Page 63 of Protecting What's Mine
“Why do I need treats for your dog later?” she asked in suspicion.
She was getting her feet back under her, latching on to the distraction and setting the self-pity aside. Just as he’d diabolically planned.
“Because I’m leaving her to babysit you,” he informed her cheerfully. To add her two cents, Sunshine gave an excited yip.
“This is payback for your nieces and nephews, isn’t it?”
He held up his palms, the picture of innocence. “You’re actually doing me a huge favor. It’s wax-the-apparatus day, and she gets in the way trying to bite all the rags.”
“You’re making that up.”
He was indeed.
“I’m truly heartbroken that you would think that. Devastated, Dreamy.”
Her lips quirked, then flattened again. “Linc. I can’t watch your dog. I don’t know how to watch a dog.” As she said it, she stroked gentle hands over Sunshine’s ears.
“It’s easy,” he promised, slipping the salad mix and chicken breasts into the fridge. “She’ll tell you what she wants, when she wants it.”
“I don’t speak dog.”
Sunshine nosed the bag of treats, reminding Mackenzie they were there. Dutifully, she took a treat from the bag and gingerly held it out to the dog. Quivering, Sunshine deftly took the treat. With her treasure secure, she ran into the living room, hurled herself onto the couch, circled three times, and flopped down with a happy sigh.
Mack laughed despite herself.
“You’ll learn,” he said.
“Is that cookie dough?” she asked, watching him stash a package in the fridge.
“Oatmeal raisin and chocolate chip. I wasn’t sure what kind of a cookie girl you are, and I’m partial to oatmeal raisin. Figured you could make us dessert since I’m making dinner tonight.”
“That’s awfully presumptuous,” she observed.
“It’s the least I can do since you’re watching my girl today.”
Groceries stashed, he pulled out the other chair at her doll-sized table and sat.
He reached a hand out to cup her chin, angling her face to see the bruising better.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t faster,” he said.
“It’s not your job to protect me,” she reminded him.
“I think if we tag team the responsibility, we’ll do better.” He caged her knees between his hands.
She sighed. “I can’t with the full-court press today, Hotshot.”
“Because you’re feeling frustrated and vulnerable and pissed off that some dumb fuck made shitty choices that are rippling out into consequences that never should have happened. That girl should be heading into work today, not breathing through a tube. You shouldn’t be laid up in a boot, suddenly available for dog-watching. His mother will lose her son to prison because he couldn’t be responsible for himself. And it was all preventable.”
The tension sagged out of her shoulders.
“How do you get over it?” she asked.
“I don’t. But I also don’t forget the good.” He reached into his back pocket and produced a card. “This is why we do what we do.”
She took it, opened it. “A wedding invite?” Her face softened as she read the note inside. “You’re walking the bride down the aisle?”
He took the invite, tucked it back in his pocket. His own treasure, he supposed. “She was my first save. I was a rookie, fresh out of college. House fire on Christmas Eve. She was ten years old and trapped on the second floor with a big-ass family cat that she saved.”
