Page 6 of One Cut Deeper
At least the road is paved instead of gravel, though it’s so narrow that I worried about meeting another car head on. Though I hadn’t seen a single car once I left the freeway loop south of town. No wonder he offered to come get me, although with his careful directions and map, I found my way without any problems.
Plus I now have his phone number programmed in my cell and engraved on my heart.
“I hear you,” he tells her affectionately as he opens the door. He still wears the same clothes as before and his hair is mussed, as if he’s been digging in the back of his closet for exactly the right thing to wear.
No, that’s me.
“I’m so glad you’re here.” He waves me inside. Sheba sits at his feet and doesn’t rush the open door or try to jump on me, although she tries to beat a hole through the floor with her tail. “As soon as the suitcase came out, she went nuts. She hates it when I leave.”
At least he doesn’t seem irritated that I arrived two hours early. “What can I do to help, Mr.…” He arches a brow at me, as if to sayare you seriously going to take a step backward after I fought so hard?“Charlie?”
He grins and my knees go weak. “If you don’t mind, why don’t you take her out in the backyard and throw her ball? Though I’ll warn you that she’ll run until your arm falls off.”
At the wordball, Sheba immediately runs deeper into the house and comes back with a tennis ball in her mouth. She runs back and forth between me and the back door, leading the way without his assistance. I try to look around without being obvious. I catch a glimpse of a magazine-worthy kitchen, all sleek stainless steel and granite. The living room is an old-fashioned sunken room with a massive rock fireplace in one wall and dark paneling. It could almost be a flashback to the seventies, but he replaced whatever frightening shag carpet might have been installed originally. A large sectional faces the fireplace in a deep red-brown leather. No television.
“Thank you,” he calls after me. “I’ll reward you with a glass of wine once I’m packed.”
I slide open the patio door and step outside into a backyard with a large patio, built-in grill, and fire pit. A barbed-wire fence sits a couple hundred feet away, probably to keep the cows out of his yard, but otherwise, it’s wide-open country. Motion lights kick on, illuminating Sheba. She drops the ball at my feet and then sits on her haunches, her eyes locked on her precious toy.
Are these his cows? I can't reconcile the man I've built up in my mind with this rustic setting. He isn't an office sort of guy, but a farmer? I’ve never seen him in a suit or tie. He wears jeans, sweaters and T-shirts. Nice ones, to be sure, but casual and comfortable. I assumed he came to the vet on his days off, but seeing his home makes me wonder.
I zip my jacket. I might regret forgetting my gloves, but the night sky is magnificent without the city lights. So much for my wish that a huge snowstorm would strand me out here with him for days.
Sheba yips to get my attention, vibrating with intensity. She crouches and wiggles her butt.
“Okay, okay.” I cock my arm and throw the ball as far as I can. I fall into the rhythm of throwing and watching her fetch, over and over, while my mind whirls.
What kind of job does he have? What does he do? Where's he going right before Christmas Eve at the last minute?
I might have built a few obsessive fantasies about him in my mind, but I know very little about the real man. So he takes good care of his dog. That doesn’t mean he’s safe. He could be a serial killer who uses his pet to lure unsuspecting women out into the middle of nowhere.
Here I am, about to spend the night in his home alone with his huge dog. Not the brightest idea I’ve ever had.
At least Dr. Wentworth knows where I am. To be safe, I’ll call my parents and give them the address too. They’re on the other side of Springfield but could be here in thirty minutes. My sister would have the National Guard on emergency standby if she suspects I’m even thinking about dating again, let alone dog sitting for a stranger out in the country.
I have to admit, though, that the mystery is just as appealing as the man. I want to know if that smoldering intensity is real. If he looks at me and sees the quivering, eager submissive ready to do his smallest bidding. I want to find out how far he’d make me go. What he’s into. Bondage? Exhibition? Pain?
I know I shouldn’t, but I want it all.
Charlie MacNiall has my attention, hook, line and sinker.
3
When my shoulder starts to ache, I call for her to head inside. Sheba’s more than ready to go again, but she comes inside without complaint. I glance around as I follow her into the kitchen, but I don’t see him.
Sheba sits down in front of her bowls but doesn’t touch her food. Her water’s a little low, so I head into the kitchen and pull a glass out of the dish drainer to refill her bowl.
Parched myself, I use the same glass and hit the fridge for some ice water.
“She prefers cold, fresh water.” His voice sends me spinning around. He pauses at the edge of the kitchen to give me plenty of time to adjust to his presence before he enters the room. “She’ll have you filling her bowl every hour if you let her. Sometimes I throw a few ice cubes into her water. She likes to munch on them.”
“Okay.” I can do this. Just keep it simple, stupid. Ask him dog questions as if I know what I’m doing. “Do you feed her at certain times?”
He bends down to a wine cooler built in under the bar. His hair’s damp from a shower and hangs almost down to his shoulders. He changed into black jeans, too, but evidently he isn't worried about people assuming he’s funeral bound. Black looks good on him. Damned good. Black turns his eyes into obsidian chips of ice. “I know Doc recommends a feeding schedule but I mostly just let her graze. I fill her bowl in the morning and she eats when she wants. I don’t like schedules much myself. Red or white?”
“Um…” I try to think if I’ve ever had wine.
He lifts his head to smile, and I have to remind myself to breathe. I almost gasp like a fish stranded on a sandy shore. “If you have to think, then I recommend something light like a moscato.”