Runaway (Wolfes of Manhattan 3)
Page 15
“But don’t they have to be even on the bottom?” she asked.
“As best as you can get it. The ground isn’t particularly even, though. We just need to make sure Reggie and Mary can’t get out.”
“Who are Reggie and Mary?”
“They’re Mrs. Carson’s dogs.”
“Oh? I didn’t see any dogs in the house.”
“They’re probably out back in their dog run. You want to meet them?”
“I’ve never had a dog…” Her voice trailed off a little, as if she were wistful.
“Reggie and Mary are really friendly. You’ll like them.”
“Yeah, I think I would like to meet them.”
“Not a problem.” I nodded to Lucas. “We’re going to go say hi to the dogs. Back in a minute.”
He scoffed jovially. “Sure. Leave me to do all the work.”
I grabbed Riley’s hand—a spark jolted through me at the contact—and led her around Mrs. Carson’s small ranch home and into the backyard. Sure enough, Reggie and Mary were in the dog run. Reggie wagged his tail and put his forepaws up on the fence as soon as he saw us coming. Mary was drinking some water.
Riley smiled. “They’re so big! What kind of dogs are they?”
“I don’t have a clue. They’re rescues from a litter someone found in an old barn a couple years ago. If I had to wager a guess, I’d say a mix of German Shepherd and pit bull.”
Riley stepped back a little. “Aren’t pit bulls supposed to be dangerous?”
“Those two look dangerous to you? You won’t meet two friendlier pups. Besides, pit bulls can be really sweet. They have to be trained to be assholes. Kind of like people.”
“They are really pretty, aren’t they?”
“They are. I had one of their brothers for a while.”
“Oh?”
I still smarted when I thought of Herbie. “He got sick. Cancer. There wasn’t anything the vet could do.”
“I’m so sorry. How old was he?”
“Only two.”
“I’m sorry,” she said again. “Did you get another dog?”
“Nope. I will eventually. This only happened less than a year ago.”
“So these guys are about three?”
“Yep. Gorgeous, aren’t they? If you can believe it, Herbie was even prettier.”
Riley eased gently toward the chain-link fence. Reggie bobbed his brown and black brindled head, his tongue hanging out.
“It almost looks like he’s smiling,” she said.
“Technically, dogs don’t have the muscles to smile, but I agree. He looks darned happy, doesn’t he?”
“Is it okay if I pet him?”
“Why do you think he’s standing there wagging his tail? Of course you should pet him.” I opened the gate. Reggie and Mary came running out.
“Down there,” I said, keeping them from jumping on Riley. “They’re both friendly, wouldn’t hurt a soul.”
She smiled as she timidly touched Reggie’s soft head. “It feels like velvet.”
“Herbie’s head felt just like that. Mary’s fur is a little more coarse.” I gave the female dog a pat on the head.
Riley laughed. “I think they like me.”
“Of course they do. They’ve never met anyone they didn’t like.”
“I’ve never had a dog,” she said again. “I guess I never really thought I was an animal person. But if they like me, maybe I am.”
Reggie and Mary liked everyone, but I didn’t want to rain on Riley’s parade. “I think maybe you are. You should get a dog when you go home.”
“You know? I just might.”
“We shouldn’t keep Lucas waiting any longer.” I wrestled the dogs back into their pen and shut the gate. “We can spend some more time with them once the fence is fixed.”
“I’d like that.” She smiled.
She looked happy. Genuinely happy. She might be running from something, hiding out in a small town, but a couple rescue pups had put a huge smile on her face.
At that moment, I thought I might do anything to keep that smile on her face forever.11RileyMatt showed me how to start a nail in the picket, place the picket so it was level and plumb—and I learned what plumb meant—and he demonstrated how to nail it to the two-by-four cross support boards that he and Lucas repaired.
Then he handed me the hammer.
It was heavier than I expected, but then I’d never held a hammer before.
“Watch your fingers, honey,” he said. “If you hit one, you’ll probably lose a nail. Oh…and it’ll hurt like a mother.”
My fingers were the least of my worries. Right now I wanted to pound that nail in good and hard.
Wham!
That one went through one of my dead father’s eyes.
Wham!
I took out his other eye.
Wham!
His nose, that time.
Wham!
His mouth—that surly smile that meant one thing. He wanted…
Wham! Wham! Wham!
Each one gouged my father’s body until it was a bloody fucking mess. All those years, I’d imagined his demise and how I could make it happen.
Now? Someone else had done it and I’d been implicated anyway.
Motherfucker.
More accurate—daughterfucker.
Such a complete sicko.
Wham! Wham! Wham!
There weren’t enough nails in Matt’s truck to do all the damage I wanted to do.