his shell. Go figure.”
On the way back to Trusty, Ross thought about Trout. Not for the first time, he wondered if Trout had adapted to prison by remaining silent as purely a survival technique, or if he was a relatively silent man before his incarceration. He’d tried talking to Trout when he’d first entered the program, but it was apparent after the first three questions that he wasn’t going to get far. Ross knew the power of a pet’s love could change a person, and he was glad to see that Trout wasn’t too far gone to feel an inkling of compassion.
Fitting in anywhere was tricky business. The thought brought his mind back to Elisabeth— Lissa —where it had been all morning. When the nickname first slipped from his lips, he hadn’t expected it. But he’d felt so close to her that the intimacy of it felt right, which was just another thing that confused the hell out of him. How could he feel intimate with a woman he’d never even kissed? All morning he’d relived every look, the feel of her hand, the want in her eyes when he’d left her at her door. He’d reminded himself all day that she was living in Trusty and just how bad of an idea it would be to get involved. He knew the risks of dating her if they dated a few times and then realized what he felt wasn’t really as substantive and consuming as it felt. He knew he could end up making her reputation worse and make himself the object of town gossip, not to mention that it could ruin their relationship as neighbors, but that didn’t stop his body from reacting to the very thought of her—or the rebellious side of him he never realized he had to rear its powerful head.
Fuck the gossip.
BACK HOME, ROSS parked behind his younger brother Wes’s truck and glanced at the husbandry book he’d brought home from work for Elisabeth. He left it in the cab of the truck and followed a trail of blood to the grass, where he found Wes standing with his bloodhound Sweets in his arms. Wes owned a dude ranch just outside of town, and he had a penchant for dangerous activities such as mountain climbing and skydiving, and he was always getting injured. God only knew what he’d done now.
“Ross, I need ya, man.” Wes had a deep gash across his forehead.
“What happened?” Ross did a quick visual assessment of Sweets, who looked to be bleeding from her paws. Sweets was the only bloodhound Ross had ever met with no sense of smell, and she was perfectly named, as she was the sweetest dog on earth.
As if to prove Ross’s thoughts, Sweets licked Wes’s cheek.
“Fell while climbing a rock face,” Wes explained, which made no sense given that Wes would never have Sweets do such a thing, but the amount of blood dripping from the gash on Wes’s head told Ross that he was referring to himself.
Ross nodded toward the clinic entrance and they went inside. He flicked on the lights as he led Wes into an exam room.
“I came by last night to have a beer with you, but you were on your date with Elisabeth Nash.” With Sweets securely pressed against his chest, Wes sat on the exam table with a smart-ass smirk on his face.
Goddamn Braden grapevine, a direct descendant of the Trusty grapevine. Ross slanted his eyes at Wes. “Mom or Emily?”
“Em, of course. Dating a Trusty girl? That’s new.”
“It wasn’t a date.” But it had taken a minute-by-minute effort to keep himself from asking her on one.
“That’s not what Em thinks. She said—”
Ross stopped him with a heated stare, then began checking Sweets’s paws. “I don’t see a cut or contusion on her paws. What happened?”
“Oh, it’s not Sweets. Just me. She walked in my blood.” Wes’s jeans were smeared with bloody paw prints, and he’d obviously tried to use his shirtsleeve to stop the bleeding, as it was also soaked with fresh blood.
Ross leaned back against the counter and breathed deeply, thankful that Sweets was not hurt and mildly concerned over Wes’s cut. Wes was always getting
On the way back to Trusty, Ross thought about Trout. Not for the first time, he wondered if Trout had adapted to prison by remaining silent as purely a survival technique, or if he was a relatively silent man before his incarceration. He’d tried talking to Trout when he’d first entered the program, but it was apparent after the first three questions that he wasn’t going to get far. Ross knew the power of a pet’s love could change a person, and he was glad to see that Trout wasn’t too far gone to feel an inkling of compassion.
Fitting in anywhere was tricky business. The thought brought his mind back to Elisabeth— Lissa —where it had been all morning. When the nickname first slipped from his lips, he hadn’t expected it. But he’d felt so close to her that the intimacy of it felt right, which was just another thing that confused the hell out of him. How could he feel intimate with a woman he’d never even kissed? All morning he’d relived every look, the feel of her hand, the want in her eyes when he’d left her at her door. He’d reminded himself all day that she was living in Trusty and just how bad of an idea it would be to get involved. He knew the risks of dating her if they dated a few times and then realized what he felt wasn’t really as substantive and consuming as it felt. He knew he could end up making her reputation worse and make himself the object of town gossip, not to mention that it could ruin their relationship as neighbors, but that didn’t stop his body from reacting to the very thought of her—or the rebellious side of him he never realized he had to rear its powerful head.
Fuck the gossip.
BACK HOME, ROSS parked behind his younger brother Wes’s truck and glanced at the husbandry book he’d brought home from work for Elisabeth. He left it in the cab of the truck and followed a trail of blood to the grass, where he found Wes standing with his bloodhound Sweets in his arms. Wes owned a dude ranch just outside of town, and he had a penchant for dangerous activities such as mountain climbing and skydiving, and he was always getting injured. God only knew what he’d done now.
“Ross, I need ya, man.” Wes had a deep gash across his forehead.
“What happened?” Ross did a quick visual assessment of Sweets, who looked to be bleeding from her paws. Sweets was the only bloodhound Ross had ever met with no sense of smell, and she was perfectly named, as she was the sweetest dog on earth.
As if to prove Ross’s thoughts, Sweets licked Wes’s cheek.
“Fell while climbing a rock face,” Wes explained, which made no sense given that Wes would never have Sweets do such a thing, but the amount of blood dripping from the gash on Wes’s head told Ross that he was referring to himself.
Ross nodded toward the clinic entrance and they went inside. He flicked on the lights as he led Wes into an exam room.
“I came by last night to have a beer with you, but you were on your date with Elisabeth Nash.” With Sweets securely pressed against his chest, Wes sat on the exam table with a smart-ass smirk on his face.
Goddamn Braden grapevine, a direct descendant of the Trusty grapevine. Ross slanted his eyes at Wes. “Mom or Emily?”
“Em, of course. Dating a Trusty girl? That’s new.”
“It wasn’t a date.” But it had taken a minute-by-minute effort to keep himself from asking her on one.
“That’s not what Em thinks. She said—”
Ross stopped him with a heated stare, then began checking Sweets’s paws. “I don’t see a cut or contusion on her paws. What happened?”
“Oh, it’s not Sweets. Just me. She walked in my blood.” Wes’s jeans were smeared with bloody paw prints, and he’d obviously tried to use his shirtsleeve to stop the bleeding, as it was also soaked with fresh blood.
Ross leaned back against the counter and breathed deeply, thankful that Sweets was not hurt and mildly concerned over Wes’s cut. Wes was always getting
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