Petting Them: An Anthology of Claw-ver Tails Read online

  “We can discuss this later,” I deflected, adjusting the strap of my leather camera bag on my shoulder. “Maybe someone else at the PD can take him in? My apartment in Nashville is about eight hundred square feet—max. There’s no way he’d be happy living with me.”

  Denver’s expression dropped a bit, but he quickly recovered his smile and grabbed my bag from me. “Alright. I’ll start asking around. In the meantime, we’ve got an hour’s drive ahead of us. We should get going.”

  The New Mexico scenery was so unlike Nashville that I caught myself itching to pull out my camera as Denver updated me on everything that had happened over the last fifteen years. I learned who had married whom, who moved away, the new restaurants, failed businesses, and latest scandals. I forgot how simple things were here.

  “So you’re a cop now?” I asked with a smile, thinking back to our childhood. Denver was always standing up for what was right. There wasn’t a bully in sight that didn’t fear the wrath of Denver Price. He’d protected me. I remembered when Mama first moved away. He would crawl through my window and sleep curled up on my floor as I cried. And when Robby Palmisano called Mama a tramp, Denver beat him up on the playground while I watched.

  “It seemed like the right career for me,” he replied cryptically, bringing me back to the present.

  “Do you like it?”

  Denver gave me a small half smile, turning slightly to look at me before bringing his attention back to the road. “I like it enough.”

  I was staring at the sandy mountains in the distance, remembering all the times Denver stood up for me, when my phone rang. “Hello,” I answered with a sigh, knowing that on the other end of the line was my perpetually needy boss, probably calling to continue her rant about how much of an inconvenience my father’s death was for her.

  Being a photojournalist for one of the best newspapers in Tennessee had its perks, but there was always a story to capture, which meant there wasn’t much time for vacations—or bereavement.

  “Merritt, what day did you say you were coming back again?” Stephanie, my boss, questioned with an exasperated sigh.

  “Once I get the house cleared and sold, I’ll be back,” I answered flatly. As I spoke, I slid my eyes over to Denver in time to see him tighten his grip on the steering wheel, the veins along his corded muscles throbbed with tension.

  “Fine. Two weeks, but not a day more. You know you’re missing the riots in that small mining town in Texas? I sent James out to get some photos, but he wasn’t nearly as good at capturing the grit of it as you. I miss my star photographer,” she whined. I could practically see her pout on the other end of the line and rolled my eyes.

  “Mmm. See you soon,” I cut in before she could go on, then ended the call.

  Denver opened his mouth, as if he wanted to ask me a question, but kept closing it. It was a habit he had as a kid—always second-guessing himself.

  “Spit it out, Denver,” I prompted with a small smile, reminiscing over the phrase I used to say as a kid.

  “We missed you at the funeral, you know,” he remarked. “It was a nice service. Pastor Wally had a good speech. Even Remy wore a bowtie.”

  “I didn’t know about the service or even his death. The attorney called me three weeks ago,” I replied, unable to keep the note of defensiveness out of my voice.

  “If I had your number, that wouldn’t have been an issue,” he retorted, his full lips turning down at the corners.

  I knew he was still hurting. When I made the decision to cut ties with my past, I didn’t allow myself to call. It just hurt too much to keep up the friendships, knowing my best friends got to move on with their lives while I was left alone in Nashville. Not to mention, they all still spoke with my father regularly, right up until his death. It pained me to know that they got to have a relationship with the man that gave me up. It was easier to just separate myself than work through the sadness I felt about our past. All I had from my father was a stack of birthday cards, a house filled with his belongings, and now this dog. I looked over my shoulder and smiled sadly at the panting ball of fur.

  I was always on the road for my job, and that wasn’t a life for a dog. I now had another thing to add to my list of obligations while in town—find Remy a new home.

