Ride Wild(26)

Cora knew too well what that was like.

Voices reached her from the hallway, but she couldn't do anything to  rein herself in. And then her door was opening and Slider was there, his  face a storm of concern. He closed himself in and went to his knees  beside the bed, lining up his ruggedly handsome face with hers. "What's  wrong, Cora? What happened?"                       
       
           



       

She shook her head, unable to talk even as she tried to make her tears stop.

"Jesus, sweetheart, you're scaring me."

"S-sorry," she managed. "Just . . . this dog . . ." Trying to explain made her cry harder again.

Slider wrapped himself around her, his forehead against hers, his arm  around her shoulder. She pulled him closer, needing his touch, needing  his comfort, needing him.

Eyes still flooding, Cora heaved a deep breath, then another, until her  breaths were shuddering but becoming more even. But her eyes wouldn't  stop leaking. Damnit.

"Come here," Slider said, his voice full of grit. He pulled her off the bed and into his lap there on the floor of her bedroom.

Cora wrapped her arms around his neck. "Just being stupid," she said.

"No way," he said. "Big hearts are bound to get bruised, Cora, and yours is the biggest I've ever seen."

Annnd now she was crying again. She laid her head on his shoulder, her  face pressed to his neck, and cried herself out until she was limp and  exhausted. He rubbed her back and stroked her hair the whole time, just  holding her and being there for her. And, man, that would've been  enough. But it was the little kiss against her hair that had her too-big  heart feeling entirely too full for her chest.

For being wrecked, broken, and more than a little lost, Slider Evans had  a well of sweetness so deep that Cora wasn't sure how she'd ever find  her way out. Or if she even wanted to.

On another deep breath, Cora finally lifted her face and met Slider's  blazing light green eyes. He cupped her face in one big hand and swiped  at her tears with his thumb, but it wasn't enough, so he lifted the edge  of his shirt and used that instead.

Cora managed a chuckle, even as she messed him up to put herself back together. "Sorry."

"Don't be," he said, his voice full of gravel. "Aren't we a pair?" He  swallowed hard. "You feel so much, and I can't feel enough."

The words were so revealing that they nearly made her gasp. "Oh,  Slider," she said. "I think you feel more than you let on." She hadn't  meant about her, but the flare of those strange eyes told her he took it  that way. And it made her want to backpedal. Fast. "I mean-"

He kissed her. Hand in her hair, his lips came down on hers in a soft  press of skin on skin. It wasn't the frenzy of their first kisses in his  bed, but there was an intimacy in the softness, in the sweetness that  hit her just as hard.

When he pulled away, his expression was intense and thoughtful, like he  wanted to say something and needed to figure out exactly what it was.  And then he nailed her with a stare and said, "Cora, you-"

Knock, knock. "Dad?" Sam called from outside Cora's door.

They jolted apart, and Cora scrambled into a standing position and  scrubbed at her face, her heart pumping hard. She knew Slider didn't  want the boys confused about what was going on with them, and since  nothing was going on, there was no sense in giving them any other  impression. Besides, Cora really didn't want Slider to think of her with  the slightest hint of regret.

Hands braced on his thighs, he dropped his head in what looked like a  posture of defeat. Or, after all, regret . . . "Yeah, Sam?"

The boy poked his head in the doorway, his gaze ping-ponging between them.

"What did you need, son?" Slider asked, pushing himself off the floor.

Worry was plain on the kid's face, so Cora didn't make him voice it. "I  was just upset," she said. "Over something I saw at the shelter today.  They found another dog that had been . . . really badly injured. And  they think it was from dogfighting. It was . . . pretty terrible." She  hugged herself and tried to block out the images, images she had no  intention of describing more graphically for Sam, whose expression  already looked like she felt.

Slider frowned. "Dogfighting? Is that where this uptick in dumped-off dogs is coming from? Have they all been like this?"

