Trouble

Great, now I’m rambling to a dog.



Dozer lays his head back down and closes his eyes, so I take that as a yes.



I push my sunglasses up onto my head so I can see clear to begin assessing his injuries. I don’t know anything about dogs, but I’m guessing they don’t work much differently than people.



With care, I lay my hand on Dozer’s trembling body, and that’s when Jordan lands on his knees beside me.



“Shit, Dozer! You okay, buddy?”



Dozer grumbles a sound.



“I think a car hit him,” I say.



He stares at me for a long moment. Incredulity, anger and a few other emotions I can’t quite grasp pass over his face.



“Motherfucker!” He shakes his head, roughly. “When I find out who did this … fuck!”



I try not to flinch at his anger.



It’s not directed at you. He’s right to be angry. Someone just hurt his dog.



“We need to get him to a vet,” Jordan says with urgency.



But all I can focus on is the anger in his voice, and the physical tension that’s vibrating off him. It’s taking everything in me not to run.



I need a way to hold my calm.



So I switch into my trained mode, turn every emotion off. It’s the only way I can deal.



“Just let me check him over first. See if it’s safe to move him.” My voice sounds robotic. I hate when I sound this way.



Ignoring Jordan’s questioning stare, I run my hands over Dozer, checking for contusions, possible fractures, and internal bleeding.



Dozer yelps when my hand touches his front right leg.



I lean closer, getting a good look at the leg. There’s a disjoint in the bone. Definite fracture. Possibly more than one. No blood or signs of protrusion, which is good. It means the bone hasn’t broken the skin.



I haven’t come across any indication of internal bleeding, so I’d say this broken leg is the worst of it.



“His leg is broken,” I say, resting back on my haunches. “There’s some swelling around the ribcage, no cracks from what I can tell. I think he’s just going to have one hell of a bruise there. I think the car must have clipped him.” I glance at Jordan. His eyes are wide on my face, scrutinizing me.



Ignoring his gaze, I look back to Dozer. “We can move him, but getting him back to the hotel and to your car isn’t an option. He’s too big to carry that far.”



“I can do it,” Jordan asserts.



“Maybe so, but it’ll be really painful for him if you do. Can you go get your car and drive it to the road just up ahead? You can move him from here to there with much less pain to him.”



Jordan looks between the dog and me, his brow furrowed. “You’ll stay here with him?”



“Of course.”



“I’ll be back in five.” Jordan jumps to his feet in one swift move, and takes off running back the way we came.



“Not long now, boy.” I stroke Dozer’s ear. “Jordan will get his car, and we’ll get you to a vet. You’ll be feeling better in no time.”



Leaning forward, I take another look at Dozer’s leg. I really should strap it up; it’ll make it less painful for when we move him.



I glance around, looking for a suitable splint. I spot a stick at just the right length, so I crawl over and grab it.



Using my teeth, I bite and gnaw at the hem of my t-shirt. I manage to get a small tear—thank you cheap material—then using teeth and hands, I pull against the fabric, tearing upward. I stop a good few inches below my breasts. I secure the fabric to my chest by placing my arm under my breasts. Holding the t-shirt in place, I start to tear across.



When I’m done, I have enough t-shirt to cover my breasts, and enough material to strap up Dozer’s leg.



“Okay, Dozer. I’m going to strap your leg up with this stick, and what was my t-shirt.”



Brown eyes stare up at me unhappily.



“I won’t lie to you – it’s gonna hurt, but I’ll be real quick, I promise.”



Dozer closes his eyes and huffs out a sigh.



I don’t think he’ll bite me as he’s in too much pain, but I’m edging on the side of caution here because he’s a huge frigging dog. He could take my hand off.



Carefully, I take hold of his broken leg. He growls, baring his teeth. I pause, his leg in my hand.



“I’m helping, Dozer. Remember that before you decide to sink your teeth into me, okay?”



He makes no other sound. Just huffs out a breath and his lips slacken, covering his teeth.



I take a deep breath, and try again. “I’m gonna have to straighten your leg a little … you ready? Done.” He growls again, and I realize it’s not at me but at the pain.



“Well done.” I exhale. My heart is pounding solid against my ribs.



I pick up the splint and place it against the back of his leg. I grab the material, and start to wrap it around the make-shift splint, tight enough to hold his leg.



When I’m done, I rip the end of it the fabric with my teeth again, giving me a tie. I wrap one side around, then fasten it with the other into a knot.



Setting his leg down, I puff out a breath. “Well done, Dozer.” I pat him.



A minute later, I hear the roar of an engine. Assuming it’s Jordan, I get to my feet, brushing dirt and twigs from my knees.



“I’ll just be a second,” I say.



I step through the clearing and into view of the road. The red Mustang from the hotel is coming toward me.



Jordan pulls to a quick stop beside me. He jumps out of the car. “How’s he doing?”



“In pain, but he’s doing good.” I follow behind.



