Borrowing Alex Page 8

  “What are you talking about? You won the second game.”

  “Barely.” He’d managed to scrape up the win because Rusty had distracted her with his constant howling for food. The cat ate every thirty minutes. Not low-odor dry kibbles, either, but moist canned stuff that stunk worse than Santos’s breath. Nikki had explained that the Siamese hoarded during the day so he could sleep uninterrupted at night. A likely story. Rusty needed the extra calories to fuel his maniac racing around the cabin whenever Bernie barked at the moose head. Which occurred irritatingly often.

  Like right now.

  A headache throbbed at the base of Alex’s skull. He couldn’t blame the pounding on his fall in the chair last night. His head only hurt when the puny mutt barked. All efforts to calm the hyper spitball had failed. Under Nikki’s direction—as part of her campaign to convince Bernie that Murray didn’t have a body and therefore posed no threat—Alex had removed the dusty moose head from the wall and propped it against the piano.

  What an exercise in frustration. Bernie’s frantic yipping had continued unabated, and Rusty’s cabin-zooming had increased tenfold.

  Even Santos had gotten into the act, slobbering his tongue over Murray’s glass eyeballs before returning to sniff the storage boxes—and knocking three or four over.

  The old dog now lay beneath the table, snoring in a canine coma after having licked Alex’s toes that stuck out from his borrowed flip-flops.

  How could the Saint Bernard sleep amid such chaos? How could Nikki endure this insanity?

  “Doesn’t that little mutt ever shut up?”

  Her gaze widened. “Watch it!”

  Rusty leapt onto Alex’s lap and across the table, scattering game pieces. Nikki shrieked and dropped her apple on Park Place as the cat sailed past Go. Paper play money danced in the air like confetti. With a blue fifty stuck to one paw, Rusty dashed into the kitchen.

  Alex stood. “That does it. Nikki, the moose head has to go. Bernie is becoming more freaked, not less, and I can’t take it anymore.”

  He strode to the piano and hoisted Murray. Nikki hurried after him. Dust puffed off the massive antlers, clogging his lungs. He coughed. Bernie growled at his feet.

  “Where to?” he asked his blond jailer.

  “Do we have to? I hate to think of Murray—”

  Alex grunted. “Yes.”

  Her shoulders sagged. “Darn it, you’re right. As much as I love Murray, he’s giving Bernie conniptions.”

  “That’s...” grunt “... putting it...” grunt “... mildly.”

  “You can store him in the shed, I guess,” she chattered as if he held a paperweight, not a dead weight. “Or maybe the van. Except Bernie likes to play in there sometimes—”

  “So no van,” he interrupted. Damn it, Murray weighed a ton. What had the taxidermist stuffed him with? Cement?

  “Where’s this shed?” he asked between Bernie’s barks.

  “Out back. I’ll show you.”

  “No.”

  “No?” Eyebrows arching, she propped a hand on one curvy hip. Her short T-shirt lifted, and the silver ring adorning her belly button glinted. “Who’s in charge here, anyway?”

  “You are, Queen of Sheba.” Alex arched his spine to compensate for Murray’s bulk. A dead fly slid off the antlers and bounced on his nose. He sneezed. “You have to trust me sooner or later, though. I didn’t run away when you walked the dogs after breakfast, did I?” Although he nearly had. His indecision over leaving her stranded had kept him caged. As had the fact that she’d locked him inside.

  The windows hadn’t been as easy to jimmy as he’d assumed when they’d first arrived. He knew because he’d tried. Regardless...

  “If I’d wanted to, I could have broken a window to escape. I had motive, I had opportunity, and—” he hefted Murray higher “—I had means.”

  She frowned. “You would have thrown Murray through a window?”

  “I could have. But I didn’t.” She never would have forgiven him if he’d damaged Murray. “What does that tell you?”

  “You’re trustworthy?”

  He grunted.

  “All right, you’ve proven yourself. But you’re taking Santos with you, as a sentry. No arguments.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it.” Yes, he would. How could he not? Freedom beckoned like a street-corner huckster. Act fast! Buy now! Great deal! Just a little hot! Escape was his for the taking.

  Except you don’t want to see Nikki hurt, remember?

  Tension bunched in his neck.

