Rescue Me (4 page)

The perfect opportunity for Second Chance as well as the animals.

Some had called her a workaholic for volunteering all her free time, but she preferred to stay busy. She wasn't interested in partying. Her rescue friends kept her social calendar packed with plenty of events and camaraderie.

She had a full life, damn it.

So why was she so nervous about leaving this shower room and running into AJ again? She'd managed to keep her distance for five months. She could manage today.

Mary Hannah grabbed a couple of towels to dry off, the terry cloth bristly from so many washings with bleach. She tugged on the sweat suit with the shelter logo, and her gym shoes. She'd washed her glasses—five times. She finger-combed her hair. With no more reason to delay, she stepped out of the small washroom and into the corridor.

Where AJ waited. For her.

There was no mistaking the intensity of his piercing blue eyes. He leaned back against a wall beside shelves full of towels and blankets, garland strung along the edge. A big inflatable dog filled a corner of the lobby, the glowing decoration donated by a local ad agency, complete with a contribution box wrapped like a package.

AJ, all intense and brooding, looked so innocuous up next to that goofy blow-up dog with a wagging tail. And his sweat suit sure fit his leanly muscled body. The shelter logo stretched across his broad shoulders, his black hair wet and spiking. The fresh-washed scent of him was as enticing as any cologne.

“You're still here.” She picked the hem of her sweatshirt self-consciously, her hair hanging in a thick, wet clump over one shoulder. “Is something wrong?”

He waited until a male kennel tech walked past pushing a bucket and mop, then met her eyes again. “I wanted to make sure you're okay. And? Are you?”

She might as well be honest on that point at least. “I'm still a little shaken by what we saw at the cabin. The drugs as well as the horrible condition of the animals. I've never participated in a seizure with these sorts of legal ramifications.”

“Hopefully they'll plead out and things will move faster to release the animals from here.”

She simply nodded, her gaze darting up and down the hall, where a half-dozen kennel techs went about their daily routine of cleaning and feeding the hundreds of animals in their care, dodging around that inflatable dog. The Cooksburg Animal Control facility was a standard county shelter, with concrete floors and the thick scent of bleach, a clean, well-run operation. But it was still a shelter and a traumatic place for any animal to land. Much less ones that were already stressed to the limit.

AJ lifted a lock of her damp hair, rubbing it between two fingers. “I hope you'll have time to decompress over the Christmas break.”

Her scalp tingled at his touch, her raw nerves soaking up the sensation, craving the distraction he could bring. Her mind flooded with memories of his hands along her bare skin in a motel room, the lights low and their inhibitions even lower as they'd both looked to forget about the world for that one night.

Except that one night had made her feel too much. Want too much. Even now.

She opened her mouth to tell him to stop. “Don't worry about me. I'm fine. In fact, I, uh, you should—”

He let go. “Your hair is going to freeze when you step outside.”

She exhaled with relief that he'd changed the subject. “All of me will freeze even though I feel like a snowman—or snowwoman—in this sweat suit.”

“Christmas theme?” He tugged a flannel blanket off a shelf and wrapped a paw-print blanket around her shoulders.

“Um, thanks.”

How surreal it was talking to him without discussing what had happened between them. But she'd made her position clear to him five months ago when he'd shown up at Lacey's with his cousin. There would be no repeat of that night, and the subject was off-limits.

His hands brushed her neck briefly, but the heat of his touch lingered. “Sorry the purple blanket doesn't match the red sweat suit.”

She frowned, nudging her glasses. “That's an odd thing to say. Almost sounds like you're making fun of me.”

“I apologize for being a rude bastard.” He grimaced. “It's been one helluva rough day.”

“Amen to that. I'm not sure there's enough aromatherapy in my arsenal to wipe away what we saw.” What did he do to decompress? Images filled her mind, like the thought of showering with him five months ago. What it would have been like to shower with him today and massage the tension from his shoulders. “We sure didn't expect a meth house. There was such pain in those animals' eyes.”

AJ leaned against the wall beside her, his shoulder touching hers. “Drugs have a way of casting a wide net of destruction.”

She forced herself not to flinch as that comment hit way too close to home. “I'm just glad we could intervene.” She needed to put distance between them. Now. She needed to find Lacey since they'd ridden together. “I'm sure you have work to do. Please don't let me stop you. Good night, Parker.”

AJ stopped her with a hand to her arm. “Do you believe that Mama can be saved?”

She looked down at his fingers wrapped around her arm, the feeling warm through the fabric. The world went silent for a second other than the
swish, swish, swish
of the inflatable dog's tail.

