WE ARE ONE: Volume Two

by Jewel, Bella

  Where so many people in this place were barely existing with no passion left in their dusty, dried-up veins.

  I stretched in bed, letting my mind wander to the sexy vet and our consultation yesterday. She never did accept a date, but I had an odd feeling that she’d been close to saying those magic words.

  Probably stupid optimism, or had I finally worn her down enough to break her?

  How can I find out?

  Grabbing my phone, I checked my emails while trying to come up with a plan to get her into my bed. I was expecting a large shipment of timber to replace the veranda this week—perhaps I could entice her around with promises of lots of wood.

  Christ, you’re an idiot.

  After checking my messages, I returned to my home menu. The image glowing behind the app icons showed one of the rental properties my deceased parents left me in their will.

  The small two-bedroom bungalow had been mine until I moved into this run-down shack with lofty dreams of finally starting my life, finding a wife, and doing what was expected of a man about to hit his thirties.

  Thanks to my parents instilling good values and grateful ethics, I would never take what I had for granted and stop working—even though I could retire right now.

  Before my mum and dad died, they’d amassed a portfolio of fourteen rental properties that self-serviced their loans with over half already debt free. However, they were so meticulous in their investments, they’d even sorted out the owing balance with a life insurance policy to cover every outstanding mortgage, and provided me and my brother (not that he needed a penny) with a few million to ensure our lives and any future children we had would want for nothing.

  When the lawyer called me into his office after the funeral (the day I’d moved temporarily back into my old bedroom—complete with Wonder Dog pictures and Incredible Hulk plastered to the walls—to sort through my parents’ things), he told me the news.

  He’d looked at me with his bushy eyebrows expecting me to be happy I’d never have to work again.

  I was fucking gutted.

  Money meant nothing to me. Two lives had been lost. My brother and I were alone. No amount of wealth could change that.

  I’d always been close to my parents but independent. I’d moved out at seventeen to pursue a trade—a plasterer, of all things. After growing up on renovation sites, while my parents worked side by side knocking down walls and putting in new kitchens for prospective tenants, I’d learned how to wield a paint brush before I was out of diapers.

  Plaster dust and cement were in my lungs (which probably wasn’t a good thing and thank God I wasn’t around asbestos) but it was a passion that kept me close to my parents while making something of myself.

  But that was before they died and left me with everything.

  And I did mean everything.

  Their elderly collie called Sheep (ironic seeing as the dog hated sheep) came home with me until he died a few months ago. He was old but I think he passed from a broken heart. He missed his master and mistress too much to care about hanging around.

  I’d also inherited their terms for tenants who’d been with them since the eighties. No rent increase (even though the market was three times what it was back then) and they expected me to provide an heir to carry on the Carson legacy.

  Although the properties were all mine, I wasn’t allowed to sell them. They believed in housing those who needed help just as much as those who could afford it.

  All inherited fortune must be used for good.

  I was allowed a wife and to dote on her, but I wasn’t allowed to gamble.

  I was allowed children and to spoil them, but I wasn’t allowed to blow it on a ridiculous mid-life crisis convertible.

  Damn it, my plan is foiled.

  They’d thought of everything but it boiled down to: I was to help others.

  It was the worst decree ever. Because what the hell did I know about helping people? I didn’t know the first thing about being a good Samaritan. And judging by the hate stares I’d earned from Vesper, I wasn’t good at flirting either.

  I guess that was where inspiration struck to help animals in need of rescue. That empathy for the victim kept me busy and worked with my parents’ final stipulation.

  Sheep had given me the idea actually. He’d run off on one of our rare walks before he croaked and I’d had to chase the crazy thing. He’d disappeared into a bush by Thorn River and whined when I found him.

  He’d plonked himself next to the scruffiest little mutt I’d ever seen. He looked as if he’d been dragged through a bush (probably had seeing as he was sitting in one) and his white and tan fur was smeared in mud.

  He’d been the first I rescued.

