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A warm burn starts in the center of my chest and flares outward over the gratitude in his voice. It’s hard to believe I was pissed as hell at him just but a few hours ago, but right now, I have a blistering urge to wrap my arms around him in a hug. “You’re welcome. ”
Brody continues to shovel more dirt into the grave, but he doesn’t respond. The silence is oppressive, and I find myself wanting to hear him talk more. So I say, “And I’m glad you’re doing this. I thought it would suit you. ”
The sound of the spade scooping dirt rings loud, but Brody stays quiet. His body bends, his biceps rippling with exertion, the soil being spread carefully over the dead dog.
“And I’m appreciative,” I ramble, now almost desperate to have him say something else. “It’s been hard doing this without solid help. ”
The scoop and pour of dirt reverberates over and over, the only other sound a seagull crying as it flies overhead. Brody still won’t engage in further conversation.
“I think you’re a really good fit here,” I say lastly… lamely.
Brody hauls up another shovel of dirt and spreads it over the growing mound that’s almost completely covered Jethro now. When the spade is empty, he sticks the tip of the shovel on the ground, resting his forearm on top of it. When he turns to look at me, his eyes are still just as light, sparkling in the sun, but if I’m not mistaken… there’s a hint of amusement there now. “Are you always this talkative?”
My mouth opens slightly, because surely I’m wrong. There’s no way Brody is teasing me… not right this very moment. Not sour, surly, broody Brody.
No way.
But his gaze holds me in place, his lips just curved slightly upward. “Cat got your tongue now? You were on quite a roll there for a minute. ”
My cheeks go slightly red, but only for a moment. Then I recover my wit, because if I’m anything… it’s, well… witty. “Nope. I’m good… Now that I finally got you to say something. ”
“Trying to draw me out of my shell?” he asks drily, wiping the back of his hand across his sweaty forehead.
“Something like that,” I admit.
“Well,” he says, picking the shovel back up and garnering another scoop of dirt. “You’ve done better than most. ”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I say, a grin on my face.
“Good thing,” he says as he continues to fill the grave. “It was meant as one. And I don’t hand those out lightly. ”
“No, I don’t suppose you do,” I say, turning on my heel to head back to the kennel. “When you get done, come get some cold water and then we can feed the horse. ”
He doesn’t respond, but I swear I can feel a smile on his face as I walk away.
Chapter 7
Brody
I need to start working out again, and I put that on my mental to-do list to find a gym I can join. I had kept myself in pretty great shape while in prison, which wasn’t exactly hard. There’s nothing to do behind bars except read, watch TV, or exercise. I read as much as I could and, even though it pained my heart, I spent a lot of time reading medical texts and journals. It was a constant slap in the face to me, knowing that I would never fulfill my dream of being a doctor. Yet I couldn’t stop myself from absorbing every bit of medical knowledge I could get my hands on. Fat lot it did me now as a bartender.
I never bothered with TV because the Warden felt that the only thing suitable for us to watch was the Disney Channel, and that wasn’t exactly my cup of tea.
So when I wasn’t in the library, working my dollar a week job, or laying on my cot, I was working out. I was lucky because I was in a medium-security prison, which afforded us a bare bones gym filled with free weights. Maximum security considered those weapons, so if you wanted to work out there, you did so by bench-pressing your cell mate. That’s not to say I didn’t see a guy get his temple bashed in by a five-pound dumbbell before, but that sort of stuff was rare in a medium-security place. It was not filled with violent offenders, but rather those who cheated the system or low-level drug dealers.
There’s no doubt I need to get back to the gym because after a full day of working at The Haven, my muscles are stiff and sore. It wasn’t just filling in Jethro’s grave, but the bending and lifting to feed the dogs. Not to mention that bathing them has my lower back on fire. It amazes me that Alyssa did all of this on her own with very little help.
After I buried Jethro, I headed back to the kennel where Alyssa kept a small office in the back. She was waiting for me with her arm outstretched, a cold bottle of water in it. As I started to take it from her, her eyes went to my hand and she let out a tsk tsk sound.
As I took the bottle from her, she grabbed ahold of my wrist, turning my hand palm upward. Her eyebrows furrowed inward, and her brown irises went dark as she examined the blisters on my hand. “You should have let me get you those gloves. ”
As she ran a fingertip over the bubbled wounds, I couldn’t control the way my heartbeat sped up and my body went utterly still. It’s been a long time… over five years to be exact, since a woman has touched me in such a way. In fact, the acid memory of Stacy touching me in the car that night… her hand on my thigh, and the promise of great sex in her eyes. That was the last time a woman touched me in a soft way, and the memory caused bile to rise up in my throat.
I almost pulled away.
Almost, but then Alyssa gave one last delicate stroke over the skin, released my hand, and said, “You should bandage those after we feed the horse. ”
Immediately, I felt the punch of loss in my gut and almost shoved my hand back under her nose, demanding her to tend to me. Shaking my head, because my reaction was pretty idiotic, I opened the water and started drinking it instead.
