Monroe
“Two days in a row? I don’t remember you being such an early bird.”
I came in to work early this morning to get a head start so I could leave a little sooner and have some downtime before my shift at Dirty Dicks tonight. Like every other day, I went around back to start with the dogs, and imagine my surprise when I saw they’d already been watered and fed for the morning.
There’s a fenced-in three-acre patch of land behind Animal Haven that gives the dogs a place to run and burn off some energy. Right now it’s occupied by six mutts and one very sexy cowboy.
Oh boy.
Rhett is leaning against the fence, his foot propped up on a rung, and when a lazy smile spreads across his face, I feel a rush of heat settle between my thighs.
“Couldn’t sleep worth shit again last night.”
“Dreaming of me, huh?” I tease.
I don’t mean to flirt—it’s not something I’m generally good at—but when I’m around him, I can’t help it. Things just come out of my mouth before I have a chance to stop them.
“Well, there’s that.” Rhett smirks, igniting a fire in my belly, and I have to look away before I combust.
Rascal, a Chihuahua mix I’ve been trying to home for the last year runs by, and I scoop him up—anything other than Rhett’s blinding smile to focus on.
“But it’s also my shoulder,” he says, rubbing at the offending body part.
“The doctor didn’t give you any pain pills?”
“He did, but I don’t want to take them.”
“Why not? There’s nothing wrong with taking them if you need them.”
“I know.” He pushes away from the fence and walks toward me. Rascal lets out a growl but makes no attempt to nip at Rhett when he runs a hand along his back. “Pain pills fuck me up, and if I take them, I can’t drive. If I can’t drive, I won’t be able to come help you.”
“Rhett,” I admonish. “I don’t want you to be in pain just so you can come out here and help me. I’ll manage on my own; I always do. You should go home and try to get some rest.”
“I know you can manage on your own, but I wanted to see you.”
Oh shit, there goes my stomach again.
“I remembered where your dad kept the spare key so I figured I’d help out and get you an early start. I also wanted to see my dogs. Where are they?” he asks, looking over my shoulder.
“They’re running loose in the horse pasture. I was going to leave them there while I fed and watered the dogs, but I guess that’s already done. Thank you, by the way. That saves a lot of time.”
“You’re welcome, and I’m yours for the day. Put me to work.”
I give him a look. “I’m not going to put you to work when you just told me you’re in pain.”
“I didn’t say I was in pain right now; I said I was in pain last night. My physical therapist worked my shoulder good yesterday. It was tight when I got up, but I did some of the stretches she showed me, and that took care of most of the ache. The anti-inflammatories help too.”
“If you’re sure. But any inkling of pain and you have to promise you’ll stop.”
“Cross my heart.”
“Follow me.”
Rhett tails me inside and down the main aisle past the dog kennels.
“We’ll clean out the cages of the dogs that are outside, and once we’re done, we’ll bring them back in, let the others out, and clean those cages.”
I unlock the storage room door and pull out the cleaning supplies and a large hose that’s already connected to a faucet.
“I’ll have you spray the floors down, and I’ll come behind you and scrub. Then we’ll rinse.”
“I can scrub,” he says, reaching for the brush, but I pull it back.
“No, sir.” I shake my head. “You will not injure yourself further on my watch. Coop wouldn’t let me hear the end of it.”
Rhett’s jaw clenches at the mention of Coop’s name, and I scoff. “Oh, good grief, Rhett. I wouldn’t sleep with your brother, and I’m not attracted to him in any way. Never have been; never will be.”
“You used to be attracted to me, and we’re identical twins.”
Seriously? “That doesn’t mean shit, Rhett. You two are polar opposites. You may look alike, but that’s where the similarities end.”
He smirks. “So, you are attracted to me?”
I shove his good arm. “Get to work.”
Laughing, he takes the hose, and we spend the next hour working together to clean the cages. Once we get them clean, we round up the dogs and bring them in. Most of them are tuckered out from being outside and are anxious to curl up and take a nap. Then Rhett gathers the rest of the dogs and puts them in the fenced yard.
We wash and clean the remaining dog cages, then move on to the cats. We clean their litter boxes, give them fresh food and water and lots of love and attention, and when we’re done, I go back into the storage room and pull out a can of tuna.
I peel open the container, and I can’t help myself. I shove it toward Rhett. He hates tuna.
