Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 138522 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 693(@200wpm)___ 554(@250wpm)___ 462(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138522 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 693(@200wpm)___ 554(@250wpm)___ 462(@300wpm)
She just asked for my help for the first time since we met. “Yes. We’ll talk to her together.”
I exit the car and go around to get Abbie, but once she’s out of the car, I take a moment for some space. “I need to make a couple of calls.” I kiss her. “Go check on your mother. I’ll be right there.”
She pushes to her toes and kisses me. She says nothing, but she lingers there, her lips on mine, and I want her to linger there forever.
When she pushes away and starts a jog toward the stables, I pull out my phone. Time to do what I do best: take what I want and get rid of the problems. In this case, her ex.
Chapter forty-three
Abbie
I hurry forward toward the stables, leaving Gabe behind at his car, my body humming with the connection I share with that man. He woke me up all right. He has me on fire, burning alive, and more so, he is sliding deep inside me, forcing me to feel things again, and I’m not talking about physically, though he does that quite well, too. I like Gabe. I could really fall for Gabe. This terrifies me and I won’t let him suffer because I can’t say no to him. Because I’m too selfish to walk away. I know what I have to do and I’ll get the courage to do it. When I’m alone and can do something like get drunk for courage. It works for people, I hear. Maybe I can make it work for me.
I enter the gated area where the animals are sheltered, and wave to several familiar faces, volunteers who help often and have come so far as to join my mother here. Others I don’t know that I assume work for the ranch but the owner is having them help us. Brandon must be a good man. We’ve taken over part of his ranch and even before he met my mother.
I’m about to head into the ranch when one of the dogs starts yelping and then there are screams. I run in that direction to find a beautiful husky with a mane of white fur around its face, and a mix of dark gray and white on its body, outside its cage, snarling at several workers. One of them, Melanie, a cute brunette who is just out of high school, whirls around to face me. “She knocked me over and charged out of the cage. I think she has rabies.”
“She must!” a guy named Nick states. “She’s vicious.”
“She wouldn’t have yelped like she was in pain if she were just mean.”
“She yelped?” Nick asks. “I just heard snarls.”
“She yelped,” I say. “That’s pain and fear. Get me some treats. And find my mother.” I kneel down at eye level with the dog, who continues to snarl. “What’s her name?”
“She didn’t have a tag.”
“Ella,” I say. “Her name is now Ella. Hey, Ella, baby. It’s okay. You’re okay.” Melanie hands me some treats. I toss one at Ella. She snarls but sniffs and then takes a few steps closer to get the treat but quickly retreats.
“That retreat,” I say to Melanie. “That’s not aggression. That’s fear.” I toss another treat close to me. Ella hesitates but runs forward and grabs it and this time I can see that she’s limping.
“Ah, girl,” I murmur as she tries to retreat and is forced to sit. “You’re hurting.”
“Abbie! Fuck. What are you doing? Trying to get your face eaten off?”
I hold up a hand. “Slow, Gabe! Slow and easy.” I don’t look at him. I throw treats right in front of Ella. Gabe kneels next to me. “What’s happening?”
“She’s hurt and scared. She’s limping. It looks bad.”
“Poor girl. I snarl just giving blood. I hate pain.”
I laugh. “You’re crazy.”
“Says the woman at eye level with a desperate dog trying to survive. What can I do to help?”
“I’m here,” my mother says, her voice several feet back. “What are we dealing with, Abigail?”
“Hurt. Scared. Hungry. I named her Ella.”
“Why don’t I know this animal?” my mother asks.
Melanie is quick to reply. “They found her here on the island. We just got her in.”
“We’re going to need to net her so I can sedate her.”
“Don’t net her,” Gabe says. “I’ll hold her.”
“She’ll eat your face off, boy,” my mother says.
“Well, good thing you know how to stitch it up,” he replies. “I need treats. Are you ready, Shannon?” he asks my mother.
“I’m ready but, son—”
“I got this,” Gabe says. “I have a way with animals.”
I hand him treats. “Gabe—”
“I got this, sweetheart.” He stays in a squat and moves in front of me, tossing some treats at the dog, who snarls but eats the treat. Gabe starts talking to Ella, his voice this low, rough, masculine tone that would seduce any female, apparently even the canine version, because in about ten minutes, he’s holding her while my mother sedates her.