Page 17 of Enemy Crush
But Hamish didn’t respond, instead rubbing his head against me. He didn’t seem like he was about to bowl me over and I quite liked his warm furry nose nuzzling me.
“He’s just sniffing you out,” Miller said, maybe carrying on the conversation because his dog had ignored him.
“Why? Do I smell like dog food?” I asked, reaching out a tentative hand to pat him. I could imagine Mom telling me not to touch the Trask’s dirty filthy dog but with his flappy ears and fluffy tail wagging, Hamish was kind of irresistible. And when he looked at me with his dark gentle eyes, I folded and forgot the mess that was my life.
“Not that I can smell,” Miller said, stepping closer to scratch behind Hamish’s ear. “Are you okay?”
I frowned as Miller looked at me, his eyes almost as soulful as his dog’s. I remembered I’d been crying and blinked in quick succession, turning back to Hamish.
“Weird,” Miller huffed out a half laugh, “he seems to like you.”
“Why is that weird?”
“He’s usually a good judge of character,” he said.
I knew a backhanded compliment when I heard one and a heaviness filled my chest. Miller obviously didn’t like me touching his dog. I stuffed my hands in my pockets, remembering Mom’s warning to keep away from the Trasks. Yeah, for sure Miller Trask was a jerk. With a flick of my head, I charged down the road, leaving Miller and his dog behind. Goodness knows why I’d even stopped to talk to him.
Big mistake.
And stupid dog.
Chapter 6
MILLER
Quinn disappeared down the road, and I grimaced at my words. What had meant to be a joke came out sounding rude. You see, Hamish was a good judge of character, very astute when it came to people. He’d bark and growl when Mrs. Devereaux stood at our gate, yet he’d been attracted to Quinn like a bear to a honey pot. Which was weird.
But I probably shouldn’t have opened my big mouth. I had this habit of opening it and saying the most crazy things around her. Stupid things. When I shouldn’t be wasting any space in my brain for her.
“C’mon,” I urged Hamish, now only a few blocks from our lane. Hamish whimpered, looking the way Quinn had gone. “She’s fine, she’s going for a walk,” I mumbled, pulling him by his collar.
My evening run with Hamish was a routine I’d started when I stopped playing football. I didn’t want to end up fat and lazy. We’d run a couple of miles but I’d often have to stop and wait while he sniffed out something on the side of the road.
The thing is, I’d never ever met Quinn out while running before. And I wasn’t sure if her watery eyes had been from the sting of the cool air or an allergy, maybe even to dog fur.
Hamish barked in Quinn’s direction. “She’s fine,” I grumbled. “Let’s go.”
I set off with him running alongside, but lots of insane thoughts whirled through my mind. What if Hamish’s bark wasintuition and Quinn was in some kind of danger? What if I woke up tomorrow with the police knocking on the door telling us Quinn Devereaux was missing?
The light was getting dim and the road we’d been on was narrow and not well lit. I ran it most days so knew every bump and curve, but I doubt Quinn did. She could fall and twist an ankle, or a car might not see her and run her down. Worst case scenarios popped up—a serial killer on the rampage or an attack by a bobcat or grizzly bear. Ludicrous, but not impossible.
I arrived home, grabbed a glass of water and sat out on the porch, pretending Hamish wanted to chase tennis balls around the yard. But really, I had an irrational concern about Quinn’s safety. I threw balls with the launcher, Hamish happily returning them to me.
“Whatcha doing out here?” Dad opened the door and peered out.
“He’s still full of energy.”
“Done your homework?”
“Yep.”
“You got some study to do?” Dad had some delusional idea that I should go to college. He was proud of my B average and said I had the potential to do more than him. He’d been welding for nearly twenty years and wanted more for me. Though to me a physical job seemed better than studying for a further four years.
“Yeah, be in soon,” I said, keeping my eye on the time and the Deveraux’s driveway. I’d give Quinn fifteen minutes to get back. It’d be almost dark by then and wouldn’t be safe out there, though I didn’t know what my intentions were. Would I run back along the road to find her, escort her home safely?
She’d then think I was the weird one.
Ten minutes later, Hamish declared he’d had enough of fetch, sitting on the step of the porch. I joined him, but bizarrely my stomach churned at the looming deadline, a sense of dread inmy belly, kind of like waiting to see if Mason got through a day at school in one piece.