Cora shrugged, but then something Maria said came back to her. "I don't  know, but Maria mentioned that this seemed to happen pretty regularly on  Mondays. God, is there dogfighting nearby on the weekends?" The thought  was truly horrifying.

"I don't know," Slider said. "But I can ask around."

"I'm sure the authorities are looking into it," Cora said. "From what I  understand, animal control is bringing them in when they find them."

"That really sucks, Cora. I'm sorry," Sam said. "Did the dog . . . did he live?"
                       
       
           



       
Cora wished she knew. "He was in surgery when I had to come home, so I  don't know what happened." And she spent all night wondering.

The next morning, she couldn't take another minute of not knowing, and  she called as soon as the shelter opened. He'd survived the surgery and  the night, and that was all Maria could say for now.

It was something.

But the uncertainty was kinda driving Cora crazy, so she threw herself  into housework. If she was going to be a full-time nanny, she figured  that meant she should take on more around the house than just what the  boys needed in the moment. And though Slider kept the house neat-ish, it  really needed the same TLC that they'd given to Cora's room.

Not that Cora believed redecorating fell under her purview. So instead,  she threw herself into a deep clean, starting with the kitchen and  moving into the living room. The floors. The fridge. Scrubbing every  surface. She took down the curtains in both rooms and threw them in the  washer.

In the living room, she found a box of figurines sitting on the floor  next to a corner display cabinet. Kneeling, she unwrapped them one by  one. Collectibles of the Disney princesses, villains, and a few dogs. It  was Pluto that really got her. She stroked his funny little head and  wished it was the hurt dog that she could be petting.

Were these sitting here waiting to be displayed?

Cora took everything out of the cabinet and wiped it down, then dusted  the shelves and rearranged to make space for the figurines all on one  shelf. She removed the kids' old school artwork, much of which had bent  and faded from sitting propped up on the shelves for so long, and  stacked all of it inside the cabinet, thinking she'd look for a keepsake  box or scrapbook album to keep the art safe.

God, there was nothing like throwing herself into the mindless  productivity of cleaning to make her feel better. At the very least, she  felt like she'd accomplished something today.

Kneeling in front of the corner cabinet, she peered around the room and  looked to see if she could tell the difference. The rooms were brighter.  Surfaces gleamed. The air smelled lemony fresh. Yeah, she'd definitely  made a difference.

The door opened behind her. "What are you doing?"

She turned to find Slider coming in, two pizza boxes in hand. He'd been  out running errands most of the day, but she hadn't expected the nice  surprise of him bringing home dinner. Thank God he did, because she'd  lost track of time.

"Oh, cleaning. And that smells good. Thanks for grabbing it."

His brows cranked down. "You don't have to do that."

Cora got onto her feet and pushed stray waves from her messy bun behind  her ears. "Of course I do. Nannies don't just take care of kids." She  gestured at the room. "They take care of the house, too."

He peered around like he was uncertain, or like a snake might jump out  from under the couch, but finally nodded. "Well, it's the nicest this  old place has looked in a long damn time." He did a double take, and  Cora followed his gaze to the corner cabinet, and then that frown was  back on his face.

"Oh, I found those figurines in a box beside the cabinet. I thought  maybe they were there to be put out . . ." But now, seeing his reaction,  Cora wanted to smack herself in the head. Of course they must have  belonged to his wife. And she'd had absolutely no business touching  them.

"It's fine." He took the pizza into the kitchen.

"Slider, I can put them away-"

"I said it's fine," he said, a gruffness to his voice that she hadn't  heard in so long. He huffed out a breath that came close to a growl, and  agitated displeasure rolled off him in nearly physical waves.

Frozen in place, Cora didn't know what to do. She just knew that  somehow, she'd messed up. Big time. So much so that Slider wouldn't look  at her. After what they'd shared-even if they'd agreed it shouldn't  happen again-it left her feeling . . . adrift and unwanted. Burdensome,  even. Feelings with deep roots in her past that could too easily reach  out to the present.