“So fussy,” she said and leaned her head back, eyes closing. Ripley burrowed her way into the mass on her lap and disappeared. I slammed the door and ran around to my side. My hands shook so hard that I missed the handle the first time and had to try again.
I took a steadying breath before I got in.
We drove in silence, an occasional tremor in my periphery making me speed up.
“How did you come to own a designer dog?” she asked out of nowhere.
I had a white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel, focusing on the road, so it took me a second for her words to sink in. I raised an eyebrow at Ripley, who was nothing but vibrations under the blankets. “I wouldn’t say she’s built for much,” I said.
“That’s where you’re wrong. Italian greyhounds are worth a pretty penny. Bred for speed. Why do you have her all the way up here?”
Again, I looked at Ripley skeptically.
“A little less than a year ago, I found her near a dumpster behind Ruth’s B and B. She was in a fight with a raccoon and holding herself against the snarling little jerk. Reminded me of the movieAlien.”
She clicked her tongue. “Poor thing. Someone abandonedher?” Claire said with the same shock I’d first shared.
“Yeah,” I grunted.
I remembered the anger when I found Ripley. It was the first emotion to pierce through the haze of my depression. She was dirty and terrified. Nobody claimed her. Nobody posted about losing her. Nobody had even chipped her. Knowing some rich prick paid all that money just to tire of her when they were done brought all that rage back up.
I reached my hand under the blanket to scratch Ripley’s head. Just thinking about her hurting or hungry made me need to pet her. I accidentally grazed Claire’s thigh and quickly pulled my hand back like I had … well, like I’d groped the thigh of my tenant.
“Sorry, I was?—”
“No. I know. It’s okay,” she insisted.
She cleared her throat. I focused on the road.
We sat in awkward silence for the rest of the drive.
The snow was already sticking to the gravel road back to the house. This storm was just ramping up. We were back in front of the cabin in no time. I pulled open her door and carried both the ladies out.
“I’m going to get used to this,” she teased.
I almost said, “Good, you should,” but kept my mouth clamped tight. “Door locked?” I asked as we climbed the short steps.
“I don’t think so.”
I kicked the door open without meaning to and brought her straight to the wood-burning stove. Thankfully, plenty of hotembers were still glowing. I set her down and grabbed wood to stack until the flames caught. Ripley jumped free to wiggle her way into her favorite spot at the end of the bed.
With my back to her, focused on my task, I said, “Take off those clothes, quick.”
She cleared her throat, but I heard the soft fall of the blankets and the louder thump of my coat hitting the floor. I clenched my jaw and went to the small bureau beside the bed.
“I’m just grabbing some warm clothes,” I explained.
“Not that?—”
I quickly shut the drawer filled with bras and panties, ignoring the sweet, clean scent that drifted up. I scored big on the next one, grabbing long, fuzzy socks, a pair of heavy cotton sweats, and a buttery-soft but warm-looking sweater. I was sure she’d want undergarments, but this would have to be good enough for now.
She sucked in a sharp, pained breath behind me, and I spun without meaning to at the sound of her distress. She was in the process of bending at the waist to roll down her hiking pants. Her skin was alabaster white and pebbled with goose bumps. My eyes swept over her, cataloging for injuries, keeping my gaze cool and perfunctory, never landing on one place for too long. She was still in her panties, and no matter how hard I tried to detach from the scene before me, I wouldn’t be able to forget the sight of those bare thighs and the perfectly round curve of her ass anytime soon.
“Do you need—” I stepped toward her, and she stilled, eyeswide as she noticed I’d turned back. I averted my gaze and pointed at her leg. “You’re bleeding.”
“I slipped and cut my knee. Nothing bad, just need to clean it.” She straightened and watched me approach. A drenched undershirt clung to her soaking skin, revealing a black sports bra. Her nipples were hard, but all I could focus on was how pale she looked. How her lips were still not the right shade of pink. She needed to warm up. She needed to get these clothes off.
“I’m just shivering so much I’m struggling …” Her hands fumbled as she tried again to take off her pants.
