Startled, I fumble it, and it makes contact with the floor. Tabitha pounces, pushing it with two kitty paws further away while it continues ringing. Leaning way over the edge of the tub, I finally get it away from the cat. Hitting the accept button, I hear a deep male voice shouting my name.

“Hello?” I say, confused as to who it is and why someone’s calling me at this hour.

“Ivy? You okay?”

“Uh, yeah, I’m fine. Who’s this?”

“Pigeon. You texted, but it didn’t make sense. I got worried,” he answers in a somewhat calmer tone. “Can you talk? Are you alone?”

“Oh God, Pigeon, I’m so sorry! Tabby was playing with my phone, and your contact must have still been up,” I answer while shooting dagger eyes at my cat.

Tabitha shows zero shame at her behavior as she stares back at me while cleaning her paw.

I listen to his deep laugh before sitting my rear back down in the tub.

“No worries, Ivy. When I got a text that was all jumbled words and couldn’t figure it out, I was worried. You sure you’re okay? No one’s standing nearby, right?”

I swear I feel my heart do a slow somersault at his concern. The man doesn’t even know me, not really, and yet called immediately when he thought I might be in trouble. My own brother would walk past me without a backward glance if I was sitting in the yard on fire. Yet, this man with the gorgeous brown eyes and beautiful tats was worried. About me—Ivy Monroe—and I’m having trouble wrapping my head around that.

“No, Pigeon. I’m fine, really. I’m home alone, in fact, and the only problem I have at the moment is a naughty cat,” I say while feeling the heat of embarrassment hit my face.

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