He makes a gagging sound and pushes me away. “Paybacks are hell,” he warns.
“Ah, come on, tuna is good for you.”
“Come near me with that stuff again and you’ll be wearing it.”
“Fine. Don’t get your panties in a bunch.” I walk toward the back of the cat kennels and unlatch the door to a walk-in cage. Rhett follows behind but stays outside the enclosure. “Will you shut the door? I don’t want Pickles to make a run for it like he tried to do yesterday.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “Pickles?”
“What?” I ask. “He loves his name.”
“You’re still addicted, aren’t you?”
I’ve always had a deep affinity for dill pickles. Rhett used to make fun of me, because not only do I eat the pickles, I drink the juice. On more than one occasion back in the day, he brought me a jar of pickles rather than a bouquet of flowers.
“Don’t judge me.”
He holds up his hand and laughs.
Pickles is curled up in a ball in the back corner of the enclosure, and I take my normal seat next to him.
“Someone dropped him off here in a box. I think he was an inside cat because he’s declawed and neutered. Poor little guy was scared to death.”
“I’m not sure I’d call him little.” Rhett keeps a hand on the cage, ensuring the door stays shut.
“Can you believe that, Pickles?” I ask, hoisting the twenty-pound cat onto my lap. “He thinks you’re fat.”
I have a bad habit of talking to the animals like they’re people. Guess that’s what happens when you spend your days with four-legged friends, but Rhett doesn’t laugh or make fun of me.
Pickles looks up with sad eyes, but he makes no move to jump off my lap. Instead, he inches his way toward the can of tuna and takes a nibble.
“He doesn’t eat much. I’ve had him checked by the vet, and he seems to be in good health. My guess is his owner fed him a lot of wet cat food or tuna because he won’t touch the dry food.”
“Or he’s playing you.”
I lift a brow. “You think a cat is playing me?”
“Sure. Cats are smart. He knows that if he refuses to eat the other food you bring him, you’ll eventually offer his favorite. Tuna.”
I look down at the wet cat food still sitting in his bowl from last night and frown. Damnit, maybe Rhett is right. I sit patiently while Pickles eats his fill, and then I give him one last pet and put him on the cat bed. “You aren’t playing me, are you?” I whisper.
“Meow.” He pushes his cold nose against my arm, arches his back, and crawls off the bed. He curls up in the corner where I know I’ll find him tomorrow.
I step out of the enclosure. “You hungry?”
Rhett closes the door behind me. “Starved. Want to run in town and grab a bite?”
A juicy burger and an order of fries sounds fantastic, but it’ll put me out ten bucks, and I’m not willing to make that sacrifice. “Nah. Don’t have time. I packed my lunch.”
I grab my food from my truck and meet Rhett inside. He’s sitting across from my desk, his long legs stretched out in front of him with ruby’s head resting on his lap. He tugs his sling off, and my step falters when he reaches for the back of his shirt with his good arm and pulls it over his head.
It should be illegal for a man to do that move within a ten-foot radius of a woman.
Rolling my tongue up, I shove it back into my mouth and walk on in. “If I’d known you were providing the afternoon entertainment, I would’ve brought my dollar bills.”
“Very funny.” He slaps at my ass when I walk by, and I squeal, jumping forward. “It’s muggy as hell out today,” he adds, pushing his fingers into the fur on Ruby’s head. The affection he has for her is so simple and familiar that it makes my heart ache for things to be the way they once were. “What did you bring for lunch?”
“Turkey sandwich, chips, granola bar, and an apple. Want some?”
He shrugs and stands up. Ruby isn’t too happy about finding another spot to rest her head—because no other spot compares to Rhett’s chiseled thigh—but she settles on her blanket in the corner of the room. Rhett goes through a series of stretches, each one pushing his shoulder further. I try to focus on my lunch, but it’s damn hard with all those muscles flexing and winking at me. He’s definitely beefed up over the years. And is that a V leading to his—
“Mo?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re staring.” He blinks. I search his eyes for frustration or amusement, but all I see is a desperate hunger.
“I can’t help it,” I whisper, and then I jam my apple in my mouth and take a bite before I do something stupid like beg him to bend me over this desk and have his wicked way with me.