  “I know you’re upset that I stopped calling and that I didn’t show up for the service. But, even if I’d known, I’m not sure I would’ve wanted to attend the funeral of a stranger,” I whispered through the lump in my throat as a single tear slid down my cheek. I swiped it away quickly and sucked in a steadying breath, bolstering my resolve not to cry for a man I didn’t know. “I only have two weeks off of work. That was my boss that just called. Journalists don’t get vacations, apparently,” I quipped, a bit more harshly than I intended. I loved my job, but lately, it had been wearing me down. I hoped Denver got the hint that I wanted to change the subject.

  “Two weeks?” Denver asked, frowning. “Well, I’ll guess we’ll have to make the most out of what little time we have,” he declared, his profile set in determination.

  2

  We settled into silence, and I was staring out my window at the beautiful scenery passing by when Denver pulled off the road and into the parking lot of a quaint old diner just outside of town.

  “I thought we could stop for a bite before I drop you off at your dad’s place,” Denver announced, his voice questioning as he glanced at me with raised brows even though he’d already pulled over. Always the type to ask forgiveness rather than permission, Denver wasn’t giving me a chance to say no.

  “Since we’re already in the parking lot, I guess I could eat,” I answered, a wry smirk twisting my mouth. I caught the slight darkening of Denver’s cheeks as I called him out. He cleared his throat but returned my knowing smile with an unrepentant one of his own before exiting the car.

  Remy apparently knew exactly where we were because he sat up in the back seat and pressed his wet nose to the plexiglass partition. His panting breaths fogged it as he sniffed, and I laughed while he stared pointedly at the door of the diner with avaricious eyes.

  I was surprised when I turned back to open my door and found Denver already there, opening it for me, though I guess I shouldn’t have been. I’d gotten used to the eat-or-be-eaten mentality of the journalism world and had forgotten the manners people still used in the South. I remembered Denver would always open doors for me when we were kids and even insisted on carrying my backpack whenever he was near.

  Smiling when he offered his hand, I took it, feeling suddenly shy. That feeling only deepened when he didn't let go even as he let Remy out of the backseat, and we all entered the diner.

  The waiter led us to a booth, barely glancing at the furball following at our side, telling me Remy, at least, was a regular here. This looked like the kind of place Father would like to eat at. I continued to feel the warmth of Denver's skin on mine even after he let go so we could take our seats on opposite benches. Remy sat alertly on the floor beside us.

  “I love this place,” Denver said with a grin before pointing out his favorite dishes on the menu. He seemed to be well-liked in the community. Local townsfolk stopped by our table to greet him while eyeing me curiously. I wasn’t sure if it was because they knew I was Officer King’s prodigal daughter, or if it was because we looked like we were on a date. We ordered and picked up our earlier conversation of what I’d missed until our burgers, and a steak for Remy, arrived.

  We kept the conversation pleasant and stayed away from the harder topics. Halfway through the meal, a thundering noise reached my ears, growing louder until the water in my glass was vibrating. Glancing out of the huge window next to us, I saw at least half a dozen motorcycles come roaring into the parking lot.

  It wasn’t the bikes, or even the rough looking men riding them, that had my jaw dropping. It was the familiar grin I saw when one of the lead riders removed his helmet that had me gasping for air.

  “Is that… ” I breathed, stunned.

&
nbsp; “Yup. That’s Krew,” Denver responded, his voice an odd mix of brotherly affection and disapproval.

  I watched from my seat by the window with wide eyes as Krew swung a muscled, jean-clad thigh over the bike to dismount. He looked so very different from the boy I once knew. He was always tall, but he had to be close to six-foot-three now. He was just a bit taller than Denver, though they both towered over me.

  He still wore his sandy blonde hair too long. It fell over his green eyes and brushed the collar of his tight, black t-shirt, but he’d filled out what had always been a lanky frame. No one would be calling him bean pole now. He was impressively muscular, his biceps straining the sleeves of his shirt and the defined ridges of his abdomen visible even from far away.

  Wow. He definitely grew up. In a sexy bad boy kind of way.

  I quickly turned back around when he glanced in my direction, and I had the weirdest urge to hide. My heart was pounding, and I felt antsy. I felt like a kid again, struggling to see them as my best friends and not as boys I wanted to be mine.

