Page 9 of Junkyard Dog

“What do you do in cases like that? Injured animals, I mean.”

She smirked, a slightly guilty look crossing her face. “We send the wild ones to a rehabilitation center, but if a pet owner doesn’t come forward, we’re supposed to hand them over to an animal rescue.”

Catching the slight hitch in her words, he cocked a brow and reached over to snatch a fry. “Supposed to?”

“We’re legally obligated to place the animal with the proper agencies. So the last cat I found may or may not live with me now.” She grinned, examining her fries. “Her name may or may not be Marbles. And if I find that poor dog, I may or may not bring him home, too.”

*

Charlotte watched inher peripheral vision as Alex bent forward slightly and rested his elbows on his knees. “I don’t think it’s something I’d be fired for,” she quickly added, fighting the urge to watch his biceps as they tightened. “Not like drawing a weapon without just cause or anything.”

His jaw flexed in the dim light of the cab as he pursed his lips. “No, of course not.” He finally chuckled. “I have a lot of respect for animal rescue.” He smirked and tilted his head, his blond hair falling into his eyes. “So, you like dogs?”

“Doesn’t everyone?” she countered, passing what was left of her meal his way.

“You’d be surprised,” he muttered, accepting the container and diving into the vinegar-soaked fries. “How the hell do you have any taste buds left after eating this? I mean, damn, girl. What the—”

Blinding headlights appeared suddenly as a vehicle spun around the bend and barreled straight toward them, braking into a cloud of dust. An unnatural snarl echoed in her ears, her own voice catching in her throat for a moment before her brain caught up with the gait of the driver while he strode through the beams. Throwing her door open, she jumped out of the truck and leapt onto the man, yanking his arm roughly behind him and flipping him onto his back as Alex appeared at her side.

“Dammit, Chuck.” Max coughed, struggling to get back up and glaring at her when she slammed her shoulder into his to keep him down. He arched his head back to grin at Alex. “You two behaving yourselves?”

Alex shook his head in disbelief, his eyes flicking between Charlotte and Max. “I don’t know if I should be impressed or terrified.”

Her chest heaving from the exertion, she gave one final smack to Max’s ribs and rose off him, dusting the sand from her clothes. “Sorry,” she panted, kicking a little extra dirt onto her partner as he got to his feet. “Max thinks he’s funny.”

“I’m a fucking riot.” Max coughed again, untucking his shirt to check for damage. “You’ve gotten faster.” He turned to Alex. “Figured you could use a little demonstration of what Chuck can do to you if you try anything funny.”

Her cheeks flamed as her lips tightened into a thin line.

“Message received,” Alex replied, stepping closer to her. “On that note, I think I better get my ass home. Swing by the tavern before work tomorrow if you have time.”

“Thanks for dinner,” she ground out, her muscles still tense from the adrenaline rush. She continued to glare at Max while Alex disappeared down the dark road to his SUV. “I’m going to kill you.”

Max gave a friendly wave to Alex as he flipped around and disappeared down the road. “I know guys like him. Young. Hot. Completely on their game,” he said cheerfully, shaking the sand from his hair and pulling his hat back on. “I am guys like him.” He bent to scoop her hat from the ground and handed it to her.

“That was so embarrassing,” she seethed, smacking her dusty hat against her leg. “Why would you do that?”

He tossed his arm over her shoulder. “To throw the player off his game, of course. Make sure he knows messing with you isn’t a good idea.” He paused. “And it was funny.”

*

Alex pulled intohis parking stall, killed the engine, pulled his phone from his pocket, and dialed his brother.

“Bo, honey,” a woman mumbled sleepily, “phone’s for you.”

“’Sup?” Bo’s gravelly voice was heavy with exhaustion or booze.

Probably both.

“Hey,” he said quietly. “You talk to Ryan this week?”

Bo yawned loudly, the rustling of sheets transmitting through the phone. “Yeah, yeah. Midsized white guy with a goatee and a sedan. You good?”

“Just a few broken ribs,” he replied, pressing on them to assess the healing. “I’ve got a question for you.”

“Fire away,” Bo grumbled.

“You ever date a woman who’s tougher than you?”

---