by Tawna Fenske
I glance over at Roughneck, who does look a bit bearlike. “McNabs are herding dogs,” I tell her. “Tia said that’s what makes him smart.”
Ready to demonstrate his intelligence, Roughneck abandons his toy and trots over. He looks up at the couch where I’m sitting, waiting for an invitation. “You can join me.” I pat the cushion and my dog hops up. Curling into a half-moon crescent, he rests his head on my thigh. His ears are warm velvet as I stroke my palms over them.
“I’m deciding whether to keep calling him Roughneck.” I explain the story to my sister, tearing up as I recount the details of the embedded collar. “Is that a mean thing to call him after he suffered like that?”
“Seems more like a badge of honor to me.”
“That’s what I was thinking.” I scratch behind his left ear, earning a groan of pleasure. “I started reading to him already. I guess that’s something Tia did to tame him.”
“What are you reading?”
“Irving Stone’s Lust for Life. It’s a fictionalized history of Van Gogh.”
“Sounds interesting.”
“Roughneck seems to like it.” I scratch behind his ears, and he gives a low moan. “How are things in Paris? Did you finish that gown with all the beading?”
“Yes!” As my sister chatters about her latest wedding dress creation, I feel the tiniest twist of envy. Not for her career, which is pretty kickass.
But I’ve got the kickass career, too. What I don’t have is the sexy husband murmuring in the background asking if I want waffles or crepes for breakfast.
“Either one’s good, babe,” my sister says to Josh. “I’m talking to Nessie.”
Nessie. She’s called me that since we were little, and I always loved the sound of it. “Say hi to that super-stud husband of yours,” I tell her.
“Hi, super-stud,” she parrots, laughing at something he murmurs in return. “He wants to know if you’re running the place yet.”
“Not yet. Maybe in a week or two. Did I tell you Dean and I are interviewing chefs?”
“Mmm, I hope you get a taste test.” She laughs. “Of the food, not Dean.”
It’s the second time my sister’s probed this particular tender spot. I swear I’ve told her nothing about my growing attraction to the hottie CEO, but twin intuition is strong.
“Dean’s very professional,” I manage as blandly as possible. “Smart, too.”
“I’m sure he is. Just pointing out that it wasn’t too long ago we were all crushing on him.”
“What?” I have no idea what she’s talking about.
“Come on—Dean Judson? Don’t you remember every girl in middle school had his picture tacked up in her locker?”
“I have zero memory of that.”
“Come on, Nessie.” My sister makes an exasperated noise. “Haley Montfort and Ashleigh Styles and Candace Chrisman—remember how they used to argue about which Judson brother was the hottest?”
Sometimes I think my twin and I had completely different childhoods. “I guess I missed that.”
She laughs. “Probably because you were smart enough to chase after real guys,” she says. “I mean real guys at our school. The ones you could date instead of the make-believe ones.”
I snort at that. “Yeah, that worked out really well for me.”
“Ugh. Colton, you mean?”
“Colton Lawrence the Third.” This is a good reminder that Raleigh was far from the first poor choice I’ve made with men. My high school boyfriend was only the start.
“What a toad,” Val says. “You dated him the last couple weeks of sophomore year, right?”
“That I told you about,” I admit. “It was actually a few months.”
“What? Why?”
Why did I date him? Why didn’t I tell her? All good questions.
“I didn’t want to give Mom the satisfaction of knowing I was dating a guy from the country club set.”
“Who turned out to be an asshole.” My sister makes a disgusted noise. “What guy thinks it’s okay to pick out a girl’s prom dress for her?”
“Not a very nice one.” I stroke my hand down Roughneck’s back. “I’m doing better. I picked a good one this time.”
“Oh, you mean D—”
“Dog, yes.” I know damn well she was going to say Dean. “My dog is amazing.”
“I can’t wait to meet him.” Val’s quiet for a bit. “Did I tell you I ran into Raleigh last week?”
My sister’s mention of my ex jerks me back to the conversation. “Ugh, no. Where did you see him?”
“Here in Paris.” She makes a disgusted noise. “The network made me go to this big charity event.”
