Page 6 of The Love You Hate
I chuckle. “Fine. I’ll leave.”
She holds out one hand. “No. No. Don’t leave.”
I grin, and she scowls back. “Are we just going to wait until ole’ Jake the Snake comes back, or what’s the plan?”
“I’ll call the front office and get the old goat out here,” she says. “Why is it taking Jake so long?” Presley reaches into the bag slung across her chest and the dog’s stance shifts minutely. There’s only time to react, and I throw my body forward to shield her from both dogs as they leap toward her, teeth bared, ears back. They both latch onto my left arm the one that I held out in front, anticipating the bite. Their teeth easily pierce my sweatshirt and slice down to my skin. The growls take a back seat as I press my thumb into the dog’s eye that’s closest and wrap my legs around his thick torso to pin him to the ground.
Presley is freaking out in every sense of the word—crying, screaming, yelling, though definitely not making any moves to grab her phone from her purse if I had to guess. The second dog shakes his head with my arm still inside its mouth, then releases and bolts off toward the office. Jake takes this golden opportunity to mosey out. His face twists in shock and immediate remorse when he gets close enough to see the scene and puts two and two together. The dog under me has stopped writhing because he recognizes defeat. Jake locks up the dog nearest him in a pen off to the side before jogging over.
“How did they get out?” Jake says, face pale and terrified as his gaze darts between me, his dog, and Presley. “They were in the fenced-in area. I checked when we first came out.”
“Funny thing is I was wondering the same fuckin’ thing,” I say, adrenaline coursing through my body. Presley snivels and my rage simmers as spots of blood spread on my gray sweatshirt and she notices. Jake stoops down and grabs the spiked collar. Standing slowly, I grab the injured arm and cradle it. It’s not broken, but I’m sure I’ll need stitches.
As Jake drags the confused dog to the pen with the other one, Presley lays a palm softly on my shoulder. “Let me see. How bad is it?” When I meet her eyes, they’re round and fearful.
I shrug. “It’s a scratch. I’m fine.” If I showed her the wounds she’d pass out. I’m sure of it. “Are you okay?” The question slips from my mouth before I can sugarcoat the words with a joke or insult. It sounds like I give a shit about her, which I do. It is my job to care, but she can’t know I do because then she’ll wonderwhy. That complicates things more than I need.
Presley doesn’t seem to catch the slipup. “I’m shaken, and I’m only okay because you jumped in front of the dogs.” Her voice shakes. “Why did you do that? How did you know they were about to… attack?”
“I grew up with dogs. Big ones. That protect,” I offer. “It was instinct. No big deal.”
Her body trembles. “Well,” she says in a quiet voice. “Thank you.”
I grumble, scowl at my arm, and ignore her question. “Let me guess. There’s no doctor in this godforsaken town is there?”
Jake comes back, a dirty first aid kit in his hand. “I’m so sorry, let me see what Tiger did to your arm. We do have a doctor in town, but he’ll be leaving for the day soon.” He offers the kit. “I have a steady hand and know how to patch things up.”
“Things?” Presley shrieks. “He’s a human, not a car!” There is a little satisfaction that comes with knowing she’s irritated with Jake, and it shocks the shit out of me. “I’ll escort him over to the town physician. We’ll call on our way so he stays.”
I eye the first aid kit warily. It will almost certainly get infected if I let him do field medicine right now. I slide up my sleeve and peer at the gaping holes, with light-colored flesh poking out around the edge, and dark, red blood pooling in the center of four, visible puncture wounds. “I’m going to go ahead and agree with Presley here.” I slide my sleeve back down just as Presley leans over to try to get a look. “And thanks for… nothing, I guess. We’re both leaving without a vehicle, and I’m leaving disfigured.”
Jake’s eyes flare as he drops the kit by his side. “I can’t apologize enough. I’m so sorry.”
“You could give her the Jeep for a fair price so we can get to the doctor before he leaves? That’s a solid enough apology. For me. What about you?” I raise my voice so Presley knows I’m asking her the question.
She stammers, then says, “Yes, yes. That’s fine. I’ll come back tomorrow with the money.” Her neck works as she swallows. “It’s not like you and the rest of this town don’t know where I live.”
Jake reaches into his pocket and throws the keys to her. She catches them. Barely.
“Deal. I’m sorry, again. I’ll go open the side gate so you can drive out. I hope your arm is okay, man.” He walks over to the gate after telling us where to find the doctor.
Presley gets into the driver’s seat, but her hands are shaking on the wheel. “It’s a scratch. I’m fine. Can you drive a stick?” I ask, staring straight ahead out the window over to where the truck I was looking at is parked.
She scoffs at my question as if it is stupid and starts the car easily. “I can drive all of the sticks,” she retorts, chuckling. “If it was a scratch, you would have let Jake patch it up. You used the word disfigured.”
I groan. “I was manipulating the situation to get you a good deal on the Jeep.” She cranks the engine and it doesn’t sound great. I’ll be working on it before the week is over if I want peace of mind while she’s driving. “You’re welcome.”
“I already thanked you.” Presley drives out of the lot carefully, avoiding debris and tires as she accelerates through the shithole maze. “Plus, I’m still kind of creeped out that you, a stranger, would take a proverbial bullet for someone you don’t know.”
“You’ve obviously never met a gentleman,” I say.
She laughs, turning onto the main road and braking at a red light. “You are not a gentleman.”
“How can you say that?”
She tilts her head. “Your eyes.”
This, I laugh at. “My eyes? Do you think I’m a werewolf or something?”
