Page 21 of Dallas Rivals
I clear my throat a few times, grab Joan by the rope, and start walking her back toward the shed.
Halfway there, the guilt’s already crushing me.
“You wanna see how it’s done?” I call over my shoulder. “Figured you might not wanna be in that house right now.”
That smile again—bright and stubborn, the kind that sneaks up on you before you can stop it.
“Sure,” she says, limping a little but keeping pace beside me.
“It’s not easy having an argument in a house with no doors,” she says softly, half laughing. “I miss being able to slam one when I want to stop talking.”
“I’m not sure your front door would agree,” I mutter.
She laughs again. That sound does something strange to me. Kill always says I couldn’t make a pack of hyenas laugh if I tried—and up to this point, I’d say he’s right.
“Fair point,” she says, opening the gate to the pen so I can lead Joan in.
The second I let the goat go, she lowers her head and rams into me.
“Looks like she’s not just mean to me,” Cala remarks.
“No, that’s why I don’t keep goats. Too damn moody.” I shove the animal back just enough to make my point, and thankfully she gets it, trotting off to pick on the other one instead.
I refill the trough and scatter some feed. Cala watches quietly, her gaze following every move, but she doesn’t interfere.
“So… why keep them at all?” she asks eventually.
I glance over. She’s leaning comfortably against the fence, fingers idly brushing the necklace she nearly lost earlier, the gold and turquoise flashing faintly in the fading light. Her hair looks heavy, straight, soft—those black strands catching what’s left of the sun. Her eyes are still a bit swollen, red around the edges, but her features look calm now.
“There’s a rescue group in Dallas,” I explain. “They save abused or abandoned animals. The woman who runs it knows Lucien. When they’ve got nowhere else to go, they end up here. Technically, they’re supposed to stay short-term.” I pause. “That was a year ago.”
That’s the longest I’ve spoken to this woman since she arrived.
Before she can reply, Astro shows up, tongue out, tail wagging like the traitor he is.
“Well hey there, filthy boy!” she coos, lighting up like someone flipped a switch. She crouches to pet him, laughing as he licks her face.
My dog. Licking her face. Like—like—
Hell, I don’t even know like what, but I don’t like it.
“Excuse me? You two know each other?”
“Oh, yeah,” she says, smiling. “Astro’s with me most of the day. I probably talk to him more than to—”
She stops. Looks up at me. Whatever she sees in my face makes her words die mid-sentence.
“Is that… bad?” she asks carefully.
Yes.
No.
I don’t know.
I shake my head and cross my arms, jaw tight. She notices the motion, goes still, and pulls her hand away from my dog.
“No, I just didn’t know he wandered off the property when I wasn’t around,” I say flatly. Astro whines like a kid denied dessert the second her hands leave him.
