Ride Wild(30)

"Bullshit," Dare said, crossing his arms, that fierce face challenging Slider to disagree.

Slider thought about it-really thought about it. His gut felt the truth  in Dare's analysis of him and the situation, but his heart had been so  trashed that it was still hard to believe in almost anything.

"I'll think about it," he said.

"Don't think too long," Dare said, nodding. "Because none of us has forever."





Chapter 15




"How's the dog?" Cora asked Maria first thing after she arrived at the shelter on Thursday.

Maria smiled. "Dr. Josh named him Otto. And he was stable enough to be  transported to Noah's Arks last night. So he's got a fighting chance."

Cora sagged into the chair in front of Maria's desk. "Oh, thank God. I've been beside myself all week."

"Me too." The smile slid off her face. "If only his case was the last one we'd see . . ."

"Has there been another already?" Cora asked.

Shaking her head, Maria sighed. "No, but Otto was the eleventh dog  picked up around Frederick in the past three months that we suspect had  been used in dogfights. And we're not the only ones finding them.  Shelters in Washington and Carroll counties reported it, too."

Eleven! "This is so terrible, Maria. Do the police know? Is anyone doing anything to find these guys?"

"There's an investigation, but crimes against animals don't rate the  same kind of attention as crimes against people. Or even property,  sometimes." Her shoulders fell in a gesture of defeat. "Dogfighting is  usually an underground activity, and not widely advertised. Hard to hear  about it without the wrong kind of connections. The police are doing  the best they can, I guess."

Cora was torn between relief and cautious hope for Otto, and anger about  the likelihood that he wouldn't be the last. So she was really grateful  to be asked to walk the dogs again, because that meant she could spend  some time loving on-and being loved by-the dog-shaped potato sack known  as Bosco the Lovable Basset. "Who's a handsome man?" she asked,  scrunching his saggy face and rubbing his floppy ears.                       
       
           



       

He peered up at her with droopy eyes Cora couldn't help but think were  filled with satisfaction and affection. If she owned a dog that looked  at her like that, she could never ever give it away. Never in a million  years.

The thought made her feel like she'd walked into a wall, because it  lodged a seemingly obvious but also impossible idea into her head.

She could adopt Bosco.

Except, she totally could not adopt Bosco. She didn't own her own place.  And she couldn't possibly ask Slider if she could bring a dog to his  house, especially a dog that, given Bosco's age, probably wouldn't be  around for that many years. Would it be fair to the kids if, somehow,  Slider agreed and then Bosco lived only long enough to make them all  fall in love?

She attached his leash, took him outside, and walked him for a long  time, until his stubby legs gave out and he flopped contentedly onto the  grass in the sun.

There was another way to look at this, wasn't there? Would it really be  fair to Bosco not to love him just because he might not have that much  time left? For all Cora knew, neither did she. Neither did anyone.

That last question stuck with her all day and into the night. At dinner,  she found herself posing a question. A hypothetical question, of  course. "So, I'm curious." All three Evans men looked up from the  burgers and Tater Tots she'd made for dinner. "Would you adopt an  awesome but older dog if you knew that he might not live that many years  longer?"

"That would be hard," Sam said thoughtfully. "You'd know you'd lose him."

"I'd want a puppy," Ben said, looking back and forth between Cora and  Slider. She felt a little guilty because Ben had been dropping  not-at-all-subtle dog hints ever since Cora first talked about working  at the shelter.

Slider put down his burger and licked some ketchup off his thumb. Cora  tried not to pay attention to his mouth, and his tongue, and the  enjoyment he seemed to be taking in her cooking lately, but it was hard  when literally everything the man did drove her to distraction. Plus, he  was wearing his cut after a day over at the track, and he looked so  freaking hot in it-tough, edgy, maybe even a little dangerous. "Don't a  lot of older dogs end up at shelters?"

"Yeah," she said. "It's crazy how people can have a dog its whole life  and abandon them toward the end. I can't imagine ever doing that. They'd  be like family." Hell, they'd be better than any family she'd ever had.

"I bet they don't get adopted much, either," Slider said, and Cora shook her head.

"Why not?" Ben asked.

She gave him an understanding smile, not wanting him to feel bad. But then Sam smirked and said, "Because people want puppies."

"Oh." He popped a Tater Tot into his mouth and swung his legs so that  his feet kicked the rails of his chair. "What happens to dogs that don't  get adopted?"

Cora met Slider's gaze across the table and silently asked if he wanted to handle this or if he wanted her to.

Slider braced his arms on the table. "Well, buddy, if it's a no-kill  shelter, the animal lives its life out in the shelter. And I guess there  are some rescues that take in abandoned animals. But not all shelters  are no-kill . . ."

"They kill them?" Ben's eyes went wide. "That's not fair!"

Cora rubbed the boy's shoulder, hoping she hadn't done the wrong thing  by bringing all this up. "Where I work is a no-kill shelter, Ben. But  you're right . . ."

After dinner, Cora and Slider cleaned up the kitchen while the boys took  turns getting showers. And even though Slider seemed totally  relaxed-actually, way more relaxed than usual, at least for Slider-Cora  felt like she should apologize. "I'm sorry about where that conversation  went," Cora said, leaning back against the sink. "I should've guessed  it might lead to talking about shelters that put dogs to sleep."

Hand towel thrown over his shoulder, Slider stood in front of her.  "Death is a part of life, Cora. My boys are more acquainted with that  fact than most kids their age. No sense hiding it. It's not something we  can hide from, not any of us."

Dropping her chin, she nodded. The reminder of the loss they'd suffered seemed more of a reason against than for.

Slider grasped her chin and forced her to meet his eyes. "Tell me about this awesome but older dog."

Her mouth fell open, from the touch and from the too perceptive question. "Oh, no. I didn't . . . I mean, I wasn't . . ."

His lips quirked just the littlest bit. "Uh-huh. What's his name? Or her name?"                       
       
           



       

Chagrined, Cora gave a small smile and cringed at the same time. "Bosco the Lovable Basset." She blinked.

He arched a brow. "Bosco the Lovable Basset."

"Well, officially, Bosco. I added the Lovable Basset part." She gave him  the most innocent expression ever, or at least hoped it came off that  way.

His eyebrow was still arched. Over that incredibly sexy, scruffy, masculine face. "How old do lovable bassets tend to get?"

Cora's belly squeezed. She'd looked this up. Damnit. And the news wasn't great. "About twelve years."

He shifted a half step closer, close enough that she could easily reach  out, fist both hands in his shirt, and haul him to her. God, how she  wanted to. "And how old is Bosco?"

"Bosco the Lovable Basset," she quickly corrected. That eyebrow went  higher, and her shoulders sank. Humor wasn't getting her out of this,  apparently. "Eight."

He nodded, then stared at her for a long moment. Long enough that Cora  had time to get distracted by the soulful cast of Slider's eyes and the  shape of his mouth and the little scar on his lip. "You want him," he  said.

She'd been so deep into the man in front of her that she nearly forgot  they were talking about the dog. Shrugging with one shoulder, she peered  up at him. "We can't always have everything we want."

Slider braced one hand against the sink behind her, and then the other,  boxing her in tight against the counter. He swallowed hard, and tension  filled the spare inches between them. "But maybe we can have some things  we want."

Oh, holy hell. What did that even mean? "Like?" she whispered. Suddenly,  she remembered the last time they'd been this close. In her room on  Monday night, while he'd comforted her about Otto. Slider had been about  to say something, but they'd been interrupted . . .

Those light green eyes burned. "Christ, Cora."