do here.”
“By all means enlighten me. I’m still playing catch-up,” he whispered right back with a grin. “I’ve been busy the past few months weaving a blanket of freedom for you to sleep under.”
The woman jerked back, folding her arms over her chest. “No need to be smug with the whole war hero act.”
Sierra hissed like Nathan’s snake. “Last time I checked, the roadside bomb that killed my father and nearly killed Mike wasn’t an act.”
Valerie didn’t even wince this time. “We’ve all lost someone around here, but you don’t see me trotting out my problems. Lacey took in that wild dog to stir up a bunch of sympathy over being a war widow. You think the county council will feel sorry for you all rather than listen to reason and shut this place down.”
Mike frowned, confused as hell. “County council?”
Sierra bristled, and until that moment he’d forgotten how damn fiery his Tinker Bell could get.
His?
Sierra stared down the battle-ax without flinching. “Only a crass, heartless human being would insinuate my mother is playing on the fact that my father was blown up in order to gain sympathy—or make money. Do you fully comprehend that? My father is dead.”
She spit out the word so bitterly Mike fought the urge to haul her to him and comfort her. But Sierra was clearly having none of that. Her fists were clenched at her side as she said her piece.
“And my father didn’t die in some gentle passing in his sleep. It was violent and ugly and he made that sacrifice so that even a horrible person like you would have that blanket of freedom to say whatever the hell rude thing you please in front of the county council.”
Valerie shook her head. “Dear, I am very sorry about your father. But you’re proving my point with making this emotional when it’s a practical issue. This place and the disruption it causes are all facts. More facts? You have loud, dangerous animals living next door to me. Look at the place. It’s not a ranch or even a farm, just a run-down eyesore full of smelly dogs.”
Sierra’s anger seemed to deflate in defeat. She sighed wearily. “You’ve made your point, Mrs. Hammond. We’re fixing the fence. You can feel free to go home now, safe from our smelly dogs.”
“My son’s not back.” Valerie shifted her attention to Mike. “Why are you still here anyway, hero boy? You’ve delivered the dog. Now you can go back to your blanket weaving.”
“Leave? You’ve misunderstood. I’m not going anywhere.” As soon as the words fell out of his mouth, he knew they were true. Nathan and Gramps might both be halfway off the rails, but even they could see this place needed help in more ways than one. And watching vibrant Sierra slump under the weight of this mean-ass woman’s tirade stirred something in him.
Valerie’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not sure I understand you. Are you two shacking up?”
Shacking up? Who still said stuff like that? Trooper flipped from his back and trotted over, stopping beside Mike. The woman’s red dyed hair damn near stood up on end.
Mike’s hand fell to rest on Trooper’s head and scratched between the dog’s ears.
“You have nothing to worry about, ma’am. No more broken fences or worries about wild dogs. The McDaniel family has a handyman moving into their loft apartment.” He moved in closer, standing square in front of her four-wheeler with Trooper beside him step for step. “A war hero the whole town is sure to be impressed with.”
“And who would that be?”
“Me, of course.”
Before the woman could answer, Trooper lifted a leg and peed on her front tire.
* * *
I COULD SMELL victory, a lot like the magnificent scent of a sweaty sandal or a burned hot dog.
Or marking a bitch’s tire.
Do you know one of the coolest things about being a dog? I can call someone a bitch and it’s politically correct, since technically, a bitch is a female.
Although that demon woman on her beast mobile was
“By all means enlighten me. I’m still playing catch-up,” he whispered right back with a grin. “I’ve been busy the past few months weaving a blanket of freedom for you to sleep under.”
The woman jerked back, folding her arms over her chest. “No need to be smug with the whole war hero act.”
Sierra hissed like Nathan’s snake. “Last time I checked, the roadside bomb that killed my father and nearly killed Mike wasn’t an act.”
Valerie didn’t even wince this time. “We’ve all lost someone around here, but you don’t see me trotting out my problems. Lacey took in that wild dog to stir up a bunch of sympathy over being a war widow. You think the county council will feel sorry for you all rather than listen to reason and shut this place down.”
Mike frowned, confused as hell. “County council?”
Sierra bristled, and until that moment he’d forgotten how damn fiery his Tinker Bell could get.
His?
Sierra stared down the battle-ax without flinching. “Only a crass, heartless human being would insinuate my mother is playing on the fact that my father was blown up in order to gain sympathy—or make money. Do you fully comprehend that? My father is dead.”
She spit out the word so bitterly Mike fought the urge to haul her to him and comfort her. But Sierra was clearly having none of that. Her fists were clenched at her side as she said her piece.
“And my father didn’t die in some gentle passing in his sleep. It was violent and ugly and he made that sacrifice so that even a horrible person like you would have that blanket of freedom to say whatever the hell rude thing you please in front of the county council.”
Valerie shook her head. “Dear, I am very sorry about your father. But you’re proving my point with making this emotional when it’s a practical issue. This place and the disruption it causes are all facts. More facts? You have loud, dangerous animals living next door to me. Look at the place. It’s not a ranch or even a farm, just a run-down eyesore full of smelly dogs.”
Sierra’s anger seemed to deflate in defeat. She sighed wearily. “You’ve made your point, Mrs. Hammond. We’re fixing the fence. You can feel free to go home now, safe from our smelly dogs.”
“My son’s not back.” Valerie shifted her attention to Mike. “Why are you still here anyway, hero boy? You’ve delivered the dog. Now you can go back to your blanket weaving.”
“Leave? You’ve misunderstood. I’m not going anywhere.” As soon as the words fell out of his mouth, he knew they were true. Nathan and Gramps might both be halfway off the rails, but even they could see this place needed help in more ways than one. And watching vibrant Sierra slump under the weight of this mean-ass woman’s tirade stirred something in him.
Valerie’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not sure I understand you. Are you two shacking up?”
Shacking up? Who still said stuff like that? Trooper flipped from his back and trotted over, stopping beside Mike. The woman’s red dyed hair damn near stood up on end.
Mike’s hand fell to rest on Trooper’s head and scratched between the dog’s ears.
“You have nothing to worry about, ma’am. No more broken fences or worries about wild dogs. The McDaniel family has a handyman moving into their loft apartment.” He moved in closer, standing square in front of her four-wheeler with Trooper beside him step for step. “A war hero the whole town is sure to be impressed with.”
“And who would that be?”
“Me, of course.”
Before the woman could answer, Trooper lifted a leg and peed on her front tire.
* * *
I COULD SMELL victory, a lot like the magnificent scent of a sweaty sandal or a burned hot dog.
Or marking a bitch’s tire.
Do you know one of the coolest things about being a dog? I can call someone a bitch and it’s politically correct, since technically, a bitch is a female.
Although that demon woman on her beast mobile was
Similar Books
