Locked In Silence (Pelican Bay 1)

He finally slid the papers across the desk and then held out a pen. But just as I went to reach for it, he put his finger up to stop me and then jotted down something on the forms he’d pushed toward me. Once he was done, he climbed to his feet and came around the desk. Since I was still sitting, I had to crane my neck to look up at him.

He handed me the pen, but when I took it, he held onto it for a second. Even though we weren’t touching, I still felt the current of electricity between us. Dallas released his hold on the pen and then motioned to the door and then to me. I nodded in understanding. He wanted me to come outside when I was finished.

I waited until he left the office to read the note he’d left me. A shiver ran down my spine, and not entirely in a bad way.

Don’t worry, Nolan. I’m going to get every penny out of you.

Any innuendo I’d chosen to read into Dallas’s words was gone by lunch time, and by day’s end I was silently cursing my parents, Trey, the animals, and basically anything in my orbit that converted oxygen to carbon dioxide for the hell spawn that was Dallas Kent.

Okay, so yeah, I was overreacting a bit. But having one’s limbs turn into one large raw exposed nerve did that to a guy.

On the positive side – and there really was only the one positive – any guilt I’d felt about the large wage Dallas was paying me fell by the wayside pretty quickly.

Along with my sanity.

And my patience.

My sense of pride.

My love of hygiene.

The problem had started from the second I’d stepped outside that office door, and I definitely was blaming Dallas for that one.

Because he’d lulled me into a false sense of security by having me start in the kitten room.

I mean, how could anyone go wrong in a room full of kittens?

I’d practically been in seventh heaven as I’d easily cleaned out the three litter boxes that the seven kittens shared, changed their water, and filled the food dish. The hardest part of the task had been watching where I stepped, since the excited bundles of fur had followed me all over the large space. Since Dallas had given me permission to do so, I’d spent a good ten minutes just cuddling the babies and plying them with love. And while I’d felt a little dejected as I’d waved my goodbyes to the warm little bundles of joy, I’d actually been excited about meeting their adult counterparts in the next room over.

And that’s where it had all gone downhill.

The adult cats had definitely come with a lot more attitude, but I’d managed to escape the room with just a minor scratch across the top of my hand after I’d made the mistake of trying to move what I could only guess had been a geriatric cat out of the way so I could clean the litter boxes. I definitely hadn’t felt any guilt about saying my goodbyes to the adult cats.

The dogs had been next, and they’d been crazy with excitement from the second I’d walked into the area they were housed in until long after I’d left. There’d been no actual kennels for the fifteen dogs of all sizes, just little cottages set up in a row over nearly an acre of land. The dogs had all come running as soon as I’d entered the enclosure and, like the kittens, the mob had followed me everywhere. Only problem was, they’d made it a lot harder to see where I was walking, so I’d stepped in multiple doggy landmines.

The same landmines the dogs had stepped into right before they’d jumped on me, spreading the filth all around. And while all the dogs had been friendly, a particularly hyper German Shepherd had torn the sleeve of my shirt when I’d had the audacity to pick up the tennis ball it had kept dropping in my path.

My muscles had been quietly protesting the abuse by lunch time, but despite the stinging hand, torn clothing, and pungent scent of dog shit literally following me everywhere, I’d still felt somewhat in control.

And more than a little proud that I’d survived a whole three hours on my own. Dallas had come to check on me several times, but had stayed only long enough to answer questions and lay out my next task for me.

I’d both been grateful for his minimal intervention and a little annoyed, too.

By the time I’d finished with the hooved residents in my charge, I’d been cursing Dallas to hell and back. Not only was the work backbreaking, the warning Dallas had given me about the single non-farm animal in the enclosure – the zebra that had somehow ended up with the innocuous moniker of Jerry – had been wholly inadequate.