She disappeared into the kitchen like a woman who’d just accepted a personal challenge.
Wyatt watched the exchange with quiet amusement. “A vegan, huh?”
She picked up her water. “I defended an animal rights activist who was on trial accused of murdering a rancher.”
Wyatt’s eyebrows rose. “That sounds . . . messy.”
“It was. My client had been investigating several livestock operations for a podcast he was working on—an exposé, really. His files were entered into evidence.”
“I’m assuming there were photos.”
“Photos. Videos. Reports.”
Wyatt leaned back. “But your client was innocent.”
“Completely.”
“And you went vegan?”
“It turns out that spending months reviewing the evidence files changes how you see a steak.”
“I would imagine.” Wyatt studied her a moment before saying, “Martha will find you something to eat. She once fed a table of eight carnivores who showed up without a reservation on a Saturday night—she even found them something they could eat for dessert. She complained about it for a month, but every single one of those people came back.”
Kori smiled despite herself.
Just then, Martha returned with Thunder’s bowl—something that smelled remarkably good—and set it under the table. Thunder gulped the food down without apology.
As he did, Wyatt’s phone buzzed on the table.
He glanced at the phone before turning it face down. “My brother. I’ll call him tomorrow. He runs an animal shelter outside of town. Refuge Cove. Him and my sister.”
She looked down at Thunder, then back up. “A love of animals must run in the family.”
“Apparently.” He studied her a moment. “Do you like dogs?”
She hesitated. For a second her fingers brushed the faint scar along her forearm, a pale line she’d carried since childhood. As she shifted, the sleeve of her shirt slid back slightly.
Wyatt’s gaze flicked to the thin white line before returning to her face.
“I didn’t grow up with them,” she said. “A neighbor’s dog bit me when I was eight.”
Wyatt’s brow lifted slightly.
“It wasn’t the dog’s fault. I was the one who ran up to it.”
Wyatt nodded. “Most bites happen that way. Kids move fast, and dogs get startled.”
She looked at Thunder and frowned.
“Most dogs aren’t looking for trouble,” Wyatt said. “They’re wired to protect.”
To protect . . . that made sense. She hadn’t really thought about it like that before.
A few minutes later, Martha arrived with their dinners. She presented Kori with a plate of roasted vegetables, couscous, and a sauce that smelled like lemon and garlic.
She set it down with unmistakable satisfaction in her gaze. “Just for you. No butter. No dairy. No meat.”
“Thank you,” Kori said. “This looks wonderful.”
