Page 32 of Taming Georgia

My stare shoots toward him, finding his intense eyes on me. There’s a space in time—not even a moment, more like a heartbeat between a breath—that I see something in his gaze. It’s there, and then it’s gone. It was so fleeting, and yet my chest hurts at its absence.

Wyatt’s now standing over Hope, leaving me to focus on the past, the previous seconds where I felt something real.

“Here comes the last one,” he says, his voice bringing me back to the present.

I blink and turn my head toward Hope. I watch as the puppy falls from her, and she licks at it, as she did with all of the others.

“Crap,” Wyatt says. “Hand me that towel.” He extends his arm out toward me.

I grab the towel off the bench and give it to him.

“What is it?”

“It’s not breathing.” He picks up the puppy and places it in his hand over the towel.

“It’s dead?” My voice is panicked.

“It happens,” Wyatt says, rubbing the puppy in between his hands in the towel.

Tears fill my eyes, and a lump forms in my throat. “Save it! Oh my gosh. What do we do?” I cover my mouth with my hands, watching Wyatt.

His big hands hold the small baby between them. Then, he swings it in a quick downward motion before whipping it back up again.

I shriek, “Stop! What are you doing?”

He ignores me and repeats the movement.

“Wyatt!”

“I’m trying to get it to breathe, Peaches. Chill out.” He starts to rub the little pup between his palms again.

A shrill cry comes from its tiny mouth, and it starts to squirm.

“Oh my gosh! It’s alive!” My body bounces with energy and relief. “You did it!”

He uses the towel to clean the remaining wetness from birth off the puppy that’s now squirming in the palm of his hand.

Tears cascade down my cheeks. Relief, exhaustion, and happiness are just a few of the many emotions that pour out with them.

“Grab another towel,” he tells me.

I do as he said.

“Put it over your hand.”

I drape the towel across my hand, and Wyatt places the small puppy in my palm.

“Cover it up with the fabric and gently rub it to warm him up.”

“It’s a boy?” I ask Wyatt, blinking back tears.

He peers at me and almost looks sad. I feel a powerful pull toward him. My body craves his. My chest aches as I fight this innate draw. There’s something in me that wants something in him. It’s undeniable. But it’s wrong. He’s taken, and he’s an asshole.

All the puppies and emotions of the night have me confused. Exhaustion is playing tricks on my mind.

Wyatt closes his eyes before opening them again. He rubs the back of his neck. “I’m not sure. I haven’t checked yet.”

“Can you check?”

---