  Nikki woke Santos. Seconds later, the back door shut behind Alex and the dog. The serenity of the outdoors swept over him. Ah...

  Amid the utter stillness of the mountain retreat, Nikki’s voice carried from inside the cabin. She softly chastised Bernie and Rusty, meanwhile trusting him completely, it seemed.

  Swearing, he headed for a weathered, vine-covered structure beside a horseshoe pit choked with weeds. Santos trotted along. The May afternoon sun shone through wispy clouds in a sky as blue as Nikki’s eyes. In contrast, the brisk air sat below seventy. The warm but baggy clothes cinched to his body by a pair of ancient suspenders would serve him well once evening descended.

  The biceps of both arms burning, he lowered Murray into the tall grass between the shed and horseshoe area. Santos, apparently not well acquainted with the definition of “sentry,” wandered into the heavy brush and hemlocks cramming the hillside.

  Alex opened the shed door, and rusty hinges creaked. The mildewed scent of damp and decaying wood blew up his nostrils as he swept a hand along the wall for a light switch. No luck. A bare bulb and chain probably hung in the middle of the space.

  As he slapped away sagging cobwebs, his moderately nearsighted eyes adjusted to the dim interior. He pushed aside a toolbox to make room for Murray—

  And then he saw it... the key to a quick escape. Leaning against the wall like a gift from the kidnapping gods. Like the fickle finger of fortune pointing the way.

  Heart pounding, he wrapped a hand around the shabby pink frame and inspected the old kid’s bike. A white basket drooped on the handlebars, but the chain remained intact and the seat felt sturdy beneath his palm. Too bad the tires were flat.

  He dug through a pile of junk near the bike and located an old bike pump.

  He inflated the front tire. He needed to seize this opportunity—now that it stared him in the face. Riding the bike would work better than running down the rutted road in spongy flip-flops. Better than wasting time knocking on cabin doors, hoping to find an occupant who’d believe his crazy story and help him.

  He patted a pocket of the too-short pants. Nikki might have stolen his glasses, keys, cell, laptop, and computer case, but she’d neglected to frisk him for his wallet. He’d slept on the slim lump all night, then transferred the wallet to her grandfather’s flood pants while changing clothes in the bathroom after his shower.

  With his university ID vouching for his respectability, and his debit and credit cards paying his way, he’d rent a car in the nearest town, race back to Seattle, find Royce—and shake the guy by the lapels of his two-thousand-dollar suit until the zit doctor agreed to come after Nikki.

  Hell, Alex would drag Royce to the cabin to get him to do right by his fiancée.

  He pumped air into the rear tire. Tossing aside the pump, he straddled the bike and bounced his butt on the seat to test the wheels. His knees knocked the handlebars, but he’d survive. He climbed off the bike and walked it to the shed door.

  He propped the little bike against an interior wall. He wasn’t a complete ass. He’d store Murray in the shed as promised and then take off. Rattle Royce before returning to his own predictable routine. Dig into research for his academic paper, remain focused on tenure. Trying to relax for even one weekend had steered him miles off-track.

  In the middle of nowhere with a sexy blonde he’d had no right kissing.

  And no damn business wanting.

  He slipped out of the shed and lifted
Murray from the grass.

  From somewhere behind the building, Santos yelped.

  Chapter 6

  Never

  ALEX DUMPED MURRAY into the tall grass and darted toward the noise. Santos’s yelps and howls devolved into anguished whining.

  “Santos!” Crap, he should have kept the dog with him. Where was he? “Santos!”

  As Alex searched the area around the horseshoe pit, Nikki raced out of the cabin, Bernie yipping at her heels. The back door whacked shut behind them.

  “What happened?” She glanced around. “Where’s Santos?”

  “I don’t know. I was in the shed, making room for Murray...” Alex let his voice trail off. He wouldn’t deliberately lie about his activities in the weathered shack, but he couldn’t tell Nikki the truth, either. Worry filled her eyes for her cherished pet. They had to find him.

  A second later, the dog crept out of the hillside brush, sporting a new set of whiskers.

  “Santos!” Nikki’s hands flew to her chest. “My poor boy! He’s been quilled!”

  She ran to the dog, Bernie trailing her. Alex followed at a slower clip. Stupid flip-flops. Stupid him.