  But not the last.

  Not by a long shot.

  “Ry!? Are you awake yet?” David, my head foreman, banged on my bedroom door. Not that it was a door—just a piece of plywood covering the entry while the rest of the house crawled with workmen.

  Although I’d taken my parents decree to help others and twisted it into helping four-legged friends, I also employed a decent amount of people in town. Currently, I had seven men working eight hours a day to create the best home I could for me and my rescues.

  And, if by some miracle a woman enters the picture, it will be hers, too.

  “Yeah, yeah.” I crawled out of bed and shrugged into a navy t-shirt just as David kicked the plywood to the floor.

  “This is your wake-up call.” He laughed, striding in with his tool belt groaning under the weight of chisels and hammers. “Get up, sleepy head. Don’t make me drown you in paint.”

  “Hey, dressing here.” David and I had worked together for a few months and the camaraderie between us gave me that element of fun I was searching for. “You’re such a douche.”

  “Takes one to know one.” He fisted his tape measure, pulling out a length of metal measuring, trying to whip me with it. “No sleeping on the job. Get.”

  “I could dock your pay for that.”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  “Why?”

  He winked. “You’d miss me too much.”

  Got me there.

  Chuckling, I grabbed a pair of dusty paint-splattered jeans and hauled them on. “Is the crew here?”

  “Yup, just unloading the extra timber now.”

  “Great.”

  Running hands over my face to wake myself up, I moved past him. “You’re mighty chipper this morning.”

  He slapped me on the back as we headed down the curved stairs toward the large cobwebbed and rain damaged foyer. “It was date night with the wife. She got tipsy. We did things.”

  “Things?”

  His crooked teeth flashed in a shit-eating grin. “Yep. She agreed to a sixty-nine. Been married six years and never once did she drop the prude until last night.” He nudged my shoulder with his. “Might have to ruffie her next time—see if I can get her to unlock the back door, if you know what I mean.”

  I groaned. “And this is why women have such bad opinions of us.”

  “Hey, I married her. I love her. She loves me. Technically, she ruffies me all the time with her apple cobblers and cherry pies. She puts me into a food coma. The least I can do is put her into a sex one.”

  I shook my head. “Well, if the cops come calling, I don’t know you.”

  Stopping in the entry way, my neck ached as I looked upward. “Goddammit, there’s a leak up there.” When I first bought this place, the roof had completely caved in. We’d only just repaired it last month. Thanks to a quick downpour last night, an area that hadn’t been sealed correctly showed dampness.

  “Oh yeah, I saw that too. Got one of the boys on it already.”

  “Okay, cheers.” Moving toward the circular walls that looked grand and pretty but were a bitch to plaster, I touched the sheetrock. “Still a bit wet but with the roof keeping them dry, it won’t take long until we can get started on replacing the floor and begin interior painting.”

  “Already p
encilled in the oak flooring for delivery.” David puffed out his chest, looking like a lumberjack in his plaid shorts and white wife-beater. Sweat dotted his upper lip.

  It was bloody hot already.

  What was I thinking putting on jeans?

  I needed some air and space and knew exactly where to get it. Cracking my knuckles, I said, “Tell you what, you get started on the south side today. I’ll get my abseiling gear on and tackle the front porch roof. Deal?”

  David nodded. “Sure thing, I’ll ask Simon—”

  The sound of an obnoxious rap song I rather liked (liked enough to make it my phone ring) cut him off.

  “Whoops, sorry.” Snatching the phone from my pocket, I pressed accept and held the vibrating thing to my ear. “Ryder.”

  “Hello, Mr. Carson, I hope I’m not disturbing you this early, but we’ve just accepted a call that requires urgent help and no one is prepared to make the long journey.”

  My smile stretched as warmth filled me. I always got this feeling whenever I was asked to help. I called it the karma blanket. But it was just gratefulness, knowing what I was about to do would change a creature’s life and there was no better thing than that.

  The house could wait.