“Kind of a random place to run into someone from home.” I brace for a wash of emotion—anger, disappointment, nostalgia. I thought I’d marry Raleigh, after all.
But there’s nothing but blankness in the center of my chest. Blankness and a bit of regret.
“He was hanging out with this pack of overgrown frat boys,” Val continues. “Must have been a business function or something. He was holding court over this ridiculously expensive bottle of wine.”
“That sounds like Raleigh.” And also like a guy I should have seen right through from the beginning. “I can’t believe I thought I was going to marry him.”
“He charmed us both,” Val points out. “I had a crush on him before you did, remember?”
“Yeah, but I was the one dumb enough to wait around for him to propose.”
“Hey.” Her voice is serious all of a sudden. “That’s my twin you’re calling dumb. Don’t make me fight you.”
I stroke Roughneck’s side, surprised how much it soothes me. “Sorry, I’m a little emotional. I’m a dog mom now; I process things differently.”
“I hear ya. Send me a picture?”
“Of course.” I flip the phone around, framing up a selfie of Roughneck and me together on the couch. I swear to God he looks up and smiles.
“Done,” I tell her, firing it off to Val.
“Oh, you both look great.” There’s some murmuring in the background, and I hear my sister showing the pic to her husband.
“Gotta go, Ness,” she says. “Breakfast is almost ready. So, everything’s good there?”
“Perfect.” Mostly. “Enjoy that tasty mouthful. Have a good breakfast, too.”
She laughs. “Thanks. Congratulations on the dog.”
I hang up the phone and look at my dog. “Roughneck.” He cocks his head to the side. “You’re good with that?”
He gives a soft little “uff” and thumps his odd little half-tail.
“Because I don’t want to give you a name that’s traumatizing.” I stroke the bald ring around his neck, careful to be gentle. Tia said it’s fully healed, but it feels fragile like new baby skin. “Would you prefer something bold like Duke or King or Champ?”
Wagging again, my pup jumps off the couch and goes to fetch his purple stuffed tiger. He trots back to the sofa and plunks it on my lap. That’s when I see he’s chewed a faint, furless band around its throat.
“Very nice,” I tell him. “Okay, Roughneck it is.”
Again with the tail wag. I swear he understands me. “Who’s a good boy?” I scratch his throat, earning myself a groan of pleasure. “You’re a good boy. You are.”
A bright chime rings through the cabin, startling us both. Roughneck perks up his ears and gives a soft little “uff.”
“I didn’t even know we had a doorbell.” I stand up and head toward the front of the cabin. “Should we see who it is?”
“Uff.” He says it more forcefully this time, bounding to the front door with his head high. He sniffs the door and gives a low whine.
“Hi, Roughneck.” It’s Dean’s voice from the other side, and instantly my belly flips over. “Don’t maul me, okay? I’ve got your dinner.”
Dinner? I unlatch the deadbolt, mentally inventorying everything I bought at the pet store.
“Oh, crap,” I say as I fling op
en the door. “I left the kibble in your truck, didn’t I?”
He stands there on my front steps in fitted jeans and rumpled hair and looking sexy as sin. His arms flex from the weight of the forty-pound bag of dog chow on his shoulders, and I feel my mouth go dry.
“Not a problem. Where do you want this?”
“Over there’s great.” I point to the door of the small pantry just off my kitchen. “Thanks for bringing that. He had dinner at Tia’s, but I would have been in big trouble at breakfast tomorrow.”
“Wouldn’t want a rift between you and your new dog.” He eases the bag onto the floor, then turns to scratch Roughneck’s ears. “Hey, buddy. You settling in okay?”
Roughneck wags his tail, sniffing the bag of food. He’s a lot more eager to see Dean than he was earlier today, which seems like a good sign he’s loosening up.
Or maybe he’s picking up on my excitement. My belly’s fizzing with joy, behaving like a glass of cola topped with baking soda. So dumb. I just saw Dean an hour ago, so no way should I be this happy to see him.
But he’s even sexier in post-work mode. He’s changed clothes, and the fitted black T-shirt reminds me what it felt like being pressed up against all that lean muscle on the waterslide.
