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“I’m okay now. Really.”
She eyed him with obvious doubt. If dogs could talk, she’d be saying, “Yeah, right, dude. You’re a mess.”
“Ah, but I’m your mess, sweetheart. Aren’t you a lucky dog?” He glanced out over the ocean again, but this time, he didn’t feel the crushing weight of grief or regret any longer. He turned back to his dog. “Let’s go home and get you dinner. Sasha’s coming over tonight, so you’d better behave, you hear me? Show her what a good girl you are.”
Spirit huffed and flounced on ahead of him, her tail swishing haughtily. That was probably a no, but he decided to take it as a yes. She’d come to love Sasha. How could she not? The woman was sweet, funny, and sexy as hell with all those curves she hated. She was also strong, with a backbone of steel hidden behind a facade of shyness. And she had a heart the size of California that she gave out to friends and animals indiscriminately. He hoped there was a little piece available for him. He knew Spirit already had one.
Halfway up the path, his skin suddenly prickled with goosebumps, and he stopped moving.
Something was wrong here.
He stared into the woods, searching for the source of the off-note. But nothing moved, and Spirit didn’t seem alarmed as she nosed through the brush on the side of the path. And, still, he couldn’t shake the feeling someone was out there, watching him.
He cursed under his breath and pinched the bridge of his nose as a headache roared to life in his skull.
Just paranoia, he told himself. It was just another fun side effect of his TBI, like the headaches and hallucinations and memory lapses.
Spirit popped up out of the brush, carrying something in her mouth. She trotted over to him, tail wagging, so proud of herself for her find.
“Hey, girl. What do you got there?” He knelt and held out a hand. “Let me see it.”
And she dropped a woman’s red canvas shoe into his palm.
chapter fourteen
Sasha hadn’t expected to find Donovan sitting on her porch when she got home. She’d done her best not to think about him all afternoon and now, here he was, sitting on her steps, his motorcycle parked in her driveway.
“Hi,” she said cautiously and stepped out of her car. “I thought I was coming to your house.”
“I wasn’t sure you knew where I lived.”
“It’s a small town. I could’ve figured it out.”
“Okay. I wasn’t sure you’d come.”
His voice had a strange hollow note in it that was concerning. She walked over and picked up his helmet, placing it on her lap as she sat beside him. “You made it very hard to say no.”
“Yeah,” he whispered. “I can be a pushy bastard when I want something.”
“I’m not complaining.” She studied his profile as he stared out at the gathering dusk on her street. She could tell he wasn’t seeing the three other houses she shared this cul-de-sac with. “What’s wrong?”
He laughed but there was no humor in it. “Do you want a list?”
“No, I don’t need one. Darcy,” she guessed.
He said nothing for five solid seconds, then exhaled hard and hung his head, scrubbing his hands over his short hair. “Ash told you to stay away from me because of her. You should listen. He thinks I’ll poison you, too.”
She hesitated only a beat before lacing her fingers through his. “No, you’re not poisonous. You’re not colorful enough.”
He looked at her, surprise obvious in his dark eyes.
“Ap?o?sem?a?tism,” she explained. “It’s the conspicuous markings or bright colors animals develop to warn predators of toxicity. The brighter the colors, the more toxic. Now if he’d said you’re venomous…” She tilted her head, considered. “That I might believe.”
A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. “Want me to bite you and find out?”
She patted his hand. “Pretty sure you already did that, and I survived, so not venomous either.”
The tension eased out of his shoulders as he leaned in and kissed the side of her neck, sending a cascade of shivers through her. “We might want to try it again. You know, for science.”