  This could not.

  “You’re not disturbing me at all.”

  David rolled his eyes, knowing full well I wouldn’t be on the job site today.

  The local shelter had me on speed dial now. It hadn’t always been the case. The first few times I’d rescued a stray or found a lost dog without its tags, I’d been treated as a wanna-be-hero with no belief of my genuine need to help these poor critters.

  However, after more visits and volunteering with feeding and doing a few odd jobs around the shelter, I was put on an honouree list of sponsors.

  Not only did I take every animal off their hands that were on death row, I rehoused them on my estate, set up a website that advertised pets to forever families, offered guarantees and return policies, and flew the lovable creatures all around the country to new homes.

  I used the endless wealth I’d been given to help those who were reliant on humans to protect them.

  “So, you’ll go?” The woman’s voice wavered with hope.

  “Of course, I’ll go. What’s the address and what am I collecting?”

  “Oh wow, that’s amazing of you—” She paused. “Wait, are—are you sure? I know you dealt with a rescue yesterday. I can get someone—”

  “Don’t. I’m happy to. Truly. Now, cough up the details.”

  The girl (I vaguely remembered her name was Cora from meeting her last month), said, “It’s about a four hour drive. I can’t stand the thought of them in that monsters care anymore. The sooner you can collect them, the better.”

  “Consider it done. What am I looking for?”

  “Two Chiweenies.”

  “What the hell is a Chiweenie?”

  “A Chihuahua Dashund hybrid.”

  “How does that even happen?” I jerked a hand through my hair. “Know what—doesn’t matter. Text me the address and I’ll leave right now.”

  Cora’s relief was a physical thing, fluttering through the phone into my ear. “Oh, you’re the greatest. Truly. Thank you. Thank you so much.”

  “Don’t mention it.” I hung up with a grin. Nice to know I’m appreciated by one female at least.

  Then my grin broadened.

  Talking of that particular female.

  In a few hours, I’d have another two dogs that would need excellent health care.

  And I knew just the vet to do it.

  Chapter Five

  Vesper

  “I’M SICK.”

  I pressed my cheek against the cold stainless steel of my patient table and closed my eyes on the spinning room.

  Ugh, make it stop.

  Polly came up behind me. Her cool hand landed on the back of my neck. “Oh, you are a bit hot.”

  I groaned, hauling my aching body upright and pressing the back of my hand to my forehead. “Think I have a temperature?”

  She pursed her lips. “Either that or you’re flushed because Ryder Carson hasn’t been in today.”

  I scowled. “I’m glad about that. Not sad.”

  “Uh oh, the rhyming has started. A sure clue to the flu.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You annoy me every day.”

  She grinned. “That’s my job. And don’t try to change the subject. I heard you two flirting yesterday.”

  “What?” I dropped my hand to my chest, acting the perfect damsel. “I was not flirting.”

  Was I?

  Okay, maybe a teensy tiny bit.

  “There was a lot of wiener and cock talk.” Polly giggled. “If that wasn’t the pre-dance to some seriously hot and filthy sex, I don’t know what is.”

  The room spun faster as an image of Ryder naked and bending me over a table erupted in my flu-foggy brain. “Oh, stop.” I groaned. “I’m not feeling well. And that just makes me feel worse.”

  “Worse because you want it so bad?” Polly jiggled her eyebrows. “Go on. Think of me as your therapist. I’m sworn to confidentiality.”

  I wanted to slap her.

  I truly did.

  If only the floor would obey and stop trying to mimic a boat on a rolling ocean. “You are nothing more than a sexually repressed woman who is deflecting her fantasies onto me.”

  Polly laughed, leaving me to sway unsteadily as she returned to finishing up on the computer. “Unlike you, I don’t want to touch his wiener.”

  “Oh my God, you heard that?”

  She smirked. “Every word.”

  “We seriously need to get better soundproofing in this building.”

  “Or you need to bang him and get it out of your system.”