Mary Hannah stepped back until AJ's arm fell away. “It's too early to tell.”

“But what does your gut tell you? How will she react once the drugs wear off?”

“That depends on how her temperament test goes.”

“And if she passes, you'll work with her?”

“Me, or another foster home, but it's tough to say how much we can do for her even if she passes her evaluation. I do believe she has been . . . damaged. She appears to be undersocialized, possibly abused. We'll know more in a couple of days.” Why was he asking so many questions? Did he want to keep her here? But to what end? “Although maybe we'll get lucky. Sometimes the animal needs a while to chill and rehab before being made adoption available.”

“Even the boxer?” He still insisted on focusing on that one particular animal.

Ah, realization sunk in. He might try to appear all broody and badass, but he'd been touched by the grief in that dog's eyes just as she had.

She patted his shoulder, resisting the urge to curl her fingers around and hold on. “Even her. Lacey and I will do everything in our power for her. It's . . . unpalatable . . . to think that's all she will ever experience in life.”

“I know that there are animals everywhere in need of homes that
don't
require the extra effort rehabbing. So why invest your time in this one?”

Had she misunderstood his feelings about the boxer after all? “Because of those drugs, we didn't see the real her today. Even so, Mama didn't bite in spite of being terrified and high. That's promising.”

Or maybe Mary Hannah just desperately needed to believe the dog could detox and overcome all the odds to be redeemable. That
she
could be redeemable.

“You're an idealist.” He tapped the rim of her glasses. “Seeing the world through rose-colored lenses.”

“I assume that means you consider yourself a realist.”

“Yes, although I would appreciate it if you didn't use the counselor skills on me.”

The last thing she wanted or needed was him as a client. Right now she just wanted to leave. To shower again. To figure out how she could be attracted to someone she wasn't even sure she liked.

She searched his eyes as deeply as she searched herself and found . . . he was in as much pain as she was.

Mary Hannah touched his shoulder again lightly, tentatively. “Are
you
okay?”

“I'm fine, Dr. Freud.” He winked, his smile almost managing to chase the shadows from his eyes.

Her hand fell away. “I'm not a doctor or a psychiatrist. I'm a mental-health counselor who specializes in patients with PTSD.”

“Okay, mental-health counselor. Lucky for us, I'm fine. I'm the seasoned professional.”

She should just leave, but the shadows in his eyes urged her to press on. “I'm not asking in that capacity. I'm worried, you know, one person concerned about another. I may not be in the line of fire, but I deal with fallout of days like this. I have some understanding that we're both going to have trouble sleeping tonight.”

His eyes narrowed, and the air between them suddenly crackled to life. “Are you suggesting we distract each other?” He paused, taking a lazy step closer. “Again.”

And just that fast, all the walls she'd built between them these past five months crumbled. That one reckless night was right there as vividly as if someone had turned their memories into a movie, replaying in explicit, body-melting detail.

Her skin went tight, her body aching. She swallowed hard, not having a clue how to make this stop but knowing she had to try to regain level ground between them. “AJ—”

He held up his hands. “Forget I said that. This isn't the time or place. We both do need to call this day over. I need to get things moving all the faster at the department in hopes of clearing away the legal paperwork keeping these animals here. The sooner I drop you off, the sooner I can go to the station.”

The roots of her hair tingled. “Drop
me
off?”

“Didn't I tell you? Wyatt called right after Lacey left here to go home and check on dinner. He asked me to make sure you get home safe and sound. He even had my car sent over from the station.”

AJ hadn't been waiting around to talk to her after all. He'd been here because he was asked to escort her home. That shouldn't sting, damn it.

But it did. “Don't you have to leave for the station right away?”

“Wyatt's handling our report until I get there.” He spread his arms wide, inflatable dog glowing behind him. “So for now, I'm all yours.”

I'd always dreamed my first car ride would be like
Cash Cab
and I'd make it to my home, rolling in dough. But my ride got cut short . . .

—FEMALE BOXER, FOUR YEARS OLD, SHELTER #S75230

A
LL MY LIFE
I'd wondered what the world looked like beyond my chain. I'd fantasized that the places on television were real and I might get to experience running through a forest or sleeping in a clean home.

Never in my wildest fantasies did I imagine I would get stuck in a Sarah McLachlan commercial of save the shelter animals—for real. Yes, I was now officially the cowering animal inside a kennel run.

Roll the cameras.

