No Perfect Hero, page 13
And how he gives me that same smile, stealing my breath, as he nods firmly. His thick dark hair is still a boyishly bed-rumpled mess, falling into those devastatingly blue eyes and shadowing them until it’s like someone cut two pieces of the night from the sky.
“Don’t worry,” he says. “Doc’s the best in the state, even if he's...an odd bird. He’ll get Mozart on his feet in no time. Sit tight.”
“Right,” I murmur, still dazedly. “Thanks.”
Then I shake myself, reaching for Tara’s hand. “C’mon, baby. Let’s wait for the doctor to take care of Mozart. Sounds like he’s used to it.”
“You have no damn idea,” Doc retorts dryly – but for all his personality quirks, his hands are gentle as he nudges under Mozart’s jaw. “This little beast and I have a special relationship.”
Tara giggles as Doc looks up and flashes her a quick wink.
That makes me feel better as I watch the two men disappear into the back with the cat.
It seems to soothe Tara, too. But of course it doesn’t stop her from climbing into my lap.
The little lady’s only ten whole years old when she wants to assert her independence, but when she needs comfort and reassurance, suddenly she’s every bit a little girl again, clinging to me and burying her face in my chest.
I hold her close, stroking my hands over her back, calming us both.
It’s silly to get attached to a cat in just a few days, but how can I blame her? He’s kind of turned into my morning wake-up call every time he bounces on the windowsill and starts yowling to be let in and fed the scraps from a brunch I haven’t even made yet.
Honestly, he’s a bit of a nuisance, but he’s become our nuisance.
Not unlike the asshole next door.
God.
I'm so not falling for that jerk.
Especially not because he was nice to a cat and a kid.
That’s the oldest trick in the book. Me and Warren Ford?
Never, ever happening.
The wait feels eternal.
And when Warren finally emerges alone, his face black and stormy with fury, my gut somersaults with dread of the worst kind.
Tara jerks in my lap, looking up at him, then whimpers, flinching and ducking her head, peering at him with wide, apprehension-filled eyes.
“Warren?” I ask tentatively as he stalks across the waiting room toward us. “What happened? Is...is Mozart okay?”
He stops in his tracks, blinking as if he's not quite sure what words mean, before sighing and dropping his heavy bulk down into the chair next to us. He's all powerful, compact muscle as he leans forward, draping his elbows over his knees.
“Yeah,” he says, dragging a hand over his face. “He’ll be fine. Doc’s putting stitches in now. Worst hit he’ll take is to his dignity when he’s gotta wear a cone for a week or so. He’s gonna have to be an indoor cat for a while just to make sure he recovers.”
“That’s okay,” I say quickly. “We’ll take care of him, right?”
Tara nods emphatically. “I’ll make him a bed and give him his pills and everything!”
Tara’s voice seems to pull Warren out of himself. He gives her a tired smile. “He’ll love it. The boy already acts like a king.”
I frown. “Then...why are you so angry, if Mozart’s okay?”
“I'm not–” He starts to bite off a curse, but stops himself, glancing at Tara. “It's nothing. Looks like he got caught in a trap. There’s supposed to be no goddamn hunting in Heart’s Edge city limits. All the forest around here is protected land. People out here messing around aren’t just breaking the law. They could hurt people, kids, pets. Frankly, it pisses me off. And if they’re putting traps on Grandma’s property...”
I wince. “Maybe a camera could catch them?”
He gives me a wearily, amused look. “We’re not that modern, darlin'.”
We all look up as one then as Doc emerges with Mozart cradled in his arms. The tomcat’s clearly drugged, sluggish and slow with glazed eyes.
His mouth hangs partly open, but his bloodied paw is clean and neatly bandaged, and a small cone now hugs his neck. Tara goes rocketing toward him, only to stop and pull back, watching fearfully as Doc draws closer.
“Can I...may I hold him, doctor?” she whispers. “Or will it hurt him?”