  “And I’m supposed to take advice from a woman on an eight-month sex-Sahara-spell?”

  She held up her hands. “I’m just being the voice of your neglected pussy.”

  I scrunched up my face. “You just dropped down the totem pole of friendship. Who are you with this dirty talk and where did my post-it loving stuck-in-the-mud go?”

  Polly waved me away, her concentration sucked back into work graphs and order forms. “Just trying to help my bestie out.”

  I swallowed, testing the awful scratch in the back of my throat. All the symptoms of the flu had hit me over the course of the day. I’d woken with a headache, sneezed twenty times since lunch, felt hot and sticky, then cold and shaky, and now my bloody bones had decided to become rattlesnakes and hiss with pain.

  I needed to go to bed. Which I couldn’t because I was on emergency call tonight.

  I hate my life.

  “You know that saying ‘no matter how bad things get, it can always get worse?’” I rubbed my nose with the back of my hand, squinting through stinging eyes.

  “Yes, your point?” Polly looked up from the computer, clicking supply orders for Tales of Tails.

  “Well, it sucks…that’s what.”

  “That doesn’t even make sense.”

  It does.

  Ryder was bad.

  But being sick is worse.

  I’d take Ryder over the flu, even if he did make me itchy and moody and wet.

  Whoa, did I really just admit that?

  Polly said softly, “Go home, Vessie. You’ve been working too hard.” Her gaze tracked to the clock hanging on the wall. “You’ve been at it for thirteen hours straight. No wonder you’re ill. Go home. Get better.”

  “But I’m on call tonight.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Amanda can field the calls from home and if it’s a true emergency and not a simple ‘help, my dog is coughing what shall I do’ kind of phone call, I’ll deal with it.”

  The thought of letting Polly do it was far too appealing. But I didn’t want to be that partner. I didn’t want to shuck my responsibilities just because I was sick.

  I’m not sick.

  Positive thinking and all that.

  I hesitated. �
�I don’t know—”

  Buzzzzzz.

  The reception door announcer when someone walked in ripped through the space.

  Polly and I looked at each other.

  I sank into my sore body. “Oh, no. I thought we didn’t have any more appointments today.”

  “We didn’t.” She shook her head. “Bloody hell, Amanda must’ve forgotten to lock the door on her way out.”

  “Dangnamit, that girl really needs a refresher on how to run a well-oiled business around here.”

  Polly sighed, “I know, but she’s cheap, and right now, we need to keep our spending under wraps.”

  My head stuffed up with cotton wool as the tell-tale tickle in my nose told me I was going sneeze.

  Explosively.

  I pinched my nostrils and held my breath.

  I’m. Not. Sick!

  I couldn’t do that to Polly. I couldn’t do that to the dogs and cats and rabbits depending on me.

  Ignoring the urge to sneeze, I sniffed back my self-pity and overwhelming desire for sleep. “I’ll go deal with whoever it is. You finish ordering supplies. Then we can get out of here.”

  Polly eyed me dubiously. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay? You look like shit.”

  I stuck my tongue out at her. “Gee, thanks. Just what I want to hear before dealing with a customer.”

  “Not just any customer. Me.” The masculine voice made me jump as Ryder Carson opened the surgery door and stuck his head inside. “I don’t care if you look like shit; your bedside manner is second to none.”

  His smile fell as he fully took me in—the rumpled grubbiness of my scrubs, the flyaway curls around my face, and dark circles beneath my eyes.

  “Whoa, you really do look like shit.”

  I threw up my hands. “Oh my God, don’t you start.” Dropping my eyes, I searched his arms for whatever new creature brought him in but couldn’t see as he kept his body angled behind the door. This man was a magnet to homeless and hurting animals. Did he serenade them like the pied piper? Why did people find him so irresistible?

  Because I don’t see the allure.

  I don’t.

  He said you can touch it.

  Even with my sick addled brain, the thought made me flush as my gaze zeroed on the door where his crotch would be.