Jordan crouches down beside Dozer. “Hey boy. Gonna get you to the vet now.”



He carefully slides his hands under Dozer, then in one swift move, and with minimum effort, Jordan lifts Dozer and stands with him in his arms.



Wow.



That is one huge dog. He must weigh one sixty at least.



Jordan is a lot stronger than he looks. Not that he looks wimpy because he doesn’t. Nope. Not at all. Quite the opposite, in fact. He’s definitely all man. He’s just not muscular in a bodybuilder sense. More in an athletic, defined, toned kind of way. Well, from what I can tell through his clothes, anyway.



Jordan looks exactly how a guy should look … says me and my vastly inexperienced knowledge of men.



The only male body I have ever known is Forbes, and he’s built like a linebacker. Complete opposite to Jordan.



But I prefer Jordan’s physic. It’s just … perfect.



As I stare at him, my mind wanders to fantasy…



Jordan lifting me into his arms. Me wrapping my legs around his waist. Him pressing me up against a tree, crushing his lips to mine. His hand moving lower, between my legs, touching me in just the right place…



“You coming?”



Coming?



“What?”



I look up at his face. He’s staring down at me. Brow furrowed. Dozer still in his arms.



Dog. Hit. By. Car.



Going to the vets.



“Oh, uh, yes. Yes, I’m coming. With you.”



Oh god.



Way to go, Mia. Get turned on from watching the hot guy carrying his injured dog.



This is not me at all. But around Jordan, my state of normal no longer seems to exist.



Maybe that’s not such a bad thing.



With embarrassment flooding my cheeks, I jog on ahead to the car.



Reaching it first, I open the passenger door, and pull the seat forward, giving Jordan access to the backseat. It’s a two door car, so Jordan could have a task getting Dozer in, but he manages it with minimal fuss.



“I’ll sit in the back with him,” I say, hand on the car roof, foot in the door, ready to climb in.



I see Jordan’s eyes making quick work of my torn t-shirt. They settle on my face. He frowns.



My black eye. Shit.



I slide my sunglasses down covering my shame.



“You fixed his leg up.” His eyes are still on my face.



“I did.”



“Thank you.”



Ducking my head, I climb in the backseat and sit in the small space that Dozer isn’t occupying.



Jordan shifts the seat back to its place, then closes the door behind me and makes his way to the driver’s side.



I put my seat belt on, then carefully lift Dozer’s head and rest it on my thigh.



“You’re gonna be just fine, Dozer.”



I press my hand against his chest and begin timing his heartbeats. I want to make sure he’s doing okay, but I also to keep myself busy. I need something to focus on right now.



Jordan spins the car around. I feel the quick acceleration pushing me back into the seat as he speeds us off in the direction of the vets.



Chapter Seven



Jordan



Who the fuck is this girl?



Checking Dozer over … sounding like she knows what she’s talking about … fixing up his leg…



And that black eye.



I’ve never felt as angry as I did when I saw that. And trust me, some fucker just ran my dog over, so take it that I’m pretty fucking angry about her black eye.



That’s the reason she’s been wearing those sunglasses since she arrived. And the way she covered it up when she finally realized I’d noticed it … that bruise was no accident. Someone did that to her.



It’s probably why she was so nervous around me last night. She’s so tiny and sweet and kind. How anyone could ever hurt her is beyond me.



The way she took care of Dozer … the way she’s still taking care of him … Jesus, my poor fucking dog.



When I find the bastard who did that to him, he’s going to be eating through tubes—just like the guy who gave Mia that black eye.



Dozer might eat way too much, and take up all the space in my bed, but he’s family. I don’t have much of that left nowadays. I can’t lose him too.



“How’s he doing?” I ask over my shoulder.



“His breathing is a little labored.”



I cast a quick glance back. “What does that mean?”



“It means drive faster.”



I slam the pedal to the metal.



A few minutes later, I’m skidding to a stop outside the vets.



Jumping out of the car, I yank the seat forward and lean into the back. Mia shuffles forward and moves Dozer with her, bringing him closer to me.



I lift him into my arms.



Fucking hell. My body groans under his weight. He seems to weigh twice what he did when I picked him up back in the woods.



I shift Dozer against my chest, evening out his weight, and move as quickly as I can toward the vets. Mia is right behind me.



She overtakes and pulls open the door. I dash through.



Spotting the receptionist, I head her way. “My dog’s been hit by a car – he needs help.”



The receptionist rounds her desk. “Follow me.”



I follow quickly behind her, down a hall and into a room. A middle aged guy in a white coat is sitting at a desk working on a computer.



“Dr. Callie, we have a dog who has been hit by a car.”



The vet glances up at us, then gets straight to his feet. “Place him on here.” He points to an examination table.



Dozer flinches when I set him on the table. “Sorry, buddy,” I whisper.



“What is his name?” Dr. Callie asks, plugging a stethoscope into his ears. He presses it to Dozer’s chest.