Troublemaker Read online

  His eyes were still closed despite Tricks’s bouncing back and forth. Bo hesitated a minute, thinking of all that needed doing, such as feeding them both and probably taking care of somehow getting him to the bathroom. Testing the waters, she asked, “Are you conscious?”

  No answer.

  Damn. She didn’t know if that was good or not. If he was just asleep, that was good. On the other hand, if he was unconscious, that could be very bad. She shouldn’t disturb him if he was sleeping. If he was unconscious, not doing something could kill him.

  This was a bona fide dilemma.

  Better to make a mistake and ask forgiveness than do nothing at all, as the saying went. She leaned over him and gently shook his right shoulder. “Hey—”

  That was the only word she got out because his eyes flared open and his right arm shot out, his hand clamping around her throat, fingers digging deep and cutting off her air. For a split second all she could see was the blazing blue of his eyes, filling her own vision as it rapidly began dimming. Panic shot through her, hot and acid; the abrupt certainty that she was going to die blurred into an instinctive fury and without thought or even being able to see what she was aiming for, she struck, putting all her strength behind her right fist as she drove it toward his face. The impact jarred her arm all the way to her elbow.

  He grunted, “Fuck!” and released her throat.

  She staggered back, gasping for air, her hand going to her throat to massage the aching tissue. As soon as she could suck in some air she gasped, “Shit!”

  They stared at each other from a safe distance of several feet.

  Whoever had said it was better to make a mistake and ask forgiveness, blah blah blah, had been full of shit.

  He’d been in the house fewer than five minutes, and he’d already tried to kill her. This couldn’t be good.

  CHAPTER 5

  SHE SHOULD HAVE KNOWN AXEL WOULD LIE. “NOT A danger to her,” hah!

  Bo eyed him as she gingerly shook her hand; punching someone in the face hurt. Probably it hurt him, too, but that was his problem. He struggled to a sitting position and felt his nose. A little bit of blood trickled down and he wiped it away with the back of his hand.

  Guilt almost—but not quite—assailed her for punching a wounded man. Common sense told her not to be angry, but he’d been trying to choke her and she didn’t feel very sensible about it. She wasn’t the instigator here. Even as weak as he was, she knew in her gut that he could easily have killed her, likely would have if he hadn’t realized what he was doing and who she was.

  She didn’t want him bleeding all over her sofa. Silently she fished in her pocket for one of the clean tissues she always carried, in case Tricks gave her a drink of water she hadn’t asked for, and held it out to him. He took it and wiped at the blood, then looked down at the smear of blood on his hand and wiped it away too. He didn’t seem to want to look at her.

  Tough.

  “What the hell?” she demanded and left it to him to decipher her meaning, not that he needed to be a mental giant to do so.

  “Sorry,” he muttered, holding the tissue to his nose. “Just . . . don’t shake me, okay? Yell, or throw something at me.”

  “You can bet I’ll throw something at you.” Annoyed, she realized she was as much as admitting she wasn’t tossing him out on his keister. She’d made a deal with the devil, and she was getting paid for it.

  Besides . . . she wasn’t stupid. The man had been shot, after all, and she could add two and two. She said, “Combat?”

  He hitched up his right shoulder, then froze as the movement evidently pulled on things that didn’t want to be pulled. After a moment he said, “Of a sort.”

  She didn’t see how there could be a “sort” of combat; you either fought, or you didn’t. Still, enough said. She got it. She was still grumpy about the incident, but she got it. She stood with her arms crossed, half-glaring down at him. “Okay,” she finally said. “But don’t choke me again.”

  Blue eyes flashed up at her. “I’ll try not to.” He dabbed at the slowing trickle of blood from his nose. “You have a good punch. How’s your hand?”

  “Hurts.”

  “So does my nose.”

  “Good.”

  He sat there looking as if he might keel over again, which made her wonder if she’d try to get him up or just let him lie there. No, she’d have to get him up, or Tricks would go bonkers with joy thinking a human on the floor was some new game. Thinking of Tricks made her look around in search of her pet, and she heard the big slurps from the kitchen as Tricks got a drink of water. She looked back at her guest to find him slowly surveying the mound of stuffed animals and squeaky toys in front of the sofa. His chest rose and fell as he took a cautious breath. “Booby trap?” he finally asked.

  As if she knew they were now talking about her, Tricks abandoned her water bowl and grabbed another toy before trotting over. This one was a squeaky rubber chicken which she had never played with a lot, but now she bit the squeaker and made what was supposed to be a clucking sound, then deposited it in his lap.

  “Bribes,” Bo said. “She’s trying to entice you to play with her.”

  He looked down at the rubber chicken draped across his leg. Tricks nudged it as if urging him to pick it up. “She’s gotta do better than a chicken.”

  “She won’t give up until you give in, so my advice is to go with it.”

  He scowled at her, the expression on his rough face both annoyed and exhausted. “Can’t you keep her in a crate or something? I’m really not up to this.”

  He was only telling the truth, and ordinarily Bo would have already been making Tricks behave, but she was still pissed so she wasn’t inclined to cut him any slack. “I’d put you in a crate before I would her,” she snapped. “Here, baby.” She clapped her hands and Tricks came to her, nuzzling her knee. She bent to stroke her dog and narrowed her eyes at the human interloper. “This is her home, not yours. You’re here on sufferance.”

  His glance was cold, telling her that despite his condition, he wasn’t about to back down. “I’m here because you need the money.”

  Knowing he was right didn’t help her temper any. On the other hand, continuing to argue with him would be childish. She clenched her teeth, then grudgingly said, “You’re right, and this isn’t getting us anywhere. I’ll try to keep her away from you. Before you pass out again, you need to eat something. What would you like?”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “Okay, I’ll fix you a smoothie.”

  An appalled expression crossed his face before he quickly blanked it and said, “No, thanks, I’m really not hungry.”

  “I didn’t ask if you were hungry.” Her tone was curt. “If you don’t have something, you’ll just get weaker. It’s common sense. If you aren’t up to solid food, I can throw together a smoothie with some peanut butter, milk, banana—things like that. That way you’ll at least have something nourishing.”

  “How about just some milk?”

  “Fine with me, as long as it has peanut butter and a banana in it.”

  He muttered something under his breath, but her own expression must have said he’d drink it or wear it, so he finally said, “I don’t care, make what you want.”

  She intended to. She turned and went to the kitchen, which meant the middle section of the wide-open bottom floor plan. She lived in a barn—a real, honest-to-God barn, one that she herself had overseen the design and renovation of, though it hadn’t been for herself because she’d never wanted to live in a barn. She’d done it for a client who had then backed out on her, leaving her saddled with debt and a barn dwelling she didn’t want in a location she hadn’t picked for herself.

  But it had worked out. She couldn’t say it hadn’t. The barn had become hers, and she had made a life for herself here in this little corner of West Virginia, with the mountains and rivers and plenty of space for Tricks. She had friends, she had a job—two of them—and damn if she wasn’t content with i