Page 22 of Junkyard Dog

He snorted.

“Okay, then what do you think of Fido? Spot? Phil? Any of those make you happy?”

Each suggestion was met with obvious disdain.

She turned toward a quiet campground and stopped. “I just need to do a quick walk-around and we’ll head back to the station,” she said, slipping a new leash into her pocket and turning on her flashlight. “Coming, boy?”

The dog jumped down from the truck and began pacing the perimeter, his nose lifted into the air. When she began her walk toward the tents, he appeared at her side, the top of his head almost to her shoulder. She rested her hand on his back, running her fingers through the long fur and slipping them under the huge leather collar hanging loose along his throat, doing her best to clip the leash on without startling the beast.

When the clasp closed with asnick, she could almost swear the dog’s shoulders hunched.

“Nothing exciting,” she whispered, scanning the last of the tents with her light as the leash remained slack in her hand. “Let’s get back to the truck. You can ride up front.”

*

Alex laid hishead on the armrest and closed his eyes.

Riding up front had been abandoned the moment he crawled into the passenger side and realized it was about half as big as he needed, so he was relegated to the back seat.

Charlotte’s fingers gently played with his ears, lulling him into a daze as he stared out the window and relished in the scent of her skin. Every so often, her hand would still until he nudged her, reminding her he was there.

It was a small reprieve from the humiliation of the leash and collar.

“Okay, boy, I’m going to need to head inside and sign out,” she said, unbuckling her seat belt. “You stay here and I’ll be right back.”

She unrolled the windows, slammed the door, and locked him in.

He sat up and scanned the area, the morning sun providing enough light for him to make out the small lizards scurrying across the sand. He strained his neck back in the cramped space and watched Charlotte through the window as she chatted with her coworker. Lifting his ears, he could make out most of the casual conversation. Updates about the road conditions. Annoyance with the litter outside the west campground. Gossip about Becky and one of the cops that had been on duty the day before.

No leads on the murders.

Charlotte walked out, her hat under her arm as she pulled the elastic from her ponytail. She opened the back door and stepped aside. “All right, boy. You’re coming home with me.”

He lowered himself out of the truck, his haunches aching from the tight fit. When she bent to scoop up the leash, he ducked out of her reach and took off into the desert.

He had a date in seven hours.

*

Charlotte swatted herfork at Alex’s, effectively ending his foraging of her precious lava cake. “We all have lines in the sand,” she warned, pulling the plate closer. “This is mine.”

He sat back in the booth and grinned, sliding his fork across the table in defeat. “All right, all right. I give.”

Eying him suspiciously, she lifted another bite to her lips. “How long have you bartended?”

She tried to focus on his answer and not fall into the distraction of his soothing baritone or the way his blue button-down shirt clung to his muscles and amplified the different colors of his eyes.

Heavens help her, she was failing miserably.

From the moment she opened her door to see him standing there, daffodils in hand and black jeans that rode sinfully low, her mind had gone on the defensive. He was pretty. Too pretty.

Harmless fling. Just a harmless, flirty fling.

The stress of the past forty-eight hours had dissipated as Alex kept her entertained with tales from the bartending front and gossip about the locals. He prodded her about her police training, musing aloud about the best gym in the region for her to show him her moves.

“That’s it,” he announced, flagging the server over. “You’re exhausted, and I’m taking you home before you’re facedown in that cake.”

She blinked, shaking her head. “No, no. Sorry. I’m good.”

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