“Hey, bud,” I whispered, still scratching his face. “You’re scared, huh? Are you lost?”

  He listened to me speak, absorbed my pets, and his breathing started to slow.

  “You don’t have a home do you? If you do it’s not a good one. You’re skin and bone. I think you’re hurt, too, aren’t you?”

  He huffed a sigh, the weight of his chin increasing. His body settling.

  “That’s okay. We’ll get ya cleaned up. We’ll sort you out.”

  I sat with that beaten, mangy dog for over forty minutes, just petting and talking. Slow and gentle, letting him warm to me. The sun set entirely. We were left in the dark together and it wasn’t long before I heard a car pull up outside. I waited as Jenna called to me from inside the house and I picked up a small rock and tossed it at the kitchen window. I was relieved when it didn’t shatter the damn thing.

  The swoosh of the sliding glass door brought the dog’s head up, but he was still hidden by the boards. He didn’t move to run. Only listened.

  “Go slow,” I warned Jenna in a hushed voice. “I’m over here by the wood pile. There’s a dog over here.”

  She hesitated. “Do you want me to turn on the light?”

  “It’s busted. Do you have your cell phone?”

  “Yeah, of course. I’m guessing you don’t have yours ‘cause you weren’t answering.”

  “No, sorry. I’ve been sitting out here with this guy for close to an hour. Will you turn on the flashlight app?”

  A few seconds later the flash on Jenna’s phone lit up, pointed at the ground at her feet.

  “Come over slowly,” I warned her. “Keep it out of his eyes.”

  The light moved gradually toward us. “How big is he?”

  “Not huge. He’d be bigger if he were eating.”

  “Has he been growling?”

  “No. His head was in my lap. He’s letting me pet him.”

  Jenna came around the corner of the wood pile, bringing the light in over the dog’s back to avoid his eyes, and she gasped at what she saw.

  He was worse off than I thought. His ribs were visible, his fur dirty, and he had a gash on his side that could have been from nails on one of the boards, but more than likely it was from scurrying under a fence or getting in a fight with another dog.

  “Oh, Kellen,” she moaned quietly.

  “I know.”

  “What do we do? Call animal control?”

  “No. Let’s load him in the truck. Get him to the vet.”

  “It’s after nine. No one will be open.”

  “Shit,” I growled, stroking the dog’s head slowly. “Did you bring dinner?”

  “Yeah. Burgers. Do you want to feed him one?”

  “He can have mine.”

  “Have you seen his ribs? He can have the whole fucking bag.”

  Jenna came back a few minutes later with a rustling white bag of food and a length of cord that’d been strung up in the laundry room as a makeshift clothesline. She handed me the food and went about tying a loop in the end of the cord.

  “What’s that for?” I asked, unwrapping a cheeseburger.

  “For him. We have to take him to the vet tonight. He’s in bad shape. I remembered there’s an animal hospital by the Costco Sam and I shop at for the store. They never close. We’ll need this to guide him to the truck and load him inside.”

  “Should we put him in the back?”

  The dog sniffed eagerly at the burger in my hand. I pulled off a piece and fed it to him, mindful of my fingers. His mouth was surprisingly gentle as he took it.

  “Are we monsters, Kellen? Is that what we are now?” Jenna asked sarcastically. “No, he sits up front with you. He obviously trusts you. I’ll drive.”

  Jenna waited patiently as I fed the rest of my burger, her burger, and an order of fries to the dog. She stopped me before I gave him anything else, cautioning that he could get sick from eating too much too fast. I stood up slowly, his eyes watching me as I went, and I carefully lowered the loop Jenna had tied over his head. He let it come, his eyes on it but his body motionless, and when I tugged lightly at it urging him to stand he popped right up and stood at my side.

  We led him through the small alley between houses out to the car and as Jenna hopped into the driver’s seat of my truck I opened the door for the dog. He didn’t hesitate to jump right in, burrowing down onto the floorboards under the dash where he was hidden. When I jumped up into the seat and put my feet on the floor, he reached out and put one paw on top my left foot.

