“I’m positive. We’re going to be great dog parents. Besides, rodeo people take their dogs everywhere, so either way, we’re covered.”
After initial introductions and filling out paperwork, we’re led back to the kennels. “What kind of dog are you thinking?” I ask Jessie as she smiles at a lab mix through the kennel door.
She taps her chin. “Hm . . . maybe a small or medium sized dog would be easier to travel with?”
“That sounds perfect.” I wrap my arm around her, content to let her pick any dog she wants as long as it makes her happy.
Three weeks later, we stand on opposite ends of the main living space with Pickle—our six-month-old beagle cross puppy—sitting between us.
“He for sure loves me more.” I cross my arms, making eye contact with him.
“Keep telling yourself that,” Jessie says from across the room. We plan to learn once and for all: Who does Pickle love best? Counting down from ten, we both start frantically calling his name. Pickle jumps up, looking back and forth between us. He seems more frightened by our behavior than enamored.
Ignoring both of us, he goes after his spiky ball, running to it and slapping it with his paws before biting it. He squeaks it twice and tosses it in the air only to pummel it again, almost knocking over the cherry tomato plant Jessie surprised me with.
“Huh. Well, I guess the ball is his true love.” I shrug.
“We feed you, house you, love you, and this is how you repay us?”
“Yeah, I got you a pup cup last week.” I take the ball from him and throw it down the hallway.
“You got him a pup cup without me?” Jessie swats the back of my head.
Oops. I forgot that was our little secret.
I raise my hands in surrender. “I didn’t mean to. I stopped for a coffee, and he looked at me with those big brown eyes. You try saying no to that little puppy face.”
A sly smile crosses her face. “It’s fine, I took him to the doggy bakery while you were at the ranch the other day.”
I gasp in mock horror and lunge for her. Grabbing her by the waist, I pull her to me. “Look at us! It’s only been three weeks, and we’re already fighting dirty. I will win his love. You may as well give up now.”
“Never. But you realize he can love us both, right?” She kisses my neck.
“Seducing me isn’t going to work—I have the will of an ox.”
“Ooh, big, strong man.” She kisses the other side of my neck, unbuckling my belt at the same time.
Be strong, be strong.Her hand dips under my shirt, running up my abs.
“Fuck it, you win.” I pick her up, carry her to the bedroom, and kick the door shut behind me. I lay Jessie on the bed and settle over her as a scratch and whimper sounds at the door.
“Aw, poor Pickle. You shut him out.”
I turn, glaring at the door on the other side of which waits the little cockblock. “Go play with your ball. Mommy and Daddy need some alone time.”
Jessie’s laugh turns to a moan when I kiss her, fisting her hair.
If I get to spend the rest of my life kissing this woman, loving her and building a life together . . . That’s more than enough for me. We may have stumbled into this relationship, but I’m never letting it go.
Jessie Hawkins and I were made for each other.
I am not built for this. It’s mid-November and it’s freezing. “Whatever happened to fall? That’s still a season, right?” I yell coming through the back door. I hear Jessie laugh from the living room.
“Yes, honey, it’s still a season. But this is Colorado. Fall is more like pretty leaves with winter temperatures.”
Honey.
She started calling me that a couple weeks ago, and I’m here for it.