  “We should probably get out of here and back on the road,” Denver suggested, obviously reading my sudden discomfort for what it was. He raised a hand to signal the waiter for the bill.

  I nodded readily in agreement. Neither of us had finished our food, though Remy had devoured his steak and proceeded to clean the plate. I wasn’t about to argue though. I wanted to escape what I anticipated to be an uncomfortable confrontation.

  “I’m going to use the restroom before we go,” I announced, sliding out of the booth and stepping over the prone dog lying on the floor. I didn’t really have to go but hoped that if I could hide out there until Denver paid the bill, I could slip by Krew unnoticed.

  I’d almost made it to the hallway leading to the bathroom at the back of the diner undetected, but when I heard the bell on the door chime, I couldn't resist a glance back. I froze mid-step when I caught Krew’s poleaxed expression as we locked eyes.

  Oh shit, oh shit…

  He must have seen the intention to run in my expression because his gaze narrowed in a distinctly predatory manner. My eyes flew wide, and I may or may not have squeaked in alarm when I saw his long-legged stride rapidly eating up the distance between us.

  Spinning around, I hightailed it to the door marked Ladies, but before I could pull it open, a tanned hand pressed it shut again from over my shoulder.

  “My Mer finally comes back only to hide like a scared rabbit? Am I really that scary?” came his taunting whisper from behind, his breath ghosting over my neck, making me shiver.

  “I wasn’t hiding,” I grumbled, although it was obvious I’d been trying to do just that.

  Spinning slowly on my heels to face him, I tipped my head back and looked into his bright, emerald eyes. He was close. So close that I could smell his scent of leather, metal, and man. I bit my lip to hold back an appreciative sigh.

  He smirked at my lie but didn’t argue. Instead, he lifted his other hand and brushed my pale blonde hair back, tucking it tenderly behind my ear. It took me a second to realize the trembling I felt wasn’t mine, but his. Looking past the cocky smirk on his face, I saw his shock, sorrow, anger, and if I weren’t mistaken, a bit of fear shining in his gaze.

  “Why Mer?” he growled.

  I didn’t have to ask what he was talking about. I knew.

  “I… ” Telling him I’d stayed away for fifteen years because I was mad at my father seemed childish and selfish in the face of his hurt. Krew was my partner in crime. He had protected me, just like Denver, but in his own way. He helped me battle the bullies of my youth and taught me how to throw a mean right hook. He’d even spent an entire weekend teaching me how to ride a bike after Rose Gallow made fun of my training wheels. Krew deserved more than my shitty excuse for building up a wall around myself and blocking him out.

  My shoulders lost their defensive tension. Through burning eyes and a lump in my throat, I simply whispered, “I’m sorry.”

  The hurt and anger drained from his face, leaving behind sadness and a kind of understanding. “Fuck, baby, don’t cry. C’mere,” he said gruffly, gathering me to him and wrapping his thick arms around my back. It was something he’d done many times before when we were kids. Despite the time and distance between us, Krew comforted me as if nothing had changed. Old habits die hard, I guess.

  Bowing over me, he laid his cheek against the top of my head and held me. His chest expanded as he sucked in a deep breath, ending on a groan as he turned his face to bury his nose in my hair.

  “Are you… are you sniffing me?” I asked incredulously, laughing through the tears I hadn't let fall.

  “Mmmm,” he groaned again, in affirmation as much as enjoyment. “Have you always smelled this damn good, and I just didn’t remember?”

  Snorting, I shook my head and returned his embrace, wrapping my arms as far around his muscular waist as I was able. He tightened his grip in response, holding me as if he didn’t have plans to let go anytime soon.

  “I missed you, my Mer,” he breathed.

  “I missed you too. So much.”

  I’d been fooling myself, thinking they would’ve forgotten about me, convincing myself that life, time, and—if I were honest—other women would have erased me from their memories until I was just that one girl that moved away. After Denver’s and now Krew’s reactions, I knew my fears had been unfounded.

