“That’s what my brothers call my pathetic attempts at jogging. Faster than a walk, slower than a jog makes—”
“Wog,” he finished. He’d always liked her brothers, though not half as much as he’d liked her.
Owen cast a sideways glance in Becca’s direction, then had to lean forward to actually see her since Reggie’s big fat head was in the way. The dog stared at Becca too, mouth open, tongue lolling. Couldn’t blame him. She was stunning.
Her hair was long, thick, and fire red. She’d braided it; she always did. Otherwise the heavy mass got into everything—her eyes, her face, her food, his mouth.
Owen swallowed and dragged his eyes back to the road. He should never have kissed her. Though, to be fair, she had kissed him. It didn’t make the taste of her that still lingered on his tongue, nor the memory of how different things were—how different he was—any easier to bear.
“You—” he began, and his voice broke. He cleared his throat, tried again. “You always jog in the forest in the dark?”
“No. I wog.”
The dirt path had some deep ruts, the result of years of snow and ice and mud with no grading to even it out. The trees and bushes had encroached from the sides, narrowing the trail until branches scraped the truck. He was going to wind up paying for a new paint job by the time he returned it.
“Isn’t that a little dangerous?”
“In Three Harbors?”
“If you were jogging—”
She lifted her eyebrows.
“Excuse me, wogging, in Three Harbors I wouldn’t be worried.”
“You’re worried?”
He glanced at her; Reggie tried to lick him in the nose. “You saw my house. There’s something weird going on here.”
“I didn’t know that when I left, and I doubt it has anything to do with me.” She held up a hand. “Or you either. It’s one of those things. Sick, weird, freaky, horrible, all of the above. But in the end, probably stupid kids behaving badly.”
“You believe that?”
“Nope,” she said.
If what they’d been talking about hadn’t been sick, weird, freaky, horrible, and all of the above, her response might have made him laugh. As it was, he muttered, “Shit.”
“Yeah,” she agreed. “Good times. I need you to drop me at Emerson’s place.”
The only Emerson Owen knew was Emerson Watley, a dairy farmer older than God, with plenty of hair in his nose and his ears but none at all on his head.
“Hot date?”
Why had he asked that?
“Date?” she repeated as if the word were a new one. “With Emerson? He’s ancient.”
“He could have a grandson, named after him and everything. Or maybe you just like ancient.”
Owen really needed to shut up now.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. There’s a cow having trouble calving, so drive this truck like you own it and get me there yesterday.”
“I don’t own it.”
“Pretend.”
For a few seconds the only sounds were the tires on the road and Reggie’s staccato breaths. He could feel the heat coming off her skin. If he touched her hair, would sparks ignite? Maybe she’d just punch him. Wouldn’t be the first time.
“It’s none of your business,” she blurted.
“The cow?”
“Me.” She sat stiff and straight, chin lifted, gaze forward. “Even if I had a date with Emerson, or any other man in this town or the next, you gave up the right to care about it a long time ago.”
“No,” he said.
“No?” Her shrill voice made Reggie inch so close to Owen he was practically driving.
“I might have given up the right to date you, but I never gave up the right to care.”
Watley’s driveway appeared, and Owen took the turn so fast, Reggie was thrown into her side. He yelped.
“Hey.” She set her hand on the dog’s shoulder at the moment Owen did the same.
Their fingers met. They both jerked back; the dog snorted.
“What were his injuries?” Becca asked.
As if he understood, Reggie offered the paw on his injured leg. She smiled and ran her fingers down the appendage. Owen couldn’t believe the dog allowed it. Most MWDs had to be sedated for veterinary care. They weren’t the kind of animals who submitted to anyone other than their handler. But Becca was different.
“Just here?” she asked, palm directly over the inflamed area. Reggie started to pant.
“He’s fine.” Owen negotiated the long, gravel lane then parked next to the brilliantly lit cow barn.
She lifted her hand from Reggie and opened her door, then hesitated, clearly wanting to argue, to examine the dog further, but duty called. “Bring him by