  “I hope they can’t find his owners,” I told Jenna thoughtfully, staring down at the wounded animal curled trustingly at my feet.

  She smiled. “Why? You want to keep him?”

  “No,” I answered, the idea never crossing my mind. “Because I’d beat the shit out of them for what they’ve done to him.”

  I expected her smile to fade. For her to chide me for the violent reaction, for the angry response. But as she pulled onto the main road taking us toward the hospital her smile only broadened.

  “Oh Kellen,” she mused lovingly, “you’re going to make a great father someday.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Jenna

  Four months, two roofers, three plumbers, and one very pushy interior designer later and we had a finished house. We had a home.

  Kellen and I moved in while it was still in the last phases of the renovation and it was a decision that would live in infamy for as long we both would live. We had no water for the better part of it and spotty electricity. Throw in a rambunctious pit bull who liked to eat my paintbrushes and make himself right at home on the bed between us, curled in a ball in the curve of Kellen’s big body, and we had some rough days and nights under our belt.

  “I still hate this color.”

  I rolled my eyes at Laney, barely glancing up from kebabs I was spearing. “You mentioned that at length when I chose it.”

  “I just don’t get it.” She took a sip of her wine and leaned back against the white countertops. “Why did you hire me if you weren’t going to listen to me?”

  “I listened to you!”

  “You never did.”

  “The brown accent wall in the living room says otherwise. Not my first choice.”

  She smiled. “But you love it now, don’t you?”

  “I do,” I lied.

  I liked it, I didn’t love it. Kellen hated it. We’d had to squash most of Laney’s design ideas because they were too over the top. Too expensive, too flashy, just too much. Her taste worked well with the clientele at the design firm she worked for, but it wasn’t right for us. We were more understated. More interested in our house reflecting us and not our income, and we’d fought over the craziest things with her. She said the black and green bathroom was ‘just wrong’ and refused to have anything to do with it, she washed her hands of Kellen’s big stainless steel BBQ out back, and when we filled the hallway walls with mismatched frames of family and friends she walked out and swore she was never coming back. Yet here she was in my kitchen, sipping wine and pointing out the faults in everything I did.

  Here she was, being my sister.

  We’d hired Laney because she was still unsure about going back to work. We were her first shot at getting back into the swing of things after the miscarriage and the brown wall along with a few vases and pieces of artwork that would be hitting the garage after tonight’s housewarming party were our concessions. They were our sacrifices to give her the confidence to go back. To get back into her life. It’d helped, but Max was the one who saved her. He stood by her through it all, grieving with her, letting her fall, but pushing her when it was time to stand up, and she actually listened. Even about postponing the wedding. They were still engaged, living together happily as of last month, and they’d be getting married next year. They would take their time and plan it the way Laney had always dreamed, without the rush. They were taking things slow, and guided by Max’s gentle, loving hand, Laney was recovering. It was a relief I couldn’t put to words.

  Mom appeared in the archway to the kitchen, carrying a wine glass exactly like Laney’s.

  Funny story – I didn’t own wineglasses nor did I set out wine for the party. Where they were getting it I had no friggin’ idea.

  “The boys sent me in to tell you that the grill is ready when you are,” Mom informed me.

  “Perfect timing.” I quickly washed my hands in the sink and grabbed the tray of kebabs. “Will you check the corn while I run this outside?”

  “Of course.”

  Dad saw me coming through the sliding glass door and opened it for me, letting me onto the smoothed patio with the fresh white fence around the back to keep Ronin from chasing seagulls down the beach at all hours. As I stepped outside he circled my feet, sniffing at the air around me.

  “Not a chance, dude,” I scolded him, holding the tray up high.

  Kellen reached for it. “I’ll take ‘em.”

