Petting Them: An Anthology of Claw-ver Tails

by Tate James

  Well. Hell of a way to say good morning, Merritt.

  Glancing back up at him, I re-tied my robe, smiling slightly when that snapped him out of the stare off he was having with my breasts. He cleared his throat and politely, if a little delayed, looked away, his cheeks endearingly red.

  “You drinking all of that coffee?" I asked, letting him know it was safe to look again.

  Denver peeked back at me, frowning like I was speaking in riddles. I swallowed a laugh and pointed at the to-go cups in the drink carrier he was holding.

  “Right. Coffee. Yes! I mean no. It’s not all for me. I, uh, wasn't sure what you liked. I got one black with no cream or sugar, one loaded down with all that sweet shit and pumpkin stuff that girls seem to like, one breakfast tea, and the last one is mine—Cafe Americano."

  He rambled off as he walked inside, his eyes still a little too wide and his cheeks still pink. He made his way unerringly to the kitchen and set the cups on the table before bending over to pet Remy. I smiled, biting my lip at his thoughtfulness. "I'll take the tea, please. I've never been one to like coffee."

  Denver closed his eyes and snapped his finger. "I knew it," he said before handing me the cup and a paper bag containing a chocolate muffin. I settled on the chair closest to me, setting my treats on the table, and crossed my legs beneath me as I sipped at the hot tea.

  "So you just stopped by to give me a lifetime supply of caffeine?" I asked playfully, eyeing him over the rim of my cup. As kids, I loved watching Denver squirm. His sweet thoughtfulness always made me happy as a kid. Now, as an adult, I just found it to be incredibly sexy.

  "No," he replied, rubbing the back of his neck. It was a nervous tick of his he’d had even as a child, and I was oddly comforted by seeing the movement now. Some things never changed.

  "I figured you could use some help packing all this up.” He waved at the kitchen around us. I watched from my seat as Denver started walking around, opening cupboards and taking inventory of what needed to be boxed.

  "I'm actually glad you're here. I went down to the basement and found some of my dad’s work files. You might want to check them out," I announced quietly.

  Some of the worry must have come through in my tone because he stopped rifling through the cabinets and turned back to look at me, his expression questioning. I couldn't shake what those grainy images had revealed. My father was involved in something dangerous, and I wanted to know more.

  Denver cocked his head in confusion. "His office? I thought we had everything. Mind showing me?"

  I nodded and got to my feet, leading the way to the basement door on the kitchen wall opposite from where he was standing. I flicked on the light and started down the stairs with Denver trailing after me.

  I stopped at the foot of the stairs and stepped aside to let him pass me, gesturing to the desk set near the back wall. Denver reached out and cupped my shoulder, pausing for a moment to smile down at me reassuringly and brushing his thumb over the silk of my robe. He didn’t know why I was worried, but still he tried to make me feel better. I loved that about him. I returned his smile with a small troubled one of my own before tipping my chin to the desk. He made his way over then threw a questioning look back at me.

  “Top right drawer.”

  He pulled it open and began shuffling through the contents, pulling papers onto the desktop. Flipping open the first file, he thumbed through them, mumbling to himself. I knew the moment he got to the pictures I’d found because he froze before squeezing his eyes shut. Lifting his head, he pinned me with distressed eyes.

  "Have you shown this to anyone?" he asked seriously, his voice low and tense.

  "No. Only you," I answered just as seriously.

  Denver nodded, sighing in relief. He went back to sifting through the files and talking to himself.

  "What's going on, Denver?" I pressed.

  I wanted to know what kind of situation I’d inadvertently stepped into by returning, but more than that, I needed to know exactly how much danger Krew was in.

  "Things aren't always what they seem, Snaps," he warned, running a rough hand through his hair.

  "No kidding," I sighed.

  In the two days I'd been here, I’d done nothing but wonder about the father I thought had abandoned me as well as the boys I thought had forgotten about me. With every moment spent in this house and every second I spent around the guys, the more I knew things were not as I had always thought they were.

