Ride Wild (Raven Riders 3)

Slider put down his burger and licked some ketchup off his thumb. Cora tried not to pay attention to his mouth, and his tongue, and the enjoyment he seemed to be taking in her cooking lately, but it was hard when literally everything the man did drove her to distraction. Plus, he was wearing his cut after a day over at the track, and he looked so freaking hot in it—tough, edgy, maybe even a little dangerous. “Don’t a lot of older dogs end up at shelters?”

“Yeah,” she said. “It’s crazy how people can have a dog its whole life and abandon them toward the end. I can’t imagine ever doing that. They’d be like family.” Hell, they’d be better than any family she’d ever had.

“I bet they don’t get adopted much, either,” Slider said, and Cora shook her head.

“Why not?” Ben asked.

She gave him an understanding smile, not wanting him to feel bad. But then Sam smirked and said, “Because people want puppies.”

“Oh.” He popped a Tater Tot into his mouth and swung his legs so that his feet kicked the rails of his chair. “What happens to dogs that don’t get adopted?”

Cora met Slider’s gaze across the table and silently asked if he wanted to handle this or if he wanted her to.

Slider braced his arms on the table. “Well, buddy, if it’s a no-kill shelter, the animal lives its life out in the shelter. And I guess there are some rescues that take in abandoned animals. But not all shelters are no-kill . . .”

“They kill them?” Ben’s eyes went wide. “That’s not fair!”

Cora rubbed the boy’s shoulder, hoping she hadn’t done the wrong thing by bringing all this up. “Where I work is a no-kill shelter, Ben. But you’re right . . .”

After dinner, Cora and Slider cleaned up the kitchen while the boys took turns getting showers. And even though Slider seemed totally relaxed—actually, way more relaxed than usual, at least for Slider—Cora felt like she should apologize. “I’m sorry about where that conversation went,” Cora said, leaning back against the sink. “I should’ve guessed it might lead to talking about shelters that put dogs to sleep.”

Hand towel thrown over his shoulder, Slider stood in front of her. “Death is a part of life, Cora. My boys are more acquainted with that fact than most kids their age. No sense hiding it. It’s not something we can hide from, not any of us.”

Dropping her chin, she nodded. The reminder of the loss they’d suffered seemed more of a reason against than for.

Slider grasped her chin and forced her to meet his eyes. “Tell me about this awesome but older dog.”

Her mouth fell open, from the touch and from the too perceptive question. “Oh, no. I didn’t . . . I mean, I wasn’t . . .”

His lips quirked just the littlest bit. “Uh-huh. What’s his name? Or her name?”

Chagrined, Cora gave a small smile and cringed at the same time. “Bosco the Lovable Basset.” She blinked.

He arched a brow. “Bosco the Lovable Basset.”

“Well, officially, Bosco. I added the Lovable Basset part.” She gave him the most innocent expression ever, or at least hoped it came off that way.

His eyebrow was still arched. Over that incredibly sexy, scruffy, masculine face. “How old do lovable bassets tend to get?”

Cora’s belly squeezed. She’d looked this up. Damnit. And the news wasn’t great. “About twelve years.”

He shifted a half step closer, close enough that she could easily reach out, fist both hands in his shirt, and haul him to her. God, how she wanted to. “And how old is Bosco?”

“Bosco the Lovable Basset,” she quickly corrected. That eyebrow went higher, and her shoulders sank. Humor wasn’t getting her out of this, apparently. “Eight.”

He nodded, then stared at her for a long moment. Long enough that Cora had time to get distracted by the soulful cast of Slider’s eyes and the shape of his mouth and the little scar on his lip. “You want him,” he said.

She’d been so deep into the man in front of her that she nearly forgot they were talking about the dog. Shrugging with one shoulder, she peered up at him. “We can’t always have everything we want.”

Slider braced one hand against the sink behind her, and then the other, boxing her in tight against the counter. He swallowed hard, and tension filled the spare inches between them. “But maybe we can have some things we want.”

Oh, holy hell. What did that even mean? “Like?” she whispered. Suddenly, she remembered the last time they’d been this close. In her room on Monday night, while he’d comforted her about Otto. Slider had been about to say something, but they’d been interrupted . . .

Those light green eyes burned. “Christ, Cora.”

She placed her hand flat on his chest. Just the one hand and nothing more, but still his muscles went rigid underneath. “Like?”