  “You can’t feed the dog one.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Yes, you will. You’re a sucker and he knows it.” I held the tray out to him with narrowed eyes. “I counted these as I made them. I will count them again when they’re finished. Will the numbers match?”

  He grinned, leaning in to kiss me lightly on the cheek. It was a ploy to distract me. When he pulled away he deftly pulled the tray from my hands as well. “Probably not,” he answered remorselessly.

  Ronin went to sit by his feet, leaning heavily against Kellen’s leg.

  “You’re so weak,” I scolded with a smile.

  “Yes.”

  “Those won’t take long, will they?”

  “No, not long. Why?”

  “I was just thinking Callum is cutting it close. He normally never misses food. He should be there sitting on your other side fighting Ronin for scraps.”

  Kellen frowned at me. “He’s not coming.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because Sam’s coming.”

  “No, she’s not. I told you that. She’s not coming because he’s coming.”

  He shook his head, placing the first kebab on the hot grill, sending up a smoky sizzle. “No. You said she might not be coming. That was reason enough for Callum to ditch.”

  “Why did we ever let them in the meet?” I groaned.

  “They’re not getting along well?” Dad asked.

  I shrugged. “Who knows? They won’t look at each other. Definitely won’t talk to each other.”

  “We can’t even get them in the same room,” Kellen added.

  “Did they break up?” Max asked, tipping his beer to his lips.

  He stood on the other side of Kellen near the fence, and the fact that they hung out so easily blew my mind. They weren’t exactly friends but they were cool, spending time together at family events like this as though nothing had ever happened between them. As though they had not punched each other in the face.

  I nodded at Max with wide eyes. “Oh yeah. It was ugly. Sam went back to her ex and Callum showed up on our doorstep with tears and beers. He dragged us out to a country bar with him, got blotto, and sang sad bastard songs all night. It was horrifying and yet hauntingly beautiful.”

  “He has a great voice,” Kellen agreed.

  “I just wish he would use his powers for good instead of evil.”

  “I’m still a little redneck from that night.”

  Max smiled. “I’m sure there’s a pill for that.”

  “Dude, don’t you think I looked? There’s nothing.”

  “He already owns a truck,” Dad reminded Max. “He was susceptible.”

  I wrapped my arms around Kellen from behind, resting my cheek on his back. “I still love you, even if you like Luke Bryant.”

  “Bryan,” he corrected absently. His shoulders slumped. “Dammit.”

  Dad and Max laughed openly. I had the decency to bury my face in the soft cotton of his shirt and shake with silent laughter.

  “I defy any of you to listen to Drink This Beer without getting emotional!” he cried, pointing an accusing spatula at all of us.

  “Open mic night is on Tuesday at the Saddle Sore,” I giggled. “Callum will be there and he takes requests.”

  “I’d love to but I’ll never get Laney into a country bar. She won’t even ride in an American made car,” Max reminded me.

  It was Kellen’s turn to laugh. Probably with relief.

  Not his circus, not his monkeys.

  We ate on the patio under white Christmas lights strung overhead the way they’d done in Ireland. We brought out a long folding table, every chair in the house, and ate and drank well into the night. Until the stars were out overhead and the air chilled with the breeze. Until Mom got sleepy and Dad drove her home. Until Laney ran out of wine and Max bumped fists with Kellen, gave me a quick hug, and led her to his German made car. Until it was just me and Kellen and Ronin, full and happy, back gate open so we could see the ocean curling dark and mysterious in the distance. There was music somewhere in one of the condos on the left drifting down on our heads, full of bass and words we couldn’t understand.

  Kellen absently bounced his foot to the beat, his head resting on the back of the Adirondack chair that matched my own, his hand loosely wrapped around a beer. Ronin lay ever at his feet, never far from his side, and I smiled as I watched Kellen reach down and rub the shining black head.

  He hadn’t planned on keeping the dog. We took him to the hospital, had him checked out, and then we were taking him to the humane society in the morning. But the vet did a scan and couldn’t find a microchip in him and when we went online and looked up people seeking their lost dogs, no one was looking for Ronin. Then Kellen looked up what happened to dogs in shelters and found out the kill rate in California.