  I was having trouble processing the vast differences between how I’d seen things for the last fifteen years and what reality was forcing me to acknowledge. You didn’t hold on to the past with such intensity, you didn’t keep things exactly as they’d been, if you’d moved on with your life.

  I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment, and when I opened them, Denver had moved in front of me. Tipping my head back, I gazed up at him, noting the tenderness and concern in his bright blue stare.

  Nothing but a breath separated us, and I found myself wanting to erase that distance. I wanted so badly for him to hold me, craved the closeness we’d had as children. I wanted to know now as I had then—without a shadow of a doubt—that Denver would be there whenever I needed him. But that was selfish and unfair when I was still planning to leave once my father’s house was sold. So, I held myself tighter, gripped my arms harder to stop myself from reaching out to him.

  “What happened to my dad, Denver?" I asked, pleading with my eyes that he tell me what I so desperately wanted to hear—that my dad had loved me, that despite getting rid of me, he’d wanted me.

  When I got the call about his death, I’d been so shocked I hadn't thought to ask how he’d died. Maybe I didn't want to know, or maybe I was too scared of the answer. Either way, I found myself wanting to know now.

  Denver’s expression shifted from concerned to anguished in an instant. His eyebrows pinched, and he dropped his eyes from mine. He rubbed the heel of his palm over his chest, as if his heart hurt. “No one told you?" he guessed.

  “No,” I answered, tilting my head to try and catch his gaze again, but he wouldn’t look at me.

  “I was supposed to watch his back. It was my job to keep him safe," he confessed, his voice gruff and choked.

  Denver sucked in a shuddering breath and walked over to a box, sitting on top of it. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees before looking up at me.

  "We’d been investigating some drug traffickers in the area. We worked that case for years with no real breaks, nothing that would stick in court. But Steve said he finally had some damn good evidence. He called me one night, worried that his informant was in trouble. I told him to wait until we could get a full task force there, but he insisted we didn't have time. So we went to this warehouse to check on things. We had everything planned out. It was supposed to be easy, you know?"

  I walked closer to Denver then sat down on the floor in front of him, placing my hands on his as he spoke.

  He continued, still staring at the ground, "But it wasn't easy. Someone attacked me from behind. I was out cold before I knew what hit me and… and someone got Steve. Shot him. The only witness was Remy. Pup stayed with me until backup arrived. I'm not sure if they thought I was dead already or if whoever jumped us spared me for some reason. Either way, I'm alive and he's… not."

  I stroked my thumb along Denver's skin, letting him compose himself before I spoke. "You can't blame yourself," I whispered through the tears choking me. "You have to know it wasn't your fault."

  “Do I?” He shook his head and raised his gaze to mine, showing me the agony in his eyes. “I’m so sorry, Merritt,” he rasped. He reached out and cupped my cheek, using his thumb to wipe away my tears as his own fell unchecked. I put my hand over his, my heart breaking for his pain and my own.

  I squeezed my eyes shut as some of the pieces fell into place. My father hadn’t just died, he’d been murdered, and Denver had only just barely managed to escape that same fate. Krew was involved in all this too, I just
didn’t know how exactly. But I would find out. This was no longer a “get in, get out” situation. With Krew’s cryptic warning, Denver’s confession, and what I now knew, there was no way I could leave, not while the men I still loved were in danger.

  Denver leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to my forehead, lingering for a long moment before he stood. He cleared his throat and swiped the wetness from his cheeks before appraising the room with a newfound determination. Turning pleading eyes on me, he spoke, "How about we pack this room up?"

  I stared up at him from my perch on the floor, taking in the sad way his eyes were begging me to drop the conversation. I knew Denver blamed himself for what happened. There was no way I was going to let that continue, but I also knew he wasn’t ready to listen to reason. His emotions were too raw. So, if he wanted to distract himself with packing, I’d let him. But, sooner rather than later, we were going to have a heart-to-heart, and I would make him see that my dad’s death wasn’t his fault.