I'd let my guard down with the peppermint lady that the policeman called Mary Hannah. She did something worse than loop a chain around my neck. I was stuck with a needle. Then they dragged me outside and stuffed me inside a crate. I felt betrayed.

Terrified.

Even with the knockout drugs they pumped in my system, I couldn't stop trembling because I'd never left the cabin or yard before. The shelter was technically better—cleaner—than my old home and no one yelled at me. But it was so foreign. I didn't understand the rules.

How strange that there had been a comfort in the monotonous routine of my awful past life. A talk-show psychiatrist would have said I was suffering from battered-woman syndrome.

I just knew I was scared shitless. Literally. I pooped in fear when one of the workers put a bowl of kibble in my kennel.

Even with the Christmas music playing, I could hear the dogs from the cabin in the other kennel runs. But they kept us separated—something about detoxing and temperament tests. I knew from my TV watching that answering quiz-show questions incorrectly meant failure. Booted off the show. No prize. Huge disappointment.

What would that mean for me? I knew it couldn't be good. Except there wasn't anything for me to study, even if I could have stopped shaking long enough to ask. My heart pounded so hard it made me too ill to eat. Not that I could crawl out of my corner.

My eyes were closed, but I stayed awake long after the lights went out and the workers left. Breathing in the scent of bleach. Listening to the soft holiday music.

Until I surrendered to the groggy pull of those knockout injections.

*   *   *

AJ STEERED HIS
restored Harvester Scout through the dark snowy streets. The road was mostly deserted other than a snowplow, a couple of trucks and a car abandoned in a ditch. Lampposts with wreaths lined the sidewalks, white lights twinkling in trees and store windows. Tools rattled in the back along with fishing poles and a jack. Standard mess.

With the not-standard addition of Mary Hannah Gallo sitting beside him, rocking the hell out of sweats and a blanket patterned with dog paws draped over her legs. She stared out the window, tracing one finger along the condensation. Her sleek brown hair was almost dry. He'd cranked the heater on high, the vents lifting stray hairs around her face like some kind of mystical aura.

He still wasn't sure why he'd agreed to drive her home. He could have paid for her cab, driven to the station to file his report—then gone straight to bed. But somehow, when Wyatt had made the latest transparent effort to pair them up, AJ had gone along. It had been almost comical. Except he wasn't in a laughing mood today.

The whole meth-house raid had him off-kilter. This day needed to be over, and yet he found himself extending the time he spent with the one woman who managed to get under his skin. When it looked like Mary Hannah would turn down his offer, he'd been too damn disappointed. He couldn't deny that he wanted to see her
messy
again
.

Mary Hannah turned from the window and held her hands in front of the heater vents. “Thanks for the ride.”

“You're welcome. I'm surprised you didn't put up more of a fight.” He downshifted to gain traction along the ice as he turned a corner, the scenery shifting from shops to housing.

The holiday decor grew less coordinated; colored lights lined one roof. A big plastic Santa glowed beside the chimney of another. A crèche was lit by a spotlight in front of brick home with a driveway full of cars. Next door, a bundled-up man shoveled the walkway. Outside, the world was . . . normal. Cheerful.

“Everyone else has families and out-of-town guests. Parties to attend.” She pointed to all the cars parked in front of houses. “It seemed wrong to ask them to wait around longer because I would have preferred to call a taxi.”

“That's logical,” he answered offhandedly.

“Is that a dig? Like with the blanket?”

He glanced at her in surprise. He hadn't expected a stray comment from him would affect her.

“Just an observation.” He tapped his temple and added a smile for good measure. “Purely from a detective's objective perspective.”

“Right, sorry for being defensive.” She relaxed back into her seat, looking at ease for the first time since she'd stepped into his vehicle. “What else does your detective's intuition tell you about me?”

He thought for a moment, envisioning her life, her apartment. Thinking about Mary Hannah and “Francesca.” Better to stick with the Mary Hannah side for now. “That your cabinets are alphabetized. You're stylish but thrifty, which cycles back around to that organization. You don't let things go to waste.”

“I like myself the more and more you say.”

He laughed, glancing at her and taking in the way her eyes lit up the night. “Now, I wouldn't have guessed you have a sense of humor.”

Her smile went tight. “We all have our secrets.”

“That we do, Francesca.”

Her breath hitched, then she cleared her throat. “My career gives me insights into people, too.”

Okay, mentions of Francesca were still off-limits. “Bet that takes all the fun out of dating.”

“Or it saves me from more messy breakups.”

“More?”

