Page 17 of I Hate Myself for Loving You
Refusing to be drawn back into the past by silly sentimental journeys, Avery padded closer to Lassiter’s sliding glass door. The steps leading up to it were rickety at best. Narrow and wooden, they creaked with each step she took. She could only hope the roar of the wind hid her ascent.
Cocking her head, Avery listened at the sliding glass door while Lassiter talked to his parakeet as if it were his only friend in the world.
“This is Adams land. It has to be the right Adams because there’s nothing else left after this. I don’t know what to do, Bud. I’ve looked and looked and nothing, but I can feel it’s here. Damn it, I know it’s here.”
What the hell was here?
“Hereherehere,” the parakeet mimicked back.
Lassiter put his hand in the cage and stuck a finger out for Bud to hop onto. Bud went willingly and Lassiter took care in taking him out and setting Bud on his shoulder.
“I could use a little help here, my man. Wanna read the letter again?”
Letter?
“Nonononononono!” Bud flapped his wings and squawked in protest, skittering from side to side on Lassiter’s broad shoulders.
The parakeet nipped at Lassiter’s ear and he chuckled. “Okay, so what you’re telling me is we’ve been over it a million times, huh? Okay. No more letter.”
It was as if the bird understood Lassiter. What had isolation turned him into that he shared confidences with a parakeet? Talk about eccentric. Who did he think he was? Dr. Doolittle? He’d always been good with animals, but this was nuts.
Leaning further toward the door, hoping to discover what this letter was about, Avery hit the banister of the stairs and scuffled to remain on the small landing. Her nails scratched the surface with a painful screech, echoing into the dark night. The sound bounced around the trees like a ping pong ball.
That’s what she got for not getting a damned manicure.
Chapter Seven
No sooner had she righted herself than the back light came on, blinding her with its glare.
“What the hell?” was Lassiter’s inquiry as the door whipped open and he stared down at Avery in her wolf form.
Hooo boy, she was in the shits.
Foiled.
Caught.
Red handed even.
However, as she looked up at him, his face split into the first grin she’d seen him display since meeting him again.
The back of his hand reached down with tentativeness, much like he’d done when he worked in the shelter with her and a new animal was brought in, frightened and leery.
Avery decided she didn’t have much of a choice. She could run away and not look back, but she could also gain some valuable information if she played this right.
It was sneaky.
It was covert.
It was downright despicable.
She could feel guilty about being a sneak.
Though, if she did this right, she might help save the Adams and their land.
And it was also pure fricken’ genius.
Things were looking up.