  "Okay, Officer Price. I hope you're ready for a workout," I quipped with a knowing look and an understanding half-smile. I took in the relief in his expression and the acknowledgement in his eyes. He knew this conversation wasn't over. Not by a long shot.

  7

  After going to brush my teeth and get dressed, I set to work with Denver’s help, packing up my father's office. We were quiet for the most part, letting the music playing from his phone fill the silence. Both of us were still feeling a bit raw after his confession, but there wasn’t any awkwardness as we worked together. We maneuvered in the small space with comfortable familiarity, small brushes and little touches as we passed making us smile, slowly lightening the lingering sadness.

  Every now and then, Denver would pause to go through one of the various folders hidden within my dad’s old filing cabinets. I wanted to ask him what he was searching for, but I also knew he wouldn’t answer. I knew him well enough to know he wouldn’t tell me anything he thought would put me in danger. So I concentrated on discovering what I could about my father from the things he’d left behind.

  Every item I packed was like unlocking a glimpse into who my dad was. Well-worn photo albums were displayed on the small shelf behind his desk, filled with pictures of my mother and me. The photographs I’d taken as a kid were framed and hanging proudly on the walls. Everywhere I looked was more and more evidence that he hadn’t thrown me away as I’d believed for so many years.

  I noticed his fishing pole was dusty and full of cobwebs where it was propped up, forgotten in the corner. When I was a child, he and I would go every day to the pond behind our house, and I knew he’d continued that tradition with Tatum from the sketch he’d been drawing. But the fishing pole looked like it hadn't been used in years. What had happened that caused my father to stop doing one of the things he loved most?

  After packing up the majority of the office, Denver and I began hauling the boxes upstairs to load into his cruiser. Most of the things we’d found in the office needed to be taken to the precinct, and I was happy to have the damning pictures gone. I was still determined to help my guys in any way I could, but having that kind of indicting proof in the house I slept in seemed like asking for trouble.

  It was sweaty work, but we made good progress throughout the day. I found myself looking around at the emptying basement with each box that was taken out. I was sad at how quickly we were moving. Pretty soon, the house would be empty, and there would be nothing left to keep me there. That thought alone had me questioning everything. Could it really only take two days for my feelings to change so completely? Two days to make me wonder about the possibilities of another life?

  I liked my life in Nashville… most of the time. My apartment more closely resembled a closet, and I didn’t love my job. I missed using my camera to capture beauty instead of pain, but at least I was doing something close to what I loved. That was more than most people could say.

  But being here, seeing the guys, and remembering how much simpler and happier life could be, made me wonder why I was so anxious to get back. My mother was in Nashville, sure, but we only got together every other Sunday, and that was usually so she could tell me about the gifts her current husband had showered her with or what new trip they were planning. I couldn’t actually remember the last time she asked about my life during those brunches.

  As we carried the things out to the cruiser, we left the front door propped open. Remy was laying on the porch in the shade watching us lazily. Every now and then, he would pick his head up to stare at us when he caught a scent or something sticking out of one of the boxes caught his eye, but it wasn't until I brought out a particular box that something strange happened.

  "That's odd," I muttered, spotting a bit of black leather through the partially open cardboard flaps. Opening the box, I lifted out a leather jacket. Looking at Denver with a confused smile, I asked, "Did my dad go through a midlife crisis? Or had he always worn leather jackets, and I just forgot?" I chuckled a bit.

  Denver gave me a questioning look so I held the jacket up higher, letting him see. Remy suddenly went on alert, growling low in his throat, staring at the piece of clothing like it was a threat. Denver didn't respond to my question. Instead, his attention instantly shifted to the riled animal. He spoke soothingly to the retired police dog, trying to calm him down.

  "Remy, what's wrong, boy?" Denver asked quietly as he approached, slowly making his way forward so he was positioned halfway between the dog and me. Alarmed at seeing the previously playful furball turn so threatening, I cautiously dropped the jacket and took a step back, shocked by the snarling teeth being bared in my direction. Remy’s hackles were raised, the thick hair along his spine standing on end.