Doc looks down at her, his eyes softening, sinking down to one knee. “Here,” he says, carefully guiding the cat into Tara’s arms. “Just like this. Like a baby. Don’t let him slip, but don’t hold him too tight. Let him breathe.”
Tara’s eyes well, and she nods shakily, biting her lip. She shifts Mozart to the crook of her arm.
“Better,” Doc whispers, his quiet warmth breaking into a thin smile.
“He’ll really be okay?” Tara pleads again.
“Really and truly. I assure you he’ll be right as rain in two weeks or so,” he vows, still holding his faint smile.
The news only makes Tara burst into a wail, cuddling Mozart closer, the cat stirring with a muffled purr.
“I’m going home next week...and I don't wanna!” Tara sobs, and suddenly both me and Warren are there, kneeling to either side of her, both of us reaching to comfort her.
We almost bump into each other. I blink, locking eyes over my niece’s head before another sniffle and sob from Tara pulls us back to her.
“Hey now, munchkin,” Warren says. “I’ve been taking care of Mozart a long time. Don't you worry. He’s my little buddy, and even when I go away, he’s always fine. Promise you he’ll be okay. Me and your Aunt Hay are gonna take real good care of him.”
“And I’ll send you photos,” I add, pulling her into a hug until it’s just a bundle of me, little girl, and dazed, confused cat. “He’ll be in the best hands.”
“Mmph.” With a sulky sound, Tara buries her face into the cat and leans hard into me. “I don’t want to go home.”
It’s a little unnerving to realize it, all of a sudden. This crazy urge to stay.
I don't want to leave either, even if it's not like I've got much choice in it right now. I'm stuck here, but now I have a reason to stay a little longer.
Maybe it's something I needed.
There’s really nothing else for me here. Heart’s Edge has been nothing but trouble.
But my eyes drift to Warren, who's staring down at the three of us, smiling in his faint, secret way. A lot like the same way Doc smiles, and while the vet really is a handsome man, he's nothing like this burly, loud mountain badass.
Nothing here, I said. Or is there?
The drive back to Charming Inn is quiet. Sort of.
It's as quiet as anything ever is with Tara around, when she’s alternating between singing Mozart to sleep in little melodies and looking at Warren with shining, adoring eyes.
I think she has a new hero.
She thanks him again and again for saving the cat.
I might as well not have been there, honestly, except for moral support. But I’m just glad the rusty little furball’s going to be all right.
If Warren hadn’t been there, I’d probably have started crying along with Tara.
I’m soft on small things, okay? My niece. Cute, fluffy animals. The usual.
What I can’t do, though, is go soft on the very large thing behind the wheel of the truck.
The thing that's ripped, loud, mysterious, and inked.
The thing, the man, the storm that's Warren Ford.
Tara's eyes aren't the only ones wandering, but mine do for very different reasons.
I'm watching him on the drive back.
He seems preoccupied, pensive, completely exhausted. I wonder if maybe he wasn’t avoiding me at all. Maybe he was just busy?
Busy with whatever strange yet oh-so-important stuff he does.
He’s still so confusing. Just when I think I’ve got a handle on him, he goes and does something like comforting Tara, reacting as instinctively as I did when she’s not even related to him.
It’s almost like they made him extra big to hold this extra big heart. But he had to go and bury it under a spiky layer of asshole just to make sure no one could ever get to it.
I’m still turning that over when we pull up to the inn and our duplex.
Somehow, I manage to help Tara out without her ever letting go of the cat. I’ll have to go into town later to fill his prescription and get the special food the vet says he needs to have.
That’s going to take a chunk out of my tips, but I don’t care.
I can spare it if it’ll help Mozart get better faster. The poor thing looks so bedraggled and lost it just makes me feel heartsore, and I can’t help nuzzling at him before shooing Tara toward the house.
“Go get him settled, love,” I say. “Remember to set him down gently and don’t let him walk too far. He’ll be woozy for a day or so, and he might hurt himself.”
