Page 31 of River Wild

And he said, “George.”

So, I said, “Oh, right. Yeah, I’ve met him—River.” I didn’t elaborate that, the first time I’d met him, he’d ignored me, and the second time was after he’d run over my groceries with his big, stupid truck, once again being a jerk.

Then, Guy said, “I went to school with him. The guy has serious—”

And the conversation was cut off when a timer went off in the kitchen, and Guy scooted off before finishing his sentence.

And, even though I was dying to glean more information from Guy about River, I didn’t feel right in doing so. I don’t want people asking questions about me, so me being nosy about him would have felt wrong.

I haven’t spoken to River since he ran over my stuff—if you could call it speaking; it’s more like him being a jerk to me. I have seen him a few times when he’s been in the garden. I even saw him in the supermarket one time, and he point-blank ignored me. But I don’t care. I don’t want to be his friend.

I see movement over by his pool and wonder if it’s him.

Lord, that pool.

What I wouldn’t give to be able to jump in that cool water right now.

I’d honestly jump straight in there, wearing the pajama tank and shorts I have on, and I wouldn’t care.

But it isn’t River over by the pool. It appears to be a small animal.

Too big to be a squirrel. But too small to be a bear.

Are there any bears in Texas?

God, I hope not.

I can’t see from here what it is.

I don’t know why I’m so bothered, to be honest.

Letting curiosity get the better of me, I put my book down and get to my feet. I walk over to the railing to get a better look.

Oh, it’s a dog.

I didn’t know he had a dog.

I’ve never heard one barking or seen one in his garden before.

He probably keeps it cooped inside his gloomy house, the poor thing.

I think it’s one of those shih tzu dogs. Cute. Looks a bit scruffy though.

I can’t imagine grumpy River Wild with a cute little dog like that.

Honestly, I can’t imagine him with any dog. Or any living, breathing thing, for that matter.

The dog wanders over to the pool edge and starts drinking from it.

“Oh, be careful, little dude. You don’t want to fall in,” I say, curling my fingers around the railing.

Dogs can swim, right? And should it even be drinking from the pool? The chlorine could make it sick.

River really shouldn’t be letting his dog wander about the garden like this when he’s got a pool. He should cover the pool or at least come outside with the dog while it does its thing.

And maybe give it fresh water, so it doesn’t need to drink out of the pool.

I see the dog edge closer to the pool, my heart rate picking up a little, and the yell comes out of my mouth at the exact same time the dog falls into the pool.