decided to use the inside of the house as his own personal bathroom and that the other two dogs hadn’t ganged up on him in her absence, she had closed up the house and driven back to the police station.
Rather than follow in the detective’s wake, something, most likely her ever-present sense of competition, had urged her to take the lead. She made certain to keep his car in her rearview mirror at all times. She also made certain to stay ahead of him for the duration. If he sped up, so did she.
Hurrying up the front stairs to the entrance now, Ashley glanced in the detective’s direction. Why would he ask that, and why would he even want to know?
“Why?” she asked bluntly. “Do you want him?”
“Me? No.” He had nothing against dogs, but then, on the other hand, he didn’t really have anything for them, either. “I just thought that since you already have two large dogs, that particular one would be too much work for you to take on. He seemed a little hyper to me,” he added when Ashley didn’t answer him at first.
When she did answer, her voice was crisp and cool, with an added element that he couldn’t quite identify. “Jack Russell terriers aren’t exactly known for being calm and laid-back. And this one has had more than his share of drama and trauma. That being said, everyone deserves to be loved.”
Her answer gave him pause. Shane looked at her as he held open the heavy glass door. He got the definite impression that she wasn’t talking just about the dog anymore. If he didn’t know better, he would have said that she identified with the now homeless animal.
It sounded rather strange, not to mention possibly far-fetched, but Shane couldn’t really shake the feeling that he was right, now that he’d put it into words for himself.
Did she identify with homeless, unloved creatures? He found himself more than a little curious about this pushy, headstrong officer. Looking at her, he wouldn’t have thought she was unloved at all. Quite the opposite. But then, although he had no such problem himself, he’d come to recognize that self-image had little to nothing to do with what a person saw reflected in their mirror in the morning.
“After you lost your parents, did any of your relatives step up?” He saw a dark look enter Ashley’s eyes, a look that warned him to back off now if he knew what was good for him. But he was already in this and saw no other way but to go on with his question, to stick with the subject until he got an answer. “You know, did anyone offer to take you in?” he persisted when Ashley said nothing.
Her voice was a little strained when she finally did answer his question.
Strained and distant.
“They couldn’t determine who my parents were. The interior of the car had burned to a crisp, as had the two people in it. No identification of any kind was ever found. The way I saw it,” she said with a careless shrug, “if there was no identification, no one was forced to come forward and claim me.”
What a strange way to put it, he thought, as if she believed that if anyone was related to her, they’d clung gratefully to the cloak of anonymity and deliberately stayed silent.
He knew he should just shut up, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. He supposed this was proof that he really was a Cavanaugh, if he ever needed it. Cavanaughs had a tendency to pursue such things as family and honor beyond all reasonable boundaries.
“Were you ever adopted?” he asked gently.
Her expression was close to stony as she raised her chin almost defiantly, as if daring him to make something of it. “No, I was never adopted. I wasn’t cute enough, I suppose,” she told him tersely. “I went the other route. Foster homes, some good, some not so much. I was sent back a lot because I wasn’t respectful enough.” She sounded proud of the fact.
Her mouth curved almost sardonically as Ashley recalled the foster parent who had made that criticism about her.
“In one case,
Rather than follow in the detective’s wake, something, most likely her ever-present sense of competition, had urged her to take the lead. She made certain to keep his car in her rearview mirror at all times. She also made certain to stay ahead of him for the duration. If he sped up, so did she.
Hurrying up the front stairs to the entrance now, Ashley glanced in the detective’s direction. Why would he ask that, and why would he even want to know?
“Why?” she asked bluntly. “Do you want him?”
“Me? No.” He had nothing against dogs, but then, on the other hand, he didn’t really have anything for them, either. “I just thought that since you already have two large dogs, that particular one would be too much work for you to take on. He seemed a little hyper to me,” he added when Ashley didn’t answer him at first.
When she did answer, her voice was crisp and cool, with an added element that he couldn’t quite identify. “Jack Russell terriers aren’t exactly known for being calm and laid-back. And this one has had more than his share of drama and trauma. That being said, everyone deserves to be loved.”
Her answer gave him pause. Shane looked at her as he held open the heavy glass door. He got the definite impression that she wasn’t talking just about the dog anymore. If he didn’t know better, he would have said that she identified with the now homeless animal.
It sounded rather strange, not to mention possibly far-fetched, but Shane couldn’t really shake the feeling that he was right, now that he’d put it into words for himself.
Did she identify with homeless, unloved creatures? He found himself more than a little curious about this pushy, headstrong officer. Looking at her, he wouldn’t have thought she was unloved at all. Quite the opposite. But then, although he had no such problem himself, he’d come to recognize that self-image had little to nothing to do with what a person saw reflected in their mirror in the morning.
“After you lost your parents, did any of your relatives step up?” He saw a dark look enter Ashley’s eyes, a look that warned him to back off now if he knew what was good for him. But he was already in this and saw no other way but to go on with his question, to stick with the subject until he got an answer. “You know, did anyone offer to take you in?” he persisted when Ashley said nothing.
Her voice was a little strained when she finally did answer his question.
Strained and distant.
“They couldn’t determine who my parents were. The interior of the car had burned to a crisp, as had the two people in it. No identification of any kind was ever found. The way I saw it,” she said with a careless shrug, “if there was no identification, no one was forced to come forward and claim me.”
What a strange way to put it, he thought, as if she believed that if anyone was related to her, they’d clung gratefully to the cloak of anonymity and deliberately stayed silent.
He knew he should just shut up, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. He supposed this was proof that he really was a Cavanaugh, if he ever needed it. Cavanaughs had a tendency to pursue such things as family and honor beyond all reasonable boundaries.
“Were you ever adopted?” he asked gently.
Her expression was close to stony as she raised her chin almost defiantly, as if daring him to make something of it. “No, I was never adopted. I wasn’t cute enough, I suppose,” she told him tersely. “I went the other route. Foster homes, some good, some not so much. I was sent back a lot because I wasn’t respectful enough.” She sounded proud of the fact.
Her mouth curved almost sardonically as Ashley recalled the foster parent who had made that criticism about her.
“In one case,
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