Page 43 of Mercenary
“I didn’t have a childhood. Forget it. Doesn’t matter.”
Yes, it does, I think yet refrain from correcting him. He’s let me in . . . given me a glimpse of himself . . .
The truck hits a pothole. And as we bounce in our seats, not only has our conversation snagged its own pothole, but in a single bounce, it exits straight out the pickup window.
With an exasperated sigh, I sit back in my seat. Wondering about his upbringing, and about the rough foundation that’s turned him into the hardened man he is today.
Ten minutes later, the road becomes pothole hell, with one teeth-rattling bump after another. Until he hits the mother lode, and I’m abruptly sailing forward out of my seat.
His arm shoots out, lightning fast. Before my body slams into the dashboard. Then with a curse, he slams on the brakes. Throwing the truck into park, he’s out the door and hurrying forward.
I scramble out of the pickup and follow him.
He’s crouched down in the middle of the road with his back to me. It’s difficult to see what’s caused him to brake like a maniac. I notice a half-chewed bone lying off to his right. Not from some unlucky animal, but the kind of pretzel-shaped bone you’d buy in a pet store.
Then I hear it—a yapping, barking noise. The truth hits me. I dash over to Declan and fall to my knees beside him.
A puppy. A beautiful chocolate lab whose big brown eyes are fixed on Declan. His tail is wagging like he’s discovered a new playmate. Excited by the company, and thanks to Declan’s quick reflexes, unharmed.
“Here, buddy,” Declan sings, then whistles. It’s all the encouragement Mr. Lucky needs as he scrambles onto all fours and climbs his way onto Declan’s lap.
Not only does Declan let Mr. Lucky maul him, he then cuddles the puppy, bringing him into a tight bear hug. This is followed by something I’d never expect Declan to do. Sitting down in the dirt road, he lifts Mr. Lucky up into the air and lets the enthusiastic puppy place doggy kisses all over his face.
I swear my jaw hits the pavement so hard I’ve created another pothole. It seems so un-Declan-like. Not only is he allowing Mr. Lucky’s show of affection, more shocking still is how he’s basking in it. The exchange is tender, sweet, heart-wrenching.
I watch, my heart thumping in rhythm with the puppy’s tail. Overcome by the living, breathing proof that the man I’ve worshiped for months exists. That my pheromones aren’t the only thing driving me, that my propensity to search for the positive in everyone is, in fact, correct. That behind his stony exterior lies a gentle, caring soul. Come to life before me as he’s presently the welcome recipient of some puppy passion.
Puppy love.
Holy hell. The truth knocks me back on my ass.
Is that what this is?
This crazy, irrational feeling. The butterflies in my stomach when I look at him, the church choir singing in my head—okay, maybe not choirboys. More like a nest of sleeping honeybees awakened to the sweet warmth of springtime. With him, there’s always this slight hesitation, this “be careful or you might get hurt” to how I feel. Being me, I ignore it. But there’s no denying I like him. More than that—I care about him on a deeper level than like.
How did this happen?
Or maybe the potholes rattled my brains and did me in?
Yep. Kiss common sense good-bye.
“That’s a good buddy,” Declan says, raising Mr. Lucky in the air and causing him to yap is head off.
I am right about him.
Declan plays with Mr. Lucky for several minutes more. Until we hear kids shouting “Pudding” somewhere deep within the cornstalks flanking the road.
“Over here,” I holler.
Declan frowns. I close my mouth. But it’s too late. He pushes Mr. Lucky into my arms seconds before three kids come falling out of the cornstalks. They charge up to us.
Well, up to me. The person left holding the puppy. What the heck? Declan’s already headed back to the pickup.
“His bone’s over here,” the smallest kid shouts.
I hand Mr. Lucky over to the oldest boy. “He was in the middle of the road. Fortunately, we stopped in time.”
The boy turns to the third kid. “Dumb ass. I told you not to throw the bone so far. You almost got Pudding killed.”
