Page 21 of Broken Vows

Then she sets the dog down again.

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “For Christ’s sake, woman.”

She grabs the gate with both hands and tries to lift it. The thing doesn’t move. Behind her, the dog immediately turns and heads for the road again.

I shake my head and then I catch myself—this is perfect. An opening. A chance to play the helpful neighbor and get on her good side.

I head outside, taking just long enough to make it look like I heard the commotion instead of standing at my window watching the entire disaster unfold.

“Everything alright?” I ask.

Carmen straightens fast, the dog tucked under one arm again.

“Yes.”

I look at the gate lying flat on the ground, then back at her. “That usually stay there?”

Her mouth tightens. A loose strand of hair has fallen across her face, and she brushes it back. “It’s fine. I’ll fix it.”

“You want some help?”

“No,” she says. “I’ve got it.”

“The evidence suggests otherwise,” I mutter.

She ignores me, crouches down, and grabs the gate one-handed, dog still pinned at her side. It doesn’t budge. She plants her feet and pulls harder.

“Any second now,” I say.

She shoots me a glare.

I step forward, grip the top of the gate with my good arm, and haul it upright in one smooth motion.

Pain flares hot through my other shoulder, but I grit my teeth and lean the gate against the fence.

“I’ll fix it for you,” I say.

“No, thank you. I can do it.”

“You couldn’t even pick it up.”

Her eyes narrow.

Right. Gotta be romantic.

“How about you go sit inside with your little…” I gesture at the rat-dog. “Thing. And let me take care of it.”

“I said I’ll handle it.”

Sure. Broken gate, suicidal dog, no tools.

Looks handled.

I should leave her to it.

But I need her to like me, and standing around while she wrestles with a broken gate isn’t exactly making a strong case for myself.

Women like useful men.