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The ladies were watching our conversation as if we were the Wimbledon playoffs, their gazes bouncing back and forth between us.
She jammed her hands into her jacket pockets. “Well, you need someone to hold him, right? Or I can drive and you can hold him—her. Whatever.”
I dug my keys out of my pocket and tossed them to her. She had quick reflexes—even snatched the keychain out of the air without a fumble. “Since you know where the clinic is, I guess you’re up. Unless you can’t drive stick.”
“I’ve been driving stick since I was eleven.” She grabbed my shirt off the cart and handed it to me. “Let’s just go.”
“Need me to cover up?”
Her dark eyes went shark flat. “No. You’re a muddy mess, jerk. I’m saving your upholstery.”
“Right.” I wasn’t sure why her smart mouth made her even more attractive to me. I did have a twisted side when it came to strong women.
She stalked away from me, her exceptional ass swinging with each long stride.
“I’m probably going to marry her.” I wasn’t sure why that flew out of my mouth again. I definitely wasn’t going to marry her. I did want to get under those leather pants though.
The new blond that joined the party clutched her hands together under her chin. “It’s like a book I just read.”
The dog snuggled into the towel and stopped shaking for the first time. My heart did a little somersault. I stroked his little nose, careful not to touch anything that was bleeding. “So, did it have any juicy parts?”
The blond nodded and smiled. “Lots of them.”
“You chicks always get the good books.”
“You should try romance novels. They might even make you blush, Mr. Handyman.”
I laughed as I swayed with the small bundle in my arms. “Name’s Lucky.”
“Bethany.” She reached out and touched my arm, then snatched her hand back. “Sorry, I don’t know what got into me. I’ve never seen an arm so muscled in real life.”
I flexed a little. “Want another feel?”
She curled her fingers into her hand. “No. Well, maybe just one.” She squeezed my biceps and gave a twittering laugh. “Wow.”
“Move it, Thor!”
My gaze tracked to the gate I’d finished putting in yesterday. Tish held her head high and her warrior princess hair whipped on the breeze. I took another moment to admire her head to toe leather with a red racing stripe down one arm and leg.
Damn, what a woman. Maybe I would be marrying her.
Four
How the hell I’d ended up driving Lucky’s battered Ford truck into Kensington Square, I did not know.
Okay, so the pathetic dog had hit me in a weak spot. His face—and Thor’s face as he worried over the tiny ball of dirty fur—were too much to handle.
I did not have any defenses against animals. Especially hurt ones.
Thor cooed over the little dog in his lap. He kept stroking its small head, telling him how brave he was. I didn’t quite have the heart to tell him I didn’t see any itty bitty doggy twig and berries when he pulled it out of the mud.
Then again, there had been a lot of mud.
The little dog preened, even with its poor nose all crusty with blood and dirt. The tiny tail stuck out of the towel and wagged with each rumbling tumble of Lucky’s stream of conscious conversation.
“I think I should call him Butch.”
“Butch? Dear God, why?”
