Crazy Hot Love (Dirty Dicks 2)

Mo and I turn at the husky sound of Trevor’s voice, and my tongue nearly rolls out of my mouth. Trevor is coming across the yard in nothing but a faded pair of jeans, cowboy boots, and a pair of dirty gloves. Lord have mercy, I think my panties just melted.

Trevor stops at the barn, grabs a piece of wood, and hoists it onto his shoulder. My mouth waters as I try not to stare. But it’s hard. So, so hard. Literally. His chest is a work of art, almost inhuman, like a sculptor chiseled away on a block of stone until his piece was absolutely perfect, and then he named his artistry Trevor.

Mo nudges me in the arm. I blink and clear my throat.

“Maybe you should mind your own business, Trevor.” My voice is way too shaky for my bite to do any good.

“And maybe you should wipe the drool from your chin.”

My lips part, and I scoff. “I am not drooling.”

“Nothing to be ashamed of, Red. If you were parading in front of me without a shirt on, I’d be drooling too.” Trevor winks and disappears around the building.

“I hate it when he calls me Red.”

“No, you don’t. You secretly love it because he’s the only one who does,” Mo says.

“I’m not arguing with you about this right now. I have work to do.” Grabbing Mo’s shoulders, I direct her to her truck, open the door, and shove her inside. “Go home. Sleep. I’ll call you later.”

“You sure you’ll be okay here today?”

“I’m good. Now go.”

4

Claire

“This is your own fault. I warned you that you’d get a bath if you ran through the mud, but you didn’t listen.”

Murphy looks at me with the most adorable, soulful eyes I’ve ever seen. He’s a mutt—the perfect mixture of what I believe to be a Boxer and Labrador with floppy ears, big brown eyes, and a playful temperament.

“Don’t look at me like that. You’re not getting out of this.”

I lather him up, but Murphy is having no part of it. Once he realizes his cute looks won’t get him out of a bath, he thrashes around, trying to make a run for it.

“Oh, no you don’t.” I clip his leash to the pole above the wash basin, and once he’s settled down, I finish scrubbing. “See, this isn’t so bad? And now you’re going to smell good, and all the lady dogs are going to go crazy.” Murphy whimpers. “I know, baby,” I coo, rinsing the soap out of his coat. “I’d be scared of them too. They only want you for your good looks. They have no idea you’re just a big, sweet teddy bear.”

With a steady stream of baby-talk and the promise of lots of treats, I’m able to finish bathing Murphy. I dry him off, lift him out of the tub, and walk him back to his kennel.

“There you go, Murph. Your food bowl is full, your blanket is clean, and now you smell like mangos.” I give him a good rub down before shutting the door.

I step back and take a deep breath, letting it out slowly as my eyes sweep the room to make sure I didn’t forget anyone. The morning flew by. I’ve cleaned all the kennels, changed out the water bowls, and fed all of the animals. I’ve done a load of laundry, washing all of the blankets and towels, and I’ve let the first group of dogs out in the pasture to run.

You’d think I’d be almost done, but that’s not even half of it. I still have to take out the newbies individually, give four more baths, take care of the horses, and then take the bigger dogs on a longer walk. But first, lunch.

Taking care of Animal Haven without having Mo here used to stress me out. The endless, back-breaking work, plus keeping all of the animals straight—who gets what medicine and how much food and outside time. But the more I do it, the easier it gets, and I’ve come to enjoy my alone time here. I can see why Mo loves her job. Don’t get me wrong—I love teaching, and I love my kids, but taking care of an animal is rewarding in a different way. These innocent little creatures don’t expect a thing, and they give every bit of love in return while they wait for their forever homes.

Speaking of innocent little animals…

Before heading to the front office to make my lunch, I decide to check on the blind pup one more time. He’s standing at his food bowl. His legs are like tiny sticks, barely visible under all that hair, and I can’t help but laugh. The pup freezes, then lifts his nose in the air and sniffs.

Maybe he recognizes my scent. I imagine since he’s blind, he uses his other senses to acclimate himself to his surroundings.

“Hey there, little guy,” I say, unlocking the pen. “Did you finally decide to get a bite to eat?”

I stand back, waiting to see if he’ll come to me, and sure enough, after a few moments he sniffs the air again, following his nose toward me. Remaining still, I allow the pup to get familiar with my scent, and when he stops sniffing and sits at my feet, I take it as an open invitation to pick him up.

Bending down, I scoop him up by the belly. “We should give you a name,” I say, scratching the soft spot behind his ear. “I can’t keep calling you fur ball and pup, it just doesn’t feel right. How about Max?” I look at his face. He sneezes. “Nah. You don’t look like a Max. How about Milo? That’s a nice, strong boy name.” The pup licks the top of my hand, obviously in agreement. “Well, okay then. Milo it is.”