  He hadn’t considered that Santos might frighten a porcupine in the woods. For that matter, he hadn’t considered that the dog might have stumbled across an old bear trap—or a pack of hungry coyotes. He’d thought only of his escape, nothing more.

  He reached the Saint Bernard and the dog’s angel-haired owner. A half-dozen porcupine quills sprouted from Santos’s snout. Two more jutted from the dog’s chin like a sparse goatee. The large animal shook his head. Whining, Santos flopped onto the ground and rubbed his dark nose.

  Nikki crouched beside the dog and whispered soft, comforting words, her hands floating above her pet, as if she wanted to touch him but wasn’t certain she should. Next to her, Bernie stood quietly.

  Alex knelt on her other side, near Santos’s head. The dog gazed at him with mournful eyes.

  “Oh man. Sorry, boy.”

  Nikki looked up. “Why wasn’t he with you?” She flicked her fingers. “Never mind.” She returned her attention to the whining dog, stilling his paws with gentle caresses.

  “Curiosity’s supposed to kill the cat, not quill my fella,” she chided Santos gently. “But you’re always poking your nose into trouble, aren’t you, boy? Well, it could have been worse. There are only a few quills. Think if Bernie had found that porky, huh? He’d look like a pupster pincushion.”

  Bernie’s tawny ears pricked, and he yipped. Nikki glanced at the smaller dog. “Hush.”

  She continued soothing Santos with silky tones while Alex watched. She was a total natural with animals. It was incredible, really. Her love and concern for her hurt pet shone through even as she took control. He’d expected copious tears, but she exuded a calm confidence. Efficiency underscored her caring for the moaning dog.

  Man, he’d been dead wrong about Nikki. Yeah, she was a kooky piece of work at times, but hardly the ditzy party girl with a penchant for sex and sin Royce had described.

  Alex hated it when people assumed they knew him based on his all-work-no-play reputation, yet he’d judged Nikki by similarly shallow standards. He had a lot to learn about reading others. For someone who’d once possessed the knack to pinpoint a student’s strengths and weaknesses within the first few days of classes, that was a sobering conclusion.

  Had he buried himself in the books too long? His father often warned him about maintaining a narrow focus on achieving tenure. Maybe he should start to listen.

  He whispered, “Can I help?”

  She nodded. “Hold Santos’s paws,” she whispered back.

  “What are you planning?”

  She huffed out a breath. “Just do it.”

  He complied. When her hands moved to open the dog’s mouth, he cautioned, “Careful. He might bite. Let me.”

  “It’s okay,” she murmured. “I’ve seen this done before, and he trusts me. He won’t bite.”

  “You can’t be sure of that.”

  “I am.”

  Damn, she was stubborn. Alex lowered his tone. “Nikki...”

  She looked at him. “Alex. I know what I’m doing, so do what I say, okay?” Her mouth curved in a don’t-patronize-me-buster smile as the chilly mountain breeze ruffled her sunshine-blond curls. Goose bumps budded on her bare arms, and her nipples peaked beneath the pale green T-shirt.

  “Alllll right.” She definitely had a way of convincing a guy.

  He held Santos’s paws while she stroked the dog’s head. “There’s my good boy,” she soothed in a soft voice Alex wouldn’t mind hearing in the middle of the night. “Santos is a gooood boy.” Gingerly, she examined the dog’s mouth and tongue. “None inside. He was lucky.”

  She glanced at Alex again. “There are pliers in the drawer by the kitchen sink. I just boiled some water for tea. Please use what’s left in the kettle to sterilize the pliers and then bring them out to me. Also, fetch a paper towel to hold the quills after we pull them. Take Bernie with you and leave him in the cabin. I don’t want him sniffing around for the porcupine while we’re busy.”

  “Gotcha.” Alex couldn’t deny those baby blues. His white-knight instincts wouldn’t let him.

  Or so he rationalized as he grabbed a growling Bernie and jogged to the cabin.

  However, as he deposited the Chihuahua indoors, common sense dictated there was more going on with him than a need to play the hero. He’d “rescued” his sisters countless times without once feeling compelled to stare at their breasts. He couldn’t dismiss his response to Nikki as part of some big-brother persona.

