Page 37 of River Wild

I know all of these things, but I just want to go home now.

“Well … bye,” I mumble as I walk past River, shaking the past off.

I’m pretty sure the little dog in my arms has fallen asleep against my shoulder. Bless his heart.

I get a whiff of what I think is the smell of cigar smoke as I pass by him. It does something funny to my stomach. A swoop and dive feeling. Weird. I hope the baby doesn’t start craving the smell of cigar smoke.

Not healthy at all, my sweet baby.

“You should probably take the mutt to the vet.” River’s quiet, almost reluctant words reach me just before I get to the gate.

I stop and half-turn back to him. “You think so?”

“He’s a stray who just took a dunk in my pool. So, I’d say, yeah, he needs to see a vet.”

“Why do you care?” I raise my brow.

His expression shutters. “I don’t. But I need to know if the mutt is carrying any diseases. It’s been swimming in my pool after all.”

“He’s not a mutt. And he doesn’t have any diseases.” I hug the dog to me, and he tucks his face into my neck.

“Yeah, sure, Red. You keep telling yourself that. At the very least, the mutt has fleas, probably ticks.”

Fleas? Ticks?

And, now, my skin’s itching.

I scratch my arm. Then, my head.

Jesus H. Christ! This is all his fault, putting the fleas idea into my head.

“Won’t the vet be closed?” I voice while scratching my neck. It must be nearing midnight by now.

“There’s a twenty-four-hour clinic in town.”

“Oh. Well, that would be good, but I don’t have a car, and I really don’t want to walk into town in the dark, so I’ll have to take him in the morning.”

And spend the night with the fleas and ticks. I scratch harder at the thought.

But I won’t see this poor little dog out on the streets because of a few itchy bugs that he probably doesn’t even have.

So, why am I even scratching?

Because of him putting the idea in my head!

I hear a loud, frustrated sigh come from River and watch as his hand rakes through his thick hair.

“For fuck’s sake,” he growls. “I’ll take you to the clinic in my truck.”

Wow.

The way he’s going, you’d think I just asked him for a ride to the clinic.

It’s on my tongue to tell him where to stick his ride, but I really should get the sweet little dog to the vet sooner rather than later.

So, I swallow my pride for the sake of my new doggie buddy and say, “That’d be great, thanks. I just need to run home and change into dry clothes. Can I leave the dog with you while I go? I’ll only be a few minutes.” I don’t want to possibly bring fleas into my house before I’ve had a chance to get the dog treated at the vet.

“Of course. Take your time,” he says sarcastically. “Actually, while you’re at it, why don’t you take a long, hot bath, wash your hair, and then get dressed, and I’ll just stand out here with the flea-ridden mutt, waiting like a cunt?”

“Oh, that’s so kind of you to offer, River.” I smile wide, walking back to him. “But I don’t want to leave you looking like a C-U-Next-Tuesday, so I’ll just change my clothes and be back in two ticks.” I hold the dog out to him, forcing him to take him from me. “Ticks—ha! Get it?”

I laugh, to which he growls.

I back up a few steps, grinning, enjoying the scowl framing his mouth, and then force myself to turn and walk away at a leisurely pace, back to my house to change.