  It was high. About half the animals taken into shelters were killed, and pit bulls were not high on the adoption list. When I pointed out that black dogs and cats like Ronin went un-adopted he’d turned off his computer and gone to bed without a word. In the morning he submitted a picture of Ronin to our local humane society, gave them his phone number, and said we’d take care of the dog until the owners showed up looking for him. And if they never did? So much the better. Kellen wanted to take a swing at them anyway.

  Kellen caught me watching him. “What are you smiling about?”

  “You and that dog.”

  He grinned, looking down at his best friend. “He’s a good boy.”

  “You only say that because he doesn’t eat your bras.”

  “If I had them he could.”

  “When I’m running around bra-less you can blame him.”

  Kellen looked at me sideways, his grin turning salacious. “Maybe that’s our master plan.”

  “That’s funny, ‘cause you’re the master. Dog and master. Master plan. It’s clever.”

  “Is it?” he chuckled.

  “Shut up.”

  “Explain it to me again. I didn’t get it.”

  “You’re an ass.”

  “You’re a riot.”

  “I’m funny in some circles!” I shouted in outrage.

  He laughed, letting go of Ronin to lean over the arm of his chair and hover his face close to mine. His smile melted me from the inside out the way it always did. The way I knew it always would.

  “You’re funny in any circle.” His fingers danced over the ring on my left hand. “Especially in this one.”

  “It’s a small circle.”

  He kissed me softly, just a brush of his lips against mine. “It’s the only one that matters.”

  I took hold of his face and brought it in close again, pressing his warm lips against mine and humming happily. He grinned, kissing me slowly and skipping his fingers across my cheek and into my hair. Our mouths opened, exchanging breath and tongues until the distance between us was too much. Until he tugged at me, pulling me and guiding me toward him so I was sitting in his lap straddling his hips and he was soft against my mouth and hard everywhere else.

  His hands on my back, hot and huge, his body against mine, hard and strong, the smell of him in my nose, soap and a subtle cologne – it all came together in this potent mixture that slithered through my veins and made my entire tired body feel suddenly sinuous. Alive and liquid. His fingers found the edge of my shirt and traced lightly over my lower back, tickling me until I broke away and buried my face in his shoulder. I breathed heavily, my blood racing and his heart pounding against my palm. It was comforting, like thunder outside your window. It was exciting, like the growl of a lion twice your size.

  “Marry me,” he said suddenly.

  I sat back, smiling down at him. “I am marrying you. I’m marrying you right now.”

  “Marry me in front of a minister.”

  My smile faded, washed away by the seriousness of his tone. By the dark burn of his eyes. “Just say when.”

  “Next week.”

  “Yes.”

  He searched my eyes. “Do you mean it?”

  “Yes,” I answered again, no hesitation. “Do you?”

  “Yes. I want to marry you right here. Right there on that beach by the water with our feet bare. Just me in jeans and you in a dress—“

  “That weighs less than I do,” I finished for him, smiling at the memory of a stolen afternoon spent in the sun and his eyes, both of us taking a dangerous walk into a world that was never supposed to be ours.

  “Will you do it?” he asked, cupping my face in both of his hands.

  I nodded, my eyes bursting with tears that I didn’t see coming but I didn’t try to hide.

  He pulled my face to his and he kissed the tears that poured down my cheeks. I laughed shakily, clinging to him, and then he was standing and carrying me effortlessly into the house. Into the bedroom where he laid me down beneath him and undressed me with reverence and patience. With love. He spoke to me the entire time, his words coming in sporadic bursts between kisses and sounding like a song that I couldn’t understand. It was French on fast forward, meaning blurring by me before my brain could comprehend, but it was beautiful, the words soft and lovely like snow dusting down on my skin, giving me shivers down to my spine.