She nods firmly, her pigtails bobbing. “Got it!” she says firmly, marching toward the porch with her precious burden—but then she stops, giving Warren a shy glance. “Thanks again, Mister.” Prim, but almost whispered. “Mozart says thank you, too.”
Warren looks awkward, raking a burly hand through his hair, but then he smiles. “It’s nothing, little lady.”
Tara only beams at him and bounds up the steps and inside.
Hell, we’d left the door unlocked after such a messy rush over the cat. Ugh.
My mind drifts back to the incident with the feathers. It's been all quiet on the stalker front, but I need to be more careful. Still, I won't let it ruin our little victory today.
So I let out a soft, rueful laugh that trails into a sigh, curling my hand against the back of my neck.
“What she said. Thanks, Warren. I’d never have found the vet.” I pause. “Oh, crap. I just realized...we didn’t settle the bill—”
“On the house,” Warren growls. “Doc’s an old friend. Owes me a few.”
His voice is distant, and he’s looking over my head, like he’s trying not to see me.
He's letting me off the hook.
God.
I should hold onto my silly tongue and the sudden tempo in my heart. But I guess I can only manage one.
Stealing another quick glance at him, I look down, scratching at my aching chest.
It's only a favor. For an animal. Not even for you so...
So.
He’s just some asshole, I tell myself again.
None of this matters. None of this counts.
I'm totally not getting wrapped up in some ridiculous crush on Mr. Snarlypants Mountain Man after two freaking favors...right?
“Look, just be careful around here for a while,” he says gruffly, as if he senses the stars in my eyes. “I’m going to walk the grounds. Make sure there aren’t any more of those damn traps anywhere. Can't have you or Tara stepping on one and getting hurt. Nearest clinic's damn near thirty miles away, and Doc doesn't do house calls.”
“House calls? For people or...?”
Warren looks at me, his eyes bugged out for a second, and then he shakes his head fiercely. “Forget it. Just a bad joke.”
Is it? I really wonder, but I know when to pick my battles.
Whatever's up with that strange small town vet, now's not the time.
I smile weakly. “It's been a long day. And it seems like you’re always looking out for us. We do appreciate it, you know. Me, Tara...Mozart.”
He almost flinches, and I’m not sure why.
“Warren?”
“Yeah, well...” He shrugs, shoulders tight. “It's not over yet. If I catch anyone leaving traps on this property, there’ll be hell to pay.” He turns away, lifting a hand in something that’s not quite a wave. More like half dismissal. “Gotta go, Hay. Let me know if you need anything else for Mozart.”
For Mozart.
Lovely.
Am I actually stung that he cares more about a cat than he does about me?
He took care of you, too, I remind myself.
Damn right he did. And here I am watching him walk away with my thank you frozen on my tongue, the words refusing to come out.
I’m not shy. Not really. I’ve never had trouble speaking my mind.
Yet Warren gets me tied in knots, until I can’t untangle my thoughts, my feelings, my words to know what to say to him.
If there’s anything to say at all.
Because now, for what has to be the millionth time, I tell myself the cold truth.
We're nothing.
Not friends. Not lovers. Not even long-term neighbors.
We're two people lost in the ruins of our lives. That's not love or hate or even silly, desperate infatuation.
That's pure delusion.
Delusion doesn’t mean I can’t express my gratitude.
And they do say actions speak louder than words.
Which is why, this evening, after Tara’s fully calmed down in one last stress-relief tearburst, and she’s cuddling the cat to the point that I can almost see the patient endurance in his eyes, I try.
I’m standing on Warren’s doorstep. Knocking. I shouldn’t feel this nervous, but...
No buts.
I’m just trying to say thank you in my own way, and I’m better at showing it than I am with words. That’s all it is.
That, and I really hate losing a dare.
But I’m still a mess of flutters and erratic breaths.
Jesus, I must look so weird standing here, fidgeting and breathing in rapid little pants and clutching a gift bag. Maybe that’s why he gives me an odd look when he comes to the door and balks.