Now as I wipe down the bar at Last Call and glance out over the evening crowd, I remember the feel of Alyssa’s skin against mine. I’m not sure how I was supposed to react to her touch. I’ve spent the last five years honing my hatred of Stacy and equating her touch to nothing more than a selfish need on her part to play me. But that didn’t come with Alyssa. Sure, her touch was shocking to my senses, but it was also comforting. It wasn’t quite like a mother’s touch, because that wouldn’t explain the quickening of my pulse. But it wasn’t licentious or sexual, like Stacy’s touch either. It fell somewhere in between, and all I really know is that I liked it.
A lot.
From the corner of my eye, I see Gabby walk… no, stalk, into the bar with anger all over her face. She sees Hunter sitting at a table talking to some of the locals and marches up to him. I watch as she bends over, whispers briefly in his ear, and he nods. Then they both walk through the side hallway and back to Hunter’s office.
No clue what that’s about, but I’m assuming some trouble in paradise.
“Can I have a Blue Moon, Brody?” I hear from my left and turn toward the feminine voice. It’s Amanda… or is it Miranda? I can’t remember, but she’s been coming in with her friends almost every night for the past week.
“Sure,” I tell her, taking a chilled pint glass from the cooler and sticking it under the tap. I keep my eyes on my pour, but I can feel her gaze boring into me. She’s tried several times in the past to instigate a flirty conversation with me, but I’ve been careful not to engage. Because, let’s face it… I’m a brooding introvert now, and I don’t do flirty. She’s been diligently persistent and I know, just by the gleam in her eye, she’s far more interested in just getting a beer from me.
Pulling the glass back, I take an orange slice from the bar caddy and place it on the lip. Pushing it toward her, I take the ten-dollar bill she hands me and turn to make change, not uttering a word. When I turn back, she says, “Keep it,” so I place it in my tip jar.
As I start to turn away, she says, “Hey, you want to come to a party with me and my friends tonight after you get off?”
Her voice is hesitant, and I can tell she’s nervous. When I look back into
her eyes, they are wide and hopeful, and there’s a subtle undertone of sexual heat in her look. If there is ever any inkling that perhaps Brody Markham may be changing, it’s by mere virtue of the fact that I decide to let her down easy, rather than be an ass**le, which has been a very easy persona for me to wear lately.
“I’m sorry,” I say, fumbling a bit because I really can’t remember her name. “I don’t drink, and parties just aren’t my thing. ”
“Oh,” she says, her eyes casting downward. But then they pop back up and she gives me an encouraging smile, wrapping her hair around her finger. She leans across the bar, exposing her cle**age to me, and her voice gets husky. “Well… we could do something together. It doesn’t have to be a party or anything. ”
This girl… the one who stands before me, very pretty in white shorts and a blue tank top, her blonde hair long and flowing. Yeah, she’d be a nice distraction. She has a slammin’ body and there’s no doubt it would feel f**king fantastic underneath me and, by her invitation, I know she wants to be underneath me. But, I can’t even muster up a speck of interest.
So very weird, because let’s face it… five years with no woman and nothing but my hand for relief, I should be jumping all over this right now.
But I can’t. I don’t want to. Because if I were to close my eyes, right this very second, there’s another woman’s face who would dominate my thoughts. Short, pixie hair, soft, brown eyes, a temper like the devil, and a heart the size of Texas. Just the thought of Alyssa has my c**k twitching in my pants, and I know, without a doubt, I have to let this girl down. Still very gently, but very firmly.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her as I look her hard in the eye. “I’m just not interested. ”
She stares at me, her mouth hanging open a bit. “Seriously?”
“Seriously. ”
“You do understand what I’m offering?”
“I understand well. Just not interested. ”
“Are you g*y or something?” she asks, condescension thick in her voice.
Chuckling, I give the bar a swipe with my rag. “If that makes you feel better to believe so, then yeah. ”
She gives me another incredulous look before picking her beer up and walking off to join her friends. I watch as she sits down and starts regaling them with the fact that I’m g*y. They all look over at me, shaking their heads in disappointment, and it makes me chuckle harder.
“Hey, Brody… got a minute to come talk in my office?”
I turn and Hunter’s standing there, looking at me with a mixture of disgust and anger on his face. I can’t figure out if it’s for me or not, but only one way to find out. “Sure. ”
Turning back to the other bartender on duty with me, I tell him he’s flying solo for a bit and follow Hunter back to his office.
When I walk in, Gabby is sitting with her butt resting on the edge of Hunter’s desk, her bottom lip stuck between her teeth. She’s wearing the same look of disgust and anger, and I have to wonder what I’ve done now. My brain sprints through recent memories to figure out if my ass-holish nature has been present to them lately.
I come up blank, so I say in a tired voice, “What did I do now?”
Hunter’s eyebrows rise up. “You didn’t do anything, man. ”
“Then what’s with the dire looks on your faces?”
Hunter glances at Gabby, who chews on her lip furiously. She shoots him a worried look and then turns her gaze to mine. “Stacy’s back in town. ”
Those four words cause icy fingers to skitter across my skin. “What?” I ask in disbelief.
“I ran into her at the grocery store. Caught me completely off guard. ”
“What’s she doing back here? Last Mom told me she had gotten married… moved out to California. ”
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