“You want something to drink?” I’m suddenly conscious of how dry my mouth is. “I’ve got beer in the fridge, or there’s some red wine open.”
“Beer sounds great, thanks.” He points to my back window, which faces east over the ridgeline. “Want to sit outside? Looks like it’ll be a great sunset.”
I steal a glimpse out the window, surveying stripes of mottled pink and orange streaking the skyline. “Oh, wow.” I start toward the fridge, trying to act natural instead of like someone trying not to ogle the hot guy in her living room. “You want a glass or the bottle?”
“Bottle’s fine, thanks.”
“You can head out if you want. There’s a cute little set of patio furniture I haven’t had a chance to try yet.”
“That’s all Lana.” There’s a hint of pride in his voice. “She wanted everything to be homey before people started moving in.”
“Mission accomplished.” I pull two IPAs from the fridge, hoping Dean’s okay with hoppy beer.
He’s at the door now with my dog staring up at him with an imploring gaze. “You want Roughneck to join us?”
My dog wags his tail and shoots me a look that can only be described as “please, Mom?”
“For sure.” I point to the hook beside the door. “That harness is pretty easy to put on.”
“Blue’s not really my color, but okay.”
I bust out laughing, splashing beer on the counter. “Funny guy. Tia said the harness would be less traumatizing for him than a collar. That one’s padded.”
“Got it. Let’s get this on you, buddy.”
Roughneck gives a sharp yip and bolts away. I’m sure we’ve scared him with the leash, but he scurries over to the couch where the purple tiger lies soggy on its side. Stump tail wagging, Roughneck snatches the plush creature and trots back to drop it at Dean’s feet.
“Thanks.” Dean bends down to pick it up. “You’ve done a number on this, huh?”
“He’s telling you he wants to take it outside.” I’ve owned this dog a few hours, and I’m translating for him?
“We can do that.” Dean clips the harness in place, then hands the tiger back to him. “It’s like a self-portrait. Missing tail, bald patch around the neck.”
I laugh and dump half a bag of pretzels into a bowl. “He’s artistic. I’ve been reading to him about Vincent Van Gough.”
“Very nice.” Dean holds the door open, and Roughneck trots out ahead of him. I hear the rumble of Dean’s voice as I set the beer and pretzels on a tray, wishing I’d thought to grab more food at the grocery store. I’m not much of a cook, but I could at least offer dinner or something.
This isn’t a social call. Don’t get attached.
A good reminder all around.
I carry the tray to my back door and out into the cooling high desert evening. Roughneck settles in a patch of fading sun at the edge of the deck. The end of his leash is wrapped around the leg of Dean’s chair, while Dean watches him with a fondness I feel deep in my gut. Roughneck’s holding the tiger between his paws, lovingly grooming the fake purple fur.
Dean looks up as I push the door open. He’s sprawled in one of the wrought iron chairs, legs kicked out in front of him. I hate how my heart stutters at the sight of him framed against the backdrop of mountains.
“Here you go.” I set the beer in front of him, then walk around to the other side of the table to plant the pretzels in the middle. No sense sitting any closer than I need to. “Wow, what a great view.”
“Yeah.” Dean sips his beer. “I love that about the high desert. The smell of sage and juniper and all these kickass sunsets.”
“I spent the summer over in Bend after high school.” I pick up my beer and take a small sip. “This was back when Ponderosa Resort was just a rich guy’s ranch, and I was out visiting my cousins.”
“The rich guy was…your uncle?”
“Yep.” I sip my beer and try to recall if I told him this at some point, or if it’s another bit of trivia he picked up while snooping into my background. “Anyway, the sunsets were my favorite. That contrast of all the bright pinks and crazy oranges against the mountains.”
“It’s certainly different from LA.”
We sip our beers in silence for a moment as crickets start to chirp. It occurs to me I could do this. Just be friends with Dean, ignoring the sexual attraction. That’ll go away, I’m almost sure.
But then he looks at me again, and I’m lost in those hazel eyes. “Roughneck sure likes that toy.”
I glance over at him and smile. “He’s barely let it out of his sight since we got here.”
“Mari would probably have an explanation,” he says. “Something about attachment issues or fears of abandonment or whatever.”
