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4
“I’m gonna charge you for my pain and suffering,” I say out of my mouth as I look over the top of my sunglasses to see Saint Westmorland standing on the front steps of a nice rustic farmhouse just seven miles down the mountain from my own haven. The way the woods wrap around the property, I’ve probably run past this place a thousand times in the three years I’ve lived here and had no idea it was even here. I’m at the trunk, trying to grab the food I brought. Dominican Empanadas and Kibbie—it’s a kind of meat-filled ball covered in a mixture of whole grains. It’s great with hot sauce.
“Welcome. Is there anything I can help with?” As Sain—I mean, Mister Westmorland’s voice appears next to my ear, my head pops up, cracking against the trunk.
“There goes all my professionalism,” I whine, hearing my pups do the same.
“Hey Darlin, slow down a beat.” He takes my face in his big hands. “You're gonna have a nasty bruise. Maybe we should get you some ice to put on that, hmm?”
“I—uh.” I stutter. “I’ll be okay, really. If you wanna do something, could you grab them?” I point to my babies. Bailey, my recently spayed Basset Hound, and her two remaining pups, Uzo and Sangria. Ainsley convinced me that letting the house owner pick one of the pups was a great housewarming gift. Had I known I was being lured into the viper pit, I would have stayed in my PJs and watched True Blood reruns.
He nods, but before letting me go, he speaks again. “I know a thing or two about a bump on the head. You let me know if you need anything.” His eyes travel up and down me, lingering, strangely enough, on my mouth. I can feel the embarrassed flame in my cheeks. Or maybe it’s a hot flash? Yeah, that’s it. I’m not hot and bothered by this inked up, tall, strong… Shut up, Toney! I swallow hard, watching him walk over to Ainsley’s door in a pair of black Levi’s that I thank God fit. BOB and I have a standing date tonight. That’s for sure.
“What’s with the pups, Ains?”
“Oh, hey,” Ainsley answers him innocently. “I was over at Toney’s helping her with those trays full of meaty goodness when it occurred to me that you are like one of the only guys without a dog. Didn’t seem right. Besides, a little girl needs a friend that moves around, and you definitely need a friend that will actually take orders from you and miss you when you’re gone.” She winks, kissing his cheek. “Pick a pup, would ya?” As she draws back, he snaps with his teeth.
Man’s a damn pitbull.
Mister Westmoreland runs a hand through his still-wet hair. “Go let Ciara pick. She’s the one that will be naming it. Let’s just pray it’s something other than Da, or we’re all fucking screwed.”
“Um—actually, they sorta have names.” I pipe up. Now that I have my oven mitts on and the four trays piled, I can barely see over them. Thankfully because if I stared at this man any longer, he might actually smell me. Just my luck, he tries to grab the trays, but I swing away. “You're hot—I mean, they’re hot. Just point me in the right direction. Please.” I beg.
“I know I’m hot, but it was nice to hear ya say it, Darlin’.” He sidles up behind me. “You walk, and I’ll lead.” His hands hit my hips, and I squirm.
“Please don’t touch me.” And his mouth dried up the well. “Come on, Bailey, Uzo—Sangria.” I walk, seeing Ainsley doubled over laughing as another tatted-up man approaches with a couple of towels.
“Hey, heard ya say it was hot. Let me lighten your load.” He huffs. “I love your car. It must have cost ya mint.”
“It was worth three times my house.” I let him grab the top two trays. “Thank you.” He’s devilishly good-looking, but he’s no Saint. I give a harder swish to my hips as I follow the devil inside.
“I’m Monroe, by the way. Mind the stairs.” He calls over his shoulder. Looking behind me, I see that the smoldering man has retreated, and my dogs have gone with him! Traitors.
Once inside, I am surrounded by people. Men, women, children. They are messing with power tools, paint, and other home improvement methods. Everyone’s hands are busy. “Um, I’m not going to have to earn my supper, am I? Cause I brought plenty to share, and if I swing a hammer, it may go through a window.” I admit nervously.
“Roe, leave the fucking Doc alone,” Mister Westmoreland shouts over the music. “Ains, make sure your friend is fucking comfortable. There’s food and drinks around.”
“Hey, I’m not the one throwin’ this shindig—I just set it up!” Ainsley pouts. “Now, Sainty-poo, come over here and get you some of this woman’s meat before the animals dig in!”
“I’ve got enough meat to handle.” He gives her this look like death would be too good for her.
Putting down the trays, I uncover the empanadas. “That may well be, Mister Westmoreland, but I can say with certainty that until you’ve had Dominican hand pies, you haven’t lived.” I hold out one of them. “Don’t you want to try my pie?”
His eyes damn near level me. “You gonna feed me your pie, Doc?”
I square my shoulders, feeling every eye in the room as my lip curls, and I walk right up to him and offer the food. I’m sure everyone expects me to shove it in his face, and I probably should. Instead, I go up on tiptoe and let the edge of the pie brush his lip. “Take a long whiff, smell those spices? Inside is the hottest, wettest morsel you will—” I take a bite. “Never taste.” with a wicked grin, I walk away
The room erupts into a mixture of laughter, snickers, and the properly placed Oohs.
“Someone get me a fucking drink.”
“You want some ice for that burn?” Monroe shakes his head as I step out the back.