He smiles, slow and seductive. “Maybe we should make it fair. I wouldn’t be opposed to you stripping down so I can get in some ogling time of my own.”
I toss my apple at his head. He catches it midair with his good hand and takes a bite.
“What did your physical therapist say? How long are they expecting for your recovery?” I ask.
“Nice subject change.”
I smile.
He sighs. “You know, the normal shit. They can’t give me a specific timeline, just said it takes time and patience for these things to heal. I’m hoping a few weeks, a month max.”
“Good. That’s good.” I tear my sandwich in two and hand him half.
“You don’t have to do that. Eat your lunch, Mo.”
“There’s plenty here. I don’t mind. Eat it.” I open the bag of chips and turn it toward him.
Rhett sits down, hands me the apple, and grabs his half of the sandwich.
He takes a hefty bite. “You still make a mean sandwich.”
“It’s funny,” I say. “Not much has changed with me over the years, yet I don’t feel at all like the girl I was when you left for the PBR.”
“Mo, I—”
“I’m sorry.” I frown. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
I can tell by the flat line of his lips that he isn’t happy.
“Mo, we need to talk. I want to talk.”
“I know. We will—”
“When you’re ready, okay?”
I nod jerkily, focusing on the rest of my lunch. We eat in silence, and then I put Rhett on the riding lawn mower, toss him a can of sunscreen, and send him out to the back forty.
When we’re finished with daily chores, I grab Duke and Diesel and put my lunchbox in my truck. Rhett hoses off the lawnmower, parks it back in the shed, and meets me by his car. The dogs fall at his feet. Rhett bends down, talking softly to them as he scratches and rubs.
“Thank you again, for today,” I tell him.
“Don’t mention it,” he says, standing to his full height.
His sling is back on, and I hope all over again that he didn’t do anything to strain it today. “The shoulder’s feeling good?”
“The shoulder is fine, Mo.”
“Okay. You should get home and ice it or put some heat on it or whatever it is you do for an injury like that. Oh, and take a pain pill, for God’s sake.”
“Mo.”
“What?”
“Do you do this every day?”
“Do I do what every day?”
“This.” He waves an arm toward Animal Haven, and Duke lets out a deep bark, turning toward where Rhett pointed. “All of it.”
“I don’t mow the back forty every day, no.”
He frowns. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Yes.”
God, I hate having this conversation. Everyone thinks I don’t realize I’m working myself into the ground, but I do. I just don’t have any other choice. I either take care of Animal Haven or I get rid of it, and the latter is not an option.
“Everything else I do almost every day.”
He nods and tosses his shirt in the car. “You don’t have help?”
His phone rings from inside his pocket, and Duke barks again, but Rhett makes no move to answer it.
“I have volunteers who come in from time to time.”
“Let me rephrase. Do you have any regular help?”
“Yes.”
“How often?”
Damn him. “As often as their schedules allow, and on Sundays.”
“Right.” His jaw clenches tight as his phone continues to ring.
“Your crotch is ringing.”
He tries to fight it, but I see a hint of a smile.
“You going to answer it?”
“No.” Shoving his hand in his pocket, he does something to silence his phone and opens his mouth, but I put a hand up.
“I get it, okay? You aren’t going to say anything that hasn’t already been said to me a million times. It’s a lot of work for one person, yes. But it’s necessary, and we have fewer animals right now, and I’m not willing to bend. I also won’t argue about it or try to plead my case. I have volunteers who come when they can, and that’s all I can ask for because they’re volunteers. Now, stop shoving your nose into my business and get yourself home and take care of your shoulder.”
“You lookin’ out for me, Mo?” he asks, tilting his head away from the sun.
“Someone has to.”
“And who’s watching out for you?”
No one. God, Rhett, since you left me six years ago, no one has looked out for me. Except maybe Coop, but I’ve always wondered if that’s out of courtesy to you.
With a deep breath, I look down at the ground. “I’m a big girl, Rhett. I watch out for myself.” I look up and catch his gaze. “Now, if you’re done assaulting me with questions, I have to get home and get cleaned up before my shift at Dirty Dicks.”
Pinching his lips together, he looks away. “You’re bartending tonight?”
“I am. You should come in for a drink if you don’t have any other plans.”
I climb into my truck and start it up, making sure to crank the air. Right before I shut the door, I hear him.
“Maybe I will.”