“Did she always want to be a psychologist?”
Dean shrugs and lifts his beer again. “Yeah. Things took a weird turn after she became a celebrity shrink to the stars. Don’t mention that, by the way. She’s still weird about it.”
“Noted.” I nibble off one edge of a pretzel and glance at Roughneck again. He really does look happy, sucking on the tiger’s purple fur like it’s his pacifier. “Did you have stuffed animals as a kid?”
Dean smiles a little sheepishly. “Yeah. Probably a lot longer than I should have.”
“What do you mean?”
“When you’re one of the young kids in a big family, you do all this stuff to avoid looking like a baby. Give up your binky or try to stay up late like the older kids.”
“Ah, I see.” I try to recall if that was Val and me. Probably yes, compared with our big brother. “And when you’re the oldest?”
Dean grins and grabs a handful of pretzels. “You head off to middle school thinking it’s cool to bring a stuffed lion named Lucy Fur.”
“Lucifer?” I bust up laughing. “Did you get teased?”
“A little,” he admits. “At least I didn’t pick the stuffed bunny.”
This is too adorable for words. “Did the bunny have a name?”
“Yep.” He grins. “Rabbit Downey Junior.”
“No!” I laugh and take a sip of my beer. “Val and I had matching teddy bears. She named hers Eddy and wanted me to name mine Freddy.”
“Let me guess. You picked something else?”
“Guilty.” Not really, though. I always felt kinda proud of my attempt to march to my own beat. “Mine was named Frig.”
“Frig?”
“Yeah, I heard my dad say it, and I knew it was a bad word.” I grin at Dean’s confused look. “He’d say ‘frig’ instead of ‘fuck’ when we were kids. I had no idea what it meant, but I felt naughty calling my bear that.”
He laughs and takes another sip of beer. “I had a stuffed turtle named Shelly,” he says. “An
d a teddy bear named Weenie for reasons I can’t recall.”
“Probably because boys will seize any excuse to talk about weenies and boobs and bajingos?” I hold my breath, hoping I didn’t cross some line.
Dean just laughs. “Says the girl who tried to name her teddy bear ‘fuck’?”
“Fair point.” I realize I’m staring at Dean and order myself to admire the sunset again. The sky over the mountains has gone from peachy pink and lemon to a kaleidoscope of magenta and burnt orange. “I had a stuffed seal I named Angst.”
“Angst?”
I shrug and pick up another pretzel. “I’d heard the word on TV and thought it sounded pretty.”
He looks at me for a long while. “You must have been an odd child.”
“Quite possibly.” I toss two pretzels in my mouth, enjoying the salty crunch and the smell of Dean’s shampoo. I noticed it when I was pressed up against him in the waterslide, the grassy sharpness of it filling my senses.
Stop thinking about that.
“Do you still have any of them?” I ask. “Your childhood stuffed animals, I mean.”
“My mom does,” he says. “She keeps all kinds of stuff in case we want to pass them along to our kids someday.” His brow furrows just a little. “Mari had a toy rat named Svetlana that she used to carry around everywhere. Pretty sure Mom saved that. Lana was more into dolls. She had this creepy one she named Shirleen.”
“Wait.” I frown at him over the lip of my beer bottle. “Isn’t that your mom’s name?”
“Bingo.”
“That seems like something Mari would have a heyday with.”
“No doubt.” Dean sips his beer. “At first, Mom thought it was cute. Then it just got weird when Lana would be all, ‘Shirleen needs her diaper changed’ or ‘Shirleen was bad and needs a spanking.’”
“Oof. Awkward.”
“No kidding.” He laughs, and I love how loose and easy this is. How pleasant he is to talk to. “How about you? Does your mom have all your childhood toys?”
A bitter puddle forms in my gut, and I take my time answering. “My mom’s not very sentimental.”
“You must have had a favorite toy, right? Something she held onto for you?”
I picture it in my mind. An abacus, the old-school kind with beads for counting. My brother bought it for my birthday after I said I liked numbers and wanted to learn math. I played with it until my chubby little fingers grew raw. While Val played with dolls, I played stockbroker under the covers.