“I'm divorced,” she said. “I thought you knew.”

“I'm sorry. I didn't know. Wyatt and Lacey never mentioned it.” And he genuinely was sorry. He'd experienced firsthand how much broken relationships hurt like hell even when the end was inevitable and completely right. “Does he live around here?”

“No, he moved away with his new wife.” She picked at the edge of the blanket. “They live in Ohio and have a baby on the way.”

“Are you okay about that?”

“Of course,” she answered too quickly.

This conversation was getting heavy, fast. He needed to lighten the mood again. “So, Dr. Freud, what has your psychiatric intuition discerned about me?”

“That you're moody,” she said without hesitation.

“A doorknob could figure that out.” He tugged a lock of her hair again. “Come on. Play along.”

The strands were even silkier dry, like whispery threads against his skin. He let go and put his attention back on the road, headlights pointed toward the tire-worn ruts in the ice.

“Fine, AJ. You want more?” She counted off on her fingers. “You're a loner, but I would guess you haven't always been. Something happened to send you running here,” she continued with unerring accuracy. “Your family is large and tight-knit. That's why, even in your need for space, you still gravitated toward your cousin. Am I right?”

Too right. So much so he would almost think his cousin had been talking too much, except he trusted Wyatt. And Mary Hannah had such a wholesome honesty to her that he knew she wouldn't cheat, even at a simple guessing game.

His grip tightened on the steering wheel. “I was expecting more answers like you noticed I'm messy and eat a lot of carry-out food.”

“Rookie info I could find from a simple search.” She tucked her hand into the cup holder and pulled out an empty fast-food wrapper. “I bet I would find more like this under the seat. Or some empty soda cans rattling around with those tools in the back.”

“If we're doing background searches, I would bet money you belonged to a sorority. Alpha Mega Hot.”

She burst out laughing. “Has that line ever worked on a woman before?”

“It's an original, just for you.” He winked, stunned she hadn't gotten mad, that she had an ability to take a joke about herself. That made her even hotter. He scrubbed a hand along his stubbly jaw. “You're just so . . . perfect. I can almost see you wearing pearls with that sweatshirt.”

“Why is that a bad thing? Pearls are the universal accessory.”

“I'm right?” He glanced at her and saw . . . he was right. “You wear pearls with sweatshirts?”

“A T-shirt, actually. Once. It was pink. It called for pearls. And they were fakes—good quality, though.” Her lips went prissy tight again in a way that had him thinking of ways to ease them, part them open.

His body went hard at the thought, and he shifted in his seat. “Of course. The very best quality.”

“Do you always deflect stress with smart-ass comments?”

Good question. And he wasn't anywhere near giving her the full answer about why his brain was as tangled as last year's Christmas lights.

Still, he owed her some kind of explanation. “What went down today—it was a crappy way to spend any day, much less Christmas Eve. I'm sorry if that's made me irritable.”

“Apology accepted. I'm sorry you got roped into taxiing me around.”

“No worries.” He glanced at her. “And to be honest, it's probably time we declare a truce. Let the past be the past.”

Her eyes went wide. “As in forgotten? No more veiled references and ‘accidental' touches to make me uncomfortable?”

Was that what he'd been doing? Probably. “Yes, a legit cease-fire. We join forces to shut down the matchmakers.”

He steered the off-road vehicle onto the two-lane county road that led to the Second Chance Ranch, located just outside of town. Lights grew dimmer, traffic sparser. The Christmas decorations were farther from the street and farther apart.

She half turned in her seat, hints of peppermint drifting from her, overriding the lemon scent of his air freshener dangling from the rearview mirror. “That would be incredible if we could pull it off.”

“If anyone can pull off the impossible, you can.”

She angled back. “Is that another dig or a compliment?”

“Hey, I just mean you're
extremely
competent.”

She laughed softly. “Bite me.”

The last two words hung there in the air. Sexy. Edgy.

And leaving him seconds away from breaking the truce before it started.

He turned from the county road into the driveway leading to the Second Chance Ranch. A security gate stopped them from traveling up the long dirt path leading to the white farmhouse. The Scout's engine rumbled in the night, the lights trained on the gate with a wreath in the middle. He jammed the Scout into park. He just needed to roll down the window and press the speaker call button.

But he didn't.

He turned in his seat to face her, the leather squeaking. His body ached from the attraction that had damn near knocked him on his ass earlier today. He saw the answering flicker in her brown eyes and wondered what she would do if he pulled those glasses from her face—to hell with the truce—and kissed her.