  "What's wrong with him?" I whispered, darting a worried look at Denver.

  "He's a trained K-9 dog. He must have caught a scent. You don't happen to have anything on you, do you?" he asked with a half laugh, but I heard the genuine curiosity in his voice.

  "Of course not," I retorted, pulling a face at him. Remy barked, startling me so badly I jumped. Although I knew he wouldn't hurt me, I still recognized when to be cautious.

  "He started barking when I picked up this jacket."

  I bent over, intending to pick up the tacky leather jacket once more, but the movement made Remy jump and bark with even more intensity. “Remy!” I snapped, alarm turning my voice sharp. His growl changed to a whimper right before he spun around, leapt down the porch stairs, and shot off in the direction of the woods.

  Something was obviously wrong with Remy. I didn’t think, I just took off after him, calling him back. I ran as fast as I could, pounding steps behind me indicated that Denver was following too. "Remy! Come back here, boy!" I yelled.

  He didn’t stop, and within seconds, he’d disappeared into the thick trees. I came to a stop and whirled around, staring at Denver as my chest heaved. "What the hell? Has he ever run off like that before?" I wasn't sure what it was, but there was something about Remy that made me feel something I hadn't felt in a long time. He was the last remaining thread of contact to my father, and it scared me to think that I would lose him too.

  "I'm not sure. I’ve never known him to just take off like that, but he was your dad’s dog. I mostly saw him at work," Denver sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

  He looked genuinely concerned, and I wondered if this was something new for Remy. Although playful, the dog was obviously well trained. If he was running off, something serious had to have happened to trigger such a strong emotion.

  "Let's go back to the house and call Tatum and Krew. We can all search the woods for him," I declared.

  I wrapped my arms around myself, holding tightly as I walked quickly back to the house. I looked back in the direction Remy had disappeared just as I climbed the porch steps. Although I hadn't anticipated claiming him when I came here, I’d quickly become attached to the spunky dog. I wasn't ready to lose him. I still hadn't cried over my father's death, but I found my eyes watering at
the thought of losing Remy.

  Denver came up behind me and wrapped his arms around me, enfolding me in a warm hug, then bent to rest his chin on the top of my head. “It’ll be okay, Snaps," he whispered. "We’ll find him, I promise."

  I nodded wordlessly and sank back against him for a moment, taking the comfort he offered. I slid my hand over his where it was wrapped around my stomach, entwining our fingers as I stared at the tree line. We stayed that way for a minute before he bent farther to press a tender kiss to my temple.

  “Let’s call the guys,” Denver gently encouraged.

  8

  Tatum arrived at the house within minutes, pulling up in a different truck than the day before. This was an old pickup truck I recognized as once belonging to my father. I was surprised the 1980s Ford was still running, but it seemed fitting that Tatum was driving it now. He got out of the front seat and spotted me pacing on the porch.

  I could feel his eyes on me while he closed the distance between us, but I kept my gaze on the tree line, hoping to see Remy come running back. Tatum stepped in front of me, intercepting me mid-pace. I jerked to a stop before I could crash into his chest and tilted my head back to give him an impatient look. Standing so close, I could see the little smile playing on his lips behind his mountain man beard, a reaction to my irritation.

  “Lost him already, did you?” he purred provokingly.

  I felt my eye twitch and my blood pressure rise, but along with that flush of anger came a spark of arousal. “Don’t be a dick, Tatum,” I growled, glaring up at him, hiding my desire behind annoyance.

  I saw his smile grow and an answering flare of heat in his honeyed eyes. He bent until we were almost nose to nose. “But you like it when I’m a dick, don’t you, Butterfly? We both like it,” he whispered, leaning forward to nuzzle his nose to mine. He held my stare, daring me to admit the truth. I twisted my lips and narrowed my eyes, trying to fight the smile that wanted to emerge.