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“Oh, come on!” she softly wailed. She leapt to her feet. Moved away and started to pace as her eyes flooded with tears.
“He’ll be okay,” Sam said once more, in a low tone.
“According to whom?” she quietly demanded.
“I have a vet on call for my horses, and we have a small on-site med facility. Dr. Harmon came out to check on the dog after I found him. Clearly, someone drop-kicked him a couple of times. Tried to starve him. Tossed him out a window on 93, not far from here. We took X-rays. Nothing’s broken. There’s also no chip implanted, so it’s a safe bet to say no one’s gonna come lookin’ for him. And if they did…” His jaw clenched. As did his fists at his sides.
“Yeah. They’d deserve your wrath.” She whisked her fingers over her cheeks, though a few more drops fell. She returned to her kneeling position next to the puppy and very lightly stroked one of his floppy ears. “You sure are a cute little bugger.”
Since he only gazed at the offering in front of him, rather than partaking, she dipped her fingertip into his water bowl and held it to him. He licked tentatively. She repeated the gesture, lowering her hand, guiding him downward, until he actually stuffed his face in the bowl and lapped enthusiastically.
“Seems you know what you’re doing there,” Sam commented.
Her head lifted. Slowly. Taking him in from his wet, tan-colored suede boots, up his powerful-looking jean-clad thighs, over the notably impressive bulge between his legs, to the outline of hard core muscles beneath his navy-colored T-shirt, since his leather jacket now hung open.
It took a few moments for her gaze to continue upward to his jutting pectoral ledge, then the thick column of his corded neck.
Scarlet tamped down a sigh. The visual assessment was enough to make her burn. But then her gaze slid over his squared jawline, his sensual-looking lips, his ruggedly handsome face.
And those blue, blue eyes. Crystal clear and mesmerizing.
She was acutely aware of her chest heaving. Her pulse thumping. Her clit tingling.
“Not a clue,” she said of his comment.
Her response held double meaning. She didn’t have a clue as to how to treat a battered and bruised puppy. Had less of a clue as to how to handle her second hotter-than-hell man in just two days.
Stepbrothers.
Sam Reed was Michael Vandenberg’s stepbrother.
And Michael had called Sam to tell him about her.
What had he told him about her?
The question brought her around. A little bit. She was still swept up in the distressed feelings evoked by a mistreated puppy and the heat flaring within her at the sight of Sam.
She stood and said, “I honestly can’t believe someone could do something so vile. But of course it happens all the time, right?”
He shrugged. “I wouldn’t say all the time.” Letting out a long breath, he added, “Though even once is too much in my opinion.”
He watched the Lab for a few seconds. As did Scarlet. She wasn’t sure what was normal for the dog—was he drinking enough? When had he last eaten? Was he freezing his little paws off?
Snatching the blanket from the floor, she asked Sam, “Think he’d be warmer in front of the fire?”
“Actually, I’m more concerned about him eating something.”
“What have you been feeding him?”
Sam rubbed his chin with an index finger and said in a contemplative voice, “Well, the vet says he’s about nine weeks old, so he’s been weaned. He’s good for dog food.”
“Where do you keep it?”
“Pantry.” He hitched his thumb toward a door beyond the fridge.
She headed that way and stepped inside. Her eyes popped. This was no “pantry.” It was a huge walk-in storage/laundry room.
On a long counter sat a Science Diet bag. She scooped out some kibble and then went back into the kitchen and dumped it in the bowl. Sam was busy unwrapping the box, which accommodated a pie, and then put a tub of what she presumed to be ice cream in the freezer.
