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“You coming?” she asked over her shoulder as she realized the large man in the sexy jeans was no longer directly behind her. When she turned to look for him, her stomach flipped.
He sat cross-legged on the floor with a huge grin on his face while the boxer/lab mix puppy made him her personal jungle gym. Was there anything hotter than a big gruff man being sweet to an adorable dog?
No. The answer to that was a clear no.
“Looks like you may have found the one,” she said as she leaned against the door frame.
Curly laughed. “Pretty sure she found me.” He gently shoved the puppy away, and she came bounding right back, so he did it again. And a game was born.
Brooke couldn’t keep the smile off her face. “I was told her name is Harley, you know, after the motorcycles.”
Curly’s expression lit. “No shit?” He rubbed under the puppy’s chin and as she flopped on her back into his lap. “If you’d seen what I rode in on, you’d know that’s pretty damn perfect.”
“You ride a motorcycle?” Good Lord that would be a sight.
“Yep.”
“Um, well, the vet thinks she’s about nine months. Her owner died suddenly, and no one wanted her. We’re told she’s half chocolate lab and half boxer. Gonna have a lot of energy so make sure you’re up for that if you decide to adopt her.”
“I’m not looking for a lazy lap dog. I want one I can take running with me and who will like to play.” His big hands rubbed the puppy’s belly with vigorous strokes.
“Harley will be that dog.”
Ray hovered nearby like a protective big brother sizing up his kid sister’s new boyfriend.
Curly snorted. “Your boy seems to have a thing for her, huh?”
“Oh, uh, yeah. You might have to bring her around every once in a while.” Her face heated. “I mean because I’m pretty sure Ray’s sweet on her. I’m always available….”
Curly raised an eyebrow as a teasing smirk crossed his face. “I think that can be arranged.”
“I mean available for the dogs to play.” Oh, my God, did it sound like she wanted him to come see her? Did he think she was hitting on him? Always available? Ugh, she might as well have told the man she was single and lifeless. Clearly, she needed to get out and socialize with other humans more.
How embarrassing. The guy would probably have a good laugh with his twenty-five-year-old girlfriend after he got home. His girlfriend who could bend in ways Brooke could only dream of. And who didn’t have an ounce of cellulite or a wrinkle in sight. And who didn’t need to disguise gray hairs at the salon.
Ugh. Seriously? Five years and nothing. Not a flicker of interest in anyone. Now a gorgeous man walks into her yard, and her brain had utterly rebelled.
Time to get control over herself. Chances were, the moment he took Harley home, she’d never see him again. And that would be for the best.
“Well, if you’re serious about this, I can get you the adoption paperwork. I do a two-day hold for a background check, and when that clears, I’ll come see where she’ll be living. If that’s good, she’s yours.”
He frowned. “A background check?”
“Yeah, I’m a little over the top when it comes to the safety of the dogs I foster.” The way he asked the question had the back of her neck itching. “Is that gonna be a problem?”
Her inquiry was met with a heavy sigh. “Guess we’ll find out.”
Her forehead scrunched. What the hell? She’d be running that background check as soon as possible. “I’ll be right back.” She darted into the house with a million questions running through her brain. First and foremost was whether she was safe to be alone in her yard with Curly. Ray sure seemed to like him, and at least she had him as her backup should things go south.
After grabbing the paperwork, she made her way back outside. Harley was frolicking with the rest of the dogs while Curly stood gazing into the quarantine kennel. “Who’s this guy?” he asked as she approached.
How the hell did he know she was behind him? She hadn’t made a sound.
Brooke kept some space between them. “Not sure what his name is. A trucker found him bleeding on the side of the road last night. The vet is a friend and brought him to me until he can be moved to a proper pit rescue organization.”
“A friend?” he asked in a way that sounded more interested than he should be.
“Yes. Anyway, we’ve found a few injured dogs lately. Stereotypical fighting breeds. I’m pretty sure someone is running an illegal fighting ring around here.”
“Bastards,” Curly said with venom in his voice. He pierced her with an icy glare. “You ever find out who it is, feel free to let me know. Trash like that needs to be taken out.”
