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“Mom, it’s a little Chihuahua.”
“You’re joking.”
“Look.”
She turns and stares with me, studying the little black dog in Ryland’s hand. His teeth are pulled back in a growl, but he’s not making any noise now, just staring at the car in suspicion, his nose wrinkling with crazy speed as if he’s trying to sort through a thousand different scents.
I open the car door and step out, mock-glaring at Ryland even as a smile spreads across my face.
“How the heck is that possible?” I say. “He sounded like a helicopter.”
“I know,” Ryland chuckles. “I can’t explain it. He’s the tiniest, loudest dog I’ve ever seen in my life.”
I move over to him, my heart sizzling at the tender way Ryland handles the small animal. My body burns with budding heat when I envision him cradling a baby in the same way, our baby.
Even if I know it’s impossible – and even if I know broodiness is the last thing I should be feeling – the image burns its mark into my mind.
“Can I pet him?” I ask.
Ryland shakes his head slowly. “He’s not great with strangers,” he says. “I found him in a dumpster. He was just left there, the poor guy. He was growling like a Pit bull—like you heard. I got ready for a hell of a fight when I opened it up. But then he looks up at me, this little terrified thing.”
“And you took him in and gave him a home,” I whisper, my heart melting like wax under the flame of his selflessness.
“Yeah,” Ryland says matter of fact. “The only thing I regret is not knowing what piece of shit abandoned him there. I’d like to exchange a few words with them.”
Something tells me he’d give him more than words.
I turn at the sound of mom climbing from the car, moving instinctively toward her.
She waves a hand at me, aiming a glare.
“I can walk, Rosie,” she snaps. “I’m not a complete invalid.”
I sigh and turn back, rolling my eyes at Ryland with a little smile. It’s weird how I feel like I can communicate silently with him when we’ve only just met when he’s a complete stranger.
Heck, he may even try and kill me still.
This could all be some twisted plan.
And yet I can’t bring myself to believe that.
“I’ll just take Chopper back up,” Ryland says, “and then I can help with your bags.”
“There’s no need,” I say, stepping forward. “I’m sure I can handle him.”
Ryland smirks, his sky-blues searing into me, making me scorch hotly.
“I wouldn’t be so confident,” he says. “Chopper may be small, but he’s ferocious.”
“Is that right?” I murmur, leaning down at the adorable dog.
His upper lip quivers as he stares at me with his big brown eyes. But he isn’t growling. I raise my hand slowly, carefully, and then begin to move toward him.
“You’re a good boy, Chopper,” I whisper. “Yes, you are. You’re a strong, loud boy, aren’t you? Aren’t you? Yes, you are.”
He tilts his head back as I lower my hand to him and scratch him behind the ear.
His mouth opens into a big gummy smile as I begin to rub, and he lets out a contended whining noise, his tongue lolling.
“Well, fuck,” Ryland says. “Maybe he’s not as ferocious as I thought.”
“Can I hold him?” I ask.
“If he’ll let you.”
“What do you think, tough guy?” I murmur. “Can I hold you, hmm? Can I, you good boy?”
I scoop my hand under his little body, my skin brushing against Ryland’s as I pull him toward me.
Chopper lolls against my chest, grinning up at me with so much bright happiness I feel my heart quiver.
“I think he likes you,” Ryland says. “Go on up, Rosie. I’ll help your mother.”
“Thank you,” I murmur, walking to the bottom of the imposing staircase.
I stare up at the towering structure, feeling small, lost…
But, oddly, I feel like I’m home like I’ve been waiting all my life to lead me here.
“Crazy, huh, boy?” I whisper, just loud enough for Chopper to hear, as I take the first step.
Chapter Eight
Ryland
I sit in my vast library, a weighty hardback book open on the table in front of me.
The library is one of the largest rooms in the house, with walls that stretch three floors up and end in a golden half-sphere ceiling, filtering in the moonlight and turning it the color of the sun.
Every long, tall wall is lined with books, some of them well-read and some of them untouched.
Sliding ladders crisscross the shelves, and interconnected wood walkways and staircases zigzag up all three floors.
I run a hand through my hair, letting out a carnal groaning noise when I think about this crazy, crazy goddamn day.
First, there was the order to kill Rosie, and then there was the moving-in. Afterward, I called Vito and told him I’d taken care of them.
