Abso-fucking-lutely not. I am not going to deal with them. I cut through a side alleyway, dragging Kringle along with me. I would continue my run on the next street over.
But Kringle decided he’d had enough and lay down right in the middle of the alley. I jerked to a stop, and the dog whined at me.
“Come,” I ordered. “I don’t have the patience for this today.”
The St. Bernard panted.
“Kringle,” I hissed.
The dog looked to his right.
I gazed over the fence. A door from the back of the house opened, and out came two skeezy-looking guys, and then—
“Merrie?” I whispered.
What the hell was she doing there?
“And this is where you’ll sleep,” one of the guys slurred. He had a cheap beer in his hand and pointed at what appeared to be a dilapidated chicken coop.
“I thought you had a tiny house,” Merrie said.
“It is tiny, and it’s a house,” the guy argued.
He was much bigger than her and seemed belligerent.
The fuck?
Beside me Kringle was growling, hackles raised.
“I don’t think this is going to work,” Merrie said, eyes darting around in concern. A few other ramshackle children’s playhouses were strewn about, along with various yard games and piles of trash.
“You already accepted the job listing,” the guy argued. “You can’t back out now. We want our house decorated for Christmas!”
“Sorry, I just can’t.”
The guy grabbed the strap of her bag.
Kringle gave a vicious bark, backed up, then jumped over the fence. Right behind him, I swung up and over, landing on the balls of my feet in the yard.
“She said she didn’t want to stay here,” I told the men, voice cold.
They stood shocked for a moment. Merrie blinked at me in the dark.
“You can’t just come on my property,” one guy blustered then cursed when Kringle lunged at him.
I smirked. “I think I just did.” I grabbed Merrie around the waist and pushed past the drunk guys, leading her through the cluttered party house with the tipped-over furniture and back out onto the street.
“You can’t show up and dictate my life,” she railed at me once we were a few blocks away and the shock had worn off. “I was going to sleep there.” She pushed me off.
“In the chicken coop or the plastic playhouse?” I argued.
“Why do you care?” she shrieked. “You won’t let me sleep in my own shop that I am paying for.”
“Technically you are not paying for it,” I corrected.
She turned on her heel and marched off.
I took two steps and caught up to her.
