When I bend down to set Milo on the floor, he lets out a high-pitched bark.
“So you can talk. I was starting to wonder.” Milo lifts his head, and if he could see, I imagine he would be looking at me. “Do you want to hang with me a little more?”
“Arf.”
“Fine, fine. You don’t have to beg.” Milo gets settled in my arms as I walk to the main office. The bell chimes when I open the front door, and Milo yaps again. He wiggles in my arms, and when I set him down, he takes off running. His little stick legs carry him as fast as they can until he rams head first into a chair.
Pickles lifts his head from his bed in the corner and blinks heavily but doesn’t get flustered at Milo’s presence.
“Oh!” I cringe when Milo stumbles to the side. Maybe I was wrong about his other senses; maybe he hasn’t figured that part out yet. “You’ve got to be more careful,” I scold, picking him up. “You’re blind, remember?” Milo blinks up at me as I rub the spot on his head where he hit and then lower him to the couch. “Stay here with Pickles while I make myself a sandwich. And don’t pee. Mo will kill me if you pee on her couch.” I turn my attention to Pickles. “And you play nice.”
Pickles stretches his arms and legs out as far as they’ll go and rolls over without a care in the world.
“Fine, ignore him, that works too.”
The main office of Animal Haven isn’t much of an office. It’s more like an apartment since Mo stays here on occasion. There’s a couch, table, desk, and TV all in the front room, as well as a bathroom and a semi-stocked kitchen off to the side. Thank God she keeps food in the kitchen, because I forgot to make a lunch.
Whistling, I throw together a turkey sandwich for myself and two for Trevor. I haven’t seen him since this morning, and there’s no lunch box in the refrigerator, so I’m guessing he either forgot his lunch or he’s planning on leaving to get food. No sense in that when I’m here.
I polish off my sandwich, a bag of chips, and a soda, all while Milo snoozes on the couch.
“Come on, sleepyhead,” I call when I’m done.
Milo lifts his head and drops it back down, clearly too exhausted f
rom a long day of doing nothing to get up.
“Fine, lazy butt.” I grab the pooch along with the sack lunch I packed Trevor and walk outside. It would be easier to hop on the four-wheeler to find him, but it’s nice out, and I could use the exercise.
Hooking a leash to Milo’s collar, I start walking, but he has different plans. He plops down on the soft grass and rolls over, revealing his underbelly.
“Get up.” I tug on the leash a bit, but the dog doesn’t move. “Carrying you around is getting old.” But I do it anyway, and he rewards me with a slobbery lick across the face.
With Milo in one arm and Trevor’s lunch in the other, I make the short walk across the back forty, following the tire marks Trevor’s truck left in the grass. When I find him, his Chevy is parked off to the side, giving me a gorgeous view of the man himself. Slowing my pace, I allow myself time to drink him in, studying the way his muscles shift and flex beneath his skin as he swings the hammer.
Trevor swipes his arm across his face, mussing up his dark hair in the process, which makes it look better than it already did. Damn him. Men like Trevor should be required to walk around with a flashing neon sign above their heads, warning all women of their potent sexuality.
When I’m within an earshot, I put Milo down and call out to Trevor. “Hungry?”
His arm is raised to swing the hammer when looks back at me. Lowering the tool, he pulls out the rag hanging from his back pocket and wipes off his hands as he walks toward me.
“That depends.”
My back stiffens. If he even says he wanted ham instead of turkey, I’m going to slap him. “On what?”
“Are you on the menu?”
I tilt my head. “Are you flirting with me?”
He watches me while I wait for his answer, and then he laughs. “No, Claire, I’m just messing with you.”
“Oh.” Damn.
5
Trevor
I’ll be damned if she doesn’t look disappointed by my answer.