  Minutes later, he returned with the sterilized pliers and a chunk of paper towel, the flip-flops crunching in the tall grass. Bernie hadn’t been thrilled with his confinement in the cabin, although a sprinkle of kibble in the dog’s food dish had mollified him... a bit. While the little guy possessed a perpetual mad-on for Alex, the Saint Bernard treated him like a well-chewed shoe. A few tongue-slurps and affectionate drools were commonplace.

  What an idiot he’d been, allowing the ancient critter to wander off. Santos hadn’t meant the porcupine any harm. The big guy was only curious.

  Alex knelt beside Nikki and Santos. She reached for the pliers, but Alex held them firm. “I’ll do this.”

  Her eyebrows lifted. “Have you removed quills before, on your dad’s farm?”

  “My father grows potatoes. They have eyes, not snouts. And they sure don’t tend to wander.”

  “They just kind of vegetate then, I guess.”

  He smiled. “Just kind of.”

  “Well, I watched my grandfather de-quill his black Lab back in the day. And I’ve assisted Dr. Green a few times at work.”

  “You work?” He’d imagined her primping for a life of leisure with Royce, a visual that grew more irksome by the second.

  She chuckled. “I’m a vet’s assistant.”

  He stared at her. Her love for animals, her calm reaction to Santos’s plight, her comments about anesthetic and canine plaque removal...

  Bingo!

  Never assume, he told his freshman history classes. Always do the research.

  He should take his own advice. Nikki never failed to surprise him.

  She slipped the pliers and paper towel from his grasp, her soft skin brushing his fingers. “We’ve established that I’m the authority figure here, so listen up,” she said. “And you don’t have to give me that stunned look, Alex.” She prodded his thigh with the pliers. “Not all girls raised with silver spoons in their mouths choose to live off their trust funds. My paycheck’s a pittance, but I love what I do. And I try to live within my means.” Her eyes clouded. “Until I marry Royce. Then everything changes.”

  “Like what?”

  “It doesn’t matter.” She set aside the paper towel. “Back to business.” She gestured to Santos. “Most dogs accept the quills after a while, when they only have a few, like my fella. And Santos has such a gentle nature. He knows
we’re trying to help him.” She stroked the dog’s floppy ears. “Don’t you, boy?”

  Santos moaned as he woofed, his baggy eyes centered on her.

  And only her.

  She cooed to the dog. “Move behind him,” she instructed Alex. “Hold his head.”

  After he’d followed her directions, she continued, “Cover his eyes with one hand, if you can. That’s it.”

  She swept in with the pliers, gripped a quill, and tugged. Santos’s head almost jerked out of Alex’s grasp. However, the dog’s reflexes couldn’t match their teamwork.

  Holding up the pliers, Nikki displayed a long, hollow quill. “There, you see? He helped me pull it out.” She wiped away the dot of blood marring Santos’s white fur. “We’ll allow him a minute to recover before trying another quill. If we take our time, he’ll let us remove every one. Then we’ll wash the wounds to prevent infection.” She deposited the quill on the paper towel.

  “You’re amazing,” Alex murmured. And damn it if he didn’t mean it.

  She blushed. “No, I’m not.”

  “Yes, you are.” She tended to her dog like a mother would a hurt child. With love, gentle care, a sweet smile, a soft kiss, a firm touch when needed. Like Alex could imagine her behaving with her own children someday.

  Children he suddenly and absurdly wished he could father instead of Royce.

  She was beautiful. And trusting. Undeserving of the pain and heartache that most likely awaited her at the hands of her fiancé.

  His chest tightened. “I’m staying.”

  She gazed at him. “I know you are.”

  “No. Now I’m really staying—until Royce comes or you tell me to get lost. I’m here for you, Nikki. I promise.”

  Her smile warmed him like summer sunshine. “I never doubted it for a second... sort of.”

  “So you earned your degree in biology three years ago and then started working for this Dr. Green,” Nikki’s guest reiterated before glancing up from his half-eaten baked potato. Alex’s gaze zeroed in on her, and she squirmed on the picnic table bench in front of the cabin. His back faced the property sloping down toward the shore and dock while she enjoyed the panoramic lake and mountain views in the dwindling rays of evening sun. She’d tried offering him the better seat, but he was too polite. Too considerate. Super nice.