It's just a moment's hesitation, him looking through the glass, staring at me like he’s debating whether or not he wants to open up. My cheeks bloom with heat.
Oh boy.
He’s probably wondering if I’m drunk again. And I can't blame him.
I still can’t believe I let myself go that bad, and he had to take care of me, even if it was sweet of him. That’s the other thing I’m thanking him for.
Even if like hell I’ll say that part out loud.
I’d rather never mention it again.
After a few skeptical moments, he opens the door and braces one brawny forearm against the frame, stretching his long, tight body out in a near slouch of chiseled muscle, that shirt doing obscene – and I mean ob-fricking-scene – things to his chest.
I think it’s licking him. Can a shirt lick someone?
“Need something, Hay?” he drawls lazily.
Um. Oh, crap.
Dragging my gaze back to his face, taking a deep breath, I reach down and find my courage.
Then I thrust the bag at his chest.
“Thank you!” I blurt out like a nervous kid, and the second he has a handle on the bag, grabbing it with his blue eyes wide and thick fingers fumbling not to drop it...
I'm off.
I turn tail and run, escaping the few steps to my door and slamming it sharply behind me, only to collapse against it and pray he won’t follow. My legs hurt. My chest hurts more, and my head is just chaos.
I need to clear my mind. Stop letting it wander.
Because I can’t look at Warren Ford that way. Or any way.
He’s a dick, remember?
I’m not staying here, and he’s up to something shady.
I’m done with shady men, supposedly, and I can’t let him rope me in just because he’s been nice to me a few times, and my niece adores him. Just because he looks like a small town Samson put on Earth to make me wet and angry.
Tara's not the only one who adores him, some dirty traitor voice inside me whispers.
“Shut up,” I hiss.
Tara peeks over the arm of the couch where she’s cuddling with Mozart. “Auntie Hay? Who're you talking to?”
I freeze, then plaster on a slightly manic smile.
“Nobody, sweetie,” I say. “Just your crazy aunt talking to herself.”
I wrinkle my nose. You know it's bad when a man has you talking third person.
Shoving Warren out of my head, I rise to my feet. “C’mon. Let’s give Mozart his five minutes a day out of that torture device so he can eat.”
8
Spinning In My Head (Warren)
Sometimes, Haley West makes my head hurt even worse than my dick.
It’s been a breakneck few days trying to track Bress when suddenly he’s gone incognito. No one seems to know where he is, meaning long nights of stakeouts.
I spend half my time crouched in the trees near his secluded house in the woods, watching as he comes driving in at two or three in the morning. He steps out of the car with those weary hangdog motions that always make him look like he needs a friend's shoulder, versus a fist to the face.
It’s part of how he keeps people fooled. No one wants to accuse a war veteran who looks so hung out to dry of being the reason why hard drugs are funneling into Heart’s Edge, the gruesome price of the sudden cash influx into the economy.
I haven’t had much time to think about Hay.
Hell, I won’t let myself think about Hay.
Because if I think about her, I’m going to worry.
I’ve been worried since that night in the hot tub. This whole mess isn’t right.
Her stuck here after some shitty guy chased her away from the crumbles of her old life. She shouldn’t be in this situation. And while she’s damn brave and stubborn, I’m worried the stress of it will push her to crack. But that’s a distraction I can’t afford right now, and up until the incident with Mozart, I’d managed to push her out of my mind.
Only now I’ve got a constant reminder of her, staring at me from across the coffee table where I’ve hung it up on the wall.
It’s a painting.
Whatever I’d been expecting when she thrust that bag on me and bolted, it wasn’t this.
It’s small, just a little bit over a foot on each side, but it’s full of her.
Bold, brilliant colors in tones that capture the sheer luminous wild of a sunset over the mountains in Heart’s Edge. I don’t even know when she found time to finish it, between her shifts at Brody’s and looking after Tara.
No denying she’s damn good. Beautifully talented.