  “Well, well, well, who do we have here?” came a booming voice, breaking the spell between Krew and me. I jumped, startled, and felt Krew’s muscles turn to stone beneath my palms as he lifted his head from atop mine. I raised my face away from his chest to stare wide-eyed at the giant of a man standing in the entrance to the hallway, watching us with a mean glint in his eyes and a sneer on his rough, weathered face.

  It was Krew’s father, Randall Strickland. I hadn’t seen him in years, but I still remembered his cruelness. Krew learned how to fight by dodging his punches. While muttering obscenities under his breath, Krew started to gently guide me behind him. A low, menacing growl came from outside the hallway, causing Krew’s father to spin around with narrowed eyes to stare at Remy. My new dog was hunched and snarling, baring sharp teeth in a clear threat.

  “Remy, come here, boy,” I called, wanting him near me and away from Mr. Strickland, the man who used to terrify me as a child.

  “You need to keep Miller’s fucking mutt on a leash, Price,” Randall growled, glancing in front of him to where I assumed Denver was standing.

  Turning narrowed eyes back on me, he warned, “Don’t plan on staying long, Miss Miller. I don’t need my best muscle distracted by a piece of ass.” It wasn’t the insulting way he referred to either me or Krew that had my jaw dropping in shock. It was the implication that Krew now worked for his father.

  With an ugly scowl and a low-voiced threat I almost didn’t hear, Randall left, giving Remy a wide berth.

  “Motherfucker,” Krew cursed, his expression pissed as he stared at his father’s retreating back. When Denver came around the corner and spotted us, still in each other’s arms, his expression turned from angry to sour before a wry smile tipped his lips.

  “Caught you, did he?” he asked.

  3

  Denver and I left the diner after Krew joined his father for lunch. I was reluctant to leave, desperate to know the man Krew had become, but I also didn’t want another encounter with Mr. Strickland.

  The road leading to Father's old house looked the same. Some of the trees were a little taller, the road a little more worn, but for the most part, it was all incredibly, eerily familiar. It was funny how some things changed while others stayed the same.

  I saw the tree Krew dared me to climb when I was ten. I’d fallen out of it, and Denver carried me all the way home while I cried and cradled my hurt arm. Krew kept pace beside us, apologizing all the while. The hill we used to race down had been re-paved, and I wondered how fast my old bike could speed down it, now that it wasn’t riddled with potholes.

/>   Remy wagged his tail and yipped excitedly from the back seat as the cruiser pulled up the drive. Father's house was a white wooden ranch style home. The paint was chipped and showing wear, but the front door was still painted Mama's favorite color—yellow. Overgrown bushes lined the flowerbeds, and there were no lights on inside. It looked like a haunted echo of all my favorite childhood memories.

  "Home sweet home," Denver said, his voice sounding tentative.

  It was odd being back in the place I swore never to return to. What was once my home was now a symbol of my father's abandonment.

  As I stared at the house, I realized I wasn't quite ready to leave the cruiser, wasn’t prepared to face those ghosts. I knew the moment my feet stepped on the wraparound porch, I'd be taken back to memories I didn’t want to process yet. I geared up to stall and was about to ask Denver more about the town when an old beat up truck barreled down the drive.

  "Fuck," Denver huffed under his breath.

  I glanced at him, frowning in confusion. I caught Remy perking up in the backseat, obviously excited about seeing whoever was approaching, which only deepened my bemusement. "Who's… " I started but cut my question short when the truck skidded to a stop beside us.

  I watched with curious eyes as the door opened, then exhaled in a gust as a tall man wearing a plaid shirt, worn jeans, and a scowl stepped out. I'd recognize that reddish-brown hair and those honey-colored eyes anywhere. “Tatum,” I whispered, my voice like a prayer.

  Tatum started walking towards the cruiser but paused to glare at the For Sale sign in the yard. I'd contacted a realtor the week I found out about my father's death. There was no use keeping the house and the land, and I needed help navigating all the offers I was getting. I blinked, completely taken aback, as he changed direction, stalking to the sign like he found it personally offensive, and proceeded to jerk it out of the ground.