Page 1 of Call Me Yours
1
STEVEN
Three Months Ago
It had already beena shitty day when the SUV I had tried to flag down slowed its roll just enough to open the passenger door and toss a pig out of it. The pig landed with a splash of mud and a terrified squeal that made every cell in my body cringe.
Now it was a really shitty fucking day.
“Assholes!” I shouted, like that would make them see the error of their ways.
The pig stared at me with its little piggy eyes, and I stared back. It was a still a juvenile, maybe twenty pounds, and obviously in pain, judging from the way it refused to put weight on its left hind leg.
It wasn’t my pig. There wasn’t a single reason in this goddamn world why I should make someone else’s pig my problem. Except…well, it didn’t seem like an ordinary pig, the kind that would one day find itself on a breakfast plate. No farmer who raised pigs for food was gonna toss one into a field to become a mountain lion’s dinner any more than he’d tear up a hundred-dollar bill. Anyway, it had a pampered look about it.It was weirdly clean for a pig, and someone had painted its hoofs pink. Jesus fucking Christ, it was some asshole’s pet.
That still didn’t make it my problem. I had enough problems. The dead battery in my truck being one of them. Another was the lack of cell service along this stretch of highway between Aspen Springs, Colorado, and my corner of land four miles from the outskirts of town. Those two problems together made the low rumble of thunder an even bigger problem.
But the pig kept right on staring at me with pathetic piggy eyes.
Goddammit.
I was such a fucking sucker.
“All right,” I groused. “All right. Let me see your leg.” There was a hand gun in the glove compartment of my truck, so if the legwasbroken, I could give him a merciful ending. I did not tell him this as I squatted down for a better look.
The pig made sad snuffling noises as I poked and prodded its leg. It didn’t feel broken. Dammit. That meant I couldn’t just shoot the darn thing and be done with it. I had to actuallydosomething.
A fat raindrop splattered on my bare forearm. It was quickly followed by another, and a roll of thunder directly over our heads.
“We can wait in the truck,” I decided. “Someone will be along eventually and give us a jump.”
Us. Like we were in this together. Just me and the pig against the world. Fucking hell.
I had zero experience with living pigs—horses were my business—but this one wasn’t any bigger than a small dog, so I looped my arms around it and pushed upright.
And it fuckingscreamedlike a hellhound had nipped at its tail. My teeth clanked together and my soul damn near departed my body at the sound. I was going to hear that scream in mynightmares. It scrambled my brain long enough for the pig to squirm free and land in the mud with another ear-shattering squeal.
“Goddammit!” I shouted. “Hold still and let me help you!”
I lunged, he dodged awfully quick for an injured animal, and I landed on my knees in the mud. The pig darted through the raindrops to a storm pipe, kicking mud on my gray t-shirt for good measure.
I peered inside. It was dark and cramped. The pig huddled out of reach.
“I’m not going in there after you,” I informed the little shit. “You’ll have no one to blame but yourself when get eaten by a mountain lion.”
I reached for him, just to verify, and he took a step deeper into the pipe. His pink hoof paint glittered in the low light, a reminder that he was someone’s pet. Dammit.
“I hate you,” I said as I lowered to my belly. It made a gross sucking noise as I flattened against the damp ground.
I wasn’t even sure this would work. My shoulders might be too broad for the narrow opening of the pipe. I rolled to my side, stretched my arms overhead, and wiggled my torso inside. It wasn’t great. I could fit—barely—but I couldn’t move much at all. I was wedged in too tight.
It was a lost cause, saving an animal that wasn’t inclined to be saved. But I kept stretching, kept reaching, kept trying like a fucking loser who didn’t have enough sense to know he was beat.
Something pushed roughly at my knee, startling me, and I banged my head against the top of the pipe.
“Shit,” I muttered. I didn’t even have enough space to rub away the ache.
“What are you doing?” a mean woman’s voice demanded.
