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“I’ve been in bed. I’m fine,” she argues, her voice quiet and a little weak.
I frown. She’s too damn stubborn for her own good.
“You’re going to end up getting everyone sick and then what? Do you really think that’s the smartest thing to do with your mom involved, Doe?”
“I’d never put my mother at risk, Blue,” she huffs, and now I can tell that I’ve stoked her anger. That’s something I’m rather good at where she’s involved. It’s a gift. “I just have an upset stomach. I’m not sick,” she insists.
“Is that what Parker said when you went out? You’d think that would make you use caution around your mother,” I snap.
“Went out? Parker? I don’t think anything I do is your business, Blue. Still, I have no—”
“It’s Moon, dear.”
My body tenses as I turn to my mother—whom I normally love—with a death glare. It’s one she ignores completely.
“What?” Meadow asks as I curse.
“You asked what name. That’s what I called Blue. Moon.”
“Moon?” she asks, and I wish I could back time up and never show up at this shelter. I knew it was a mistake even as I was doing it. Now, I know that it’s an even bigger one than I realized.
“That’s Blue’s middle name. My goodness, didn’t you know that?”
“No,” she murmurs, looking right at me. “I had no idea.”
I refuse to look away. I stare at her, daring her to say one damn thing.
“How did you not know?” Mom asks, shocked. “You guys dated for a long time,” she adds.
“Blue never told me,” she answers. Doe keeps looking at me, and I swear I can literally feel this wave of sadness move over her. It’s like a living thing that gets between us with her words. I can see pain so intense in her eyes that I’m sure I’m not imagining it. “We were young. Blue kept a lot of secrets.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask.
I can’t explain it. There’s just something about her response that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
“Just what I said, Moonie.”
“Moonie! Hah, that’s a great nickname. Why didn’t I think of that one?” Mom laughs.
“Why are you here, Blue?” Meadow asks, staring at me while Mom and Leddie discuss that ridiculous nickname. I’ll strangle Mom if she ever uses it.
I love her, but I’ll strangle her.
“Why else would someone come to a shelter?” I ask defensively, wondering if I can talk myself out of this.
“To torture me?” she asks, arms crossed at her waist.
“To adopt a pet.”
Shock flashes over her features. “You want to adopt a pet?”
“Is that so hard to believe, Doe?”
“Kind of, yeah. Adopting a shelter pet requires patience.”
“I can be patient, baby,” I whisper quietly where only she can hear me. Mom and Leddie are in the corner of the room discussing something quietly. Normally, I’d be more worried about that. I think right now they’re busy covering their own asses and trying to figure out how to tell Meadow that Miffy is knocked up.
“Stop,” she hisses, looking around for her mom.
“Just reminding you, in case you’ve forgotten,” I purr.
“I haven’t forgotten anything, Blue,” she quips. “Not a damn thing. Now, why are you really here?”
“He’s being honest,” Mom speaks up. My brow creases, and I’m immediately on alert. Mom wouldn’t just cover for me. There’s no way. “He wanted to adopt a cat.”
“Mom,” I grumble. I don’t want a damn cat. If I was going to get any kind of animal, it’d be a dog—a big one that wouldn’t put up with bullshit.
“A cat?” Meadow laughs. For some reason, that pisses me off.
“Yep, but he decided to adopt a dog instead.”
“I—”
“Blue wants to adopt Miffy.”
“You want to adopt Miffy?” she questions and hell if she doesn’t laugh again.
Her laughter is surely the reason I get stupid and respond the wrong way.
“Yep, I do.”
“Miffy? The she-devil dog that we just got in?”
“She’s just misunderstood,” I correct her.
“She would rather bite you than kitty food,” Meadow counters.
“Kitty food?” I ask, confused.
“She thinks she’s a cat. It’s all I can get her to eat.”
“We’ve already bonded,” I lie. “I want to take her home. Besides, it’s good she acts like a cat. I have a rodent problem.”
“A rodent problem?”
“Yep.”
“You don’t want Miffy,” Meadow argues, shaking her head no.
“I happen to think I do,” I argue, knowing damn good and well that I don’t.
“How about a bigger dog? There’s a Great Pyrenees out in the lot that would fit you well. He’d even help on your ranch,” she suggests. I hate that she’s reading my mind. I hate it even more she doubts I can take care of Miffy. I mean, hell, I live on a ranch full of animals. So what if she thinks she’s a cat? Mom’s cow thinks he’s a dog.
“I want Miffy,” I literally growl.
