Rescuing the Bad Boy (Second Chance #2)(61)
“In the box,” he muttered quietly. Maybe it had a place in his design.
Maybe? Denial much?
The rock Sofie had found was a piece—possibly the piece—he’d been looking for. He could picture exactly where it fit. Not making a big deal of it, she dropped it into the box, dusted her hands on her shorts, and stood.
He pulled his bottom lip under his teeth and whistled. Dog’s head shot up and she tracked over to where he stood. “Don’t cut that paw again,” he told the mutt. Bending, he scratched her ears when she sidled up to him.
The dog leaned against his leg, content to be petted. She’d put on some weight, and her hair had started coming in thicker. Must be the gourmet, three-dollar-a-pound food he’d purchased at the pet shop.
Well, she deserved it. Any dog put through her paces the way this one had been deserved a little spoiling.
He was smiling down at her panting face when Sofie spoke. “What are you going to do with her when you leave?”
Something he preferred not to think about. He continued scrubbing Dog’s head. “I’m sure I can find her a home.”
Probably should start asking around. He wasn’t keeping her and knew finding the right fit for the stray wouldn’t be easy. He was gonna be particular about Dog’s new home. Make sure she found a family who would keep her for good.
He patted her flank with a few solid thumps. Her tail beat his leg.
“So what did people do here?” Sofie asked, stepping around the boulder Evan sat on the other day.
“Dig. Most of the rock was mined for construction projects, I’d guess. Roofing, flooring, countertops, that sort of thing.” Donovan pointed at a small body of water beyond a large pile of rock. “Deeper you dig, more water you find. When it’s active, they pump the water out. When it’s abandoned, you get a lake.”
“This place is bigger than I thought it’d be.”
“Forty acres. Give or take.”
When he was a kid, he’d sneak out here and risk getting caught by Colin Rink, the man who owned the quarry and the attached golf course. Donovan suspected Colin knew he was out here, busting up rocks and climbing the rock face he and Sofie stepped up to now. The old guy never stopped him.
“Used to be a lock on the fence to keep out trespassers.” He tipped his head and took in the scale of the wall, hardly able to believe he’d attempted to climb to the top. “Gone now. Guess the kids have better things to do than come here and screw around.”
He’d climbed the wall a time or two, pushing himself until the fear melted away. Fear was a *. Lost its power when challenged.
Like with his dad. After Donovan stood up to him once or twice, he was no longer scared of him. Didn’t mean his old man quit hitting him, but Donovan got better at enduring it. And learned not to cry.
“Do people ever climb this wall?” Sofie’s hand found his, squeezing his fingers. He lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles.
“Some people.” He dropped her hand and walked three feet to the right, finding a familiar hold he thought he’d forgotten. But no, it was still there. He tucked his fingers into the crevice and found another hold above that one with his left hand.
His left leg automatically found a piece of jutting rock. His right followed, finding another.
“What are you doing?” She sounded worried. Cute. He wasn’t used to anybody worrying about him.
He hoisted himself using his arms, the familiar burn lighting his biceps. Been a while since he’d hauled himself up a wall using only arm strength. He balanced, grabbed another bit of rock. His foot found the next perch like he’d climbed the face yesterday. Not much had changed about this place. From what he could see, no big chunks had chipped off or eroded away. The sheet of rock where he used to come to forget was as intact as when he’d last scaled it.
He did fall once, back in the day. Broke his ankle. Gertrude turned a blind eye, which hadn’t surprised him. No matter the injury, cut, or bruise, she preferred to pretend Donovan was fine. Admitting he was hurt meant seeing Robert Pate for the tyrant he was, and Gertrude refused to see her precious son in any light other than a false, shining one.
At that same spot, he looked over his shoulder. Sofie held her hands over her mouth in prayer pose, fingers laced together as if she might start praying then and there.
“I’m very impressed,” she called as Dog made her way to stand next to her, tongue lolling. “Now will you please come down here, so I won’t have to call an ambulance to splint your leg when you fall?”
He grinned at her before turning back to the rock.
“So damn sweet,” he said to himself. He hauled himself up another two or three feet, feeling the exhilaration, the shot of adrenaline course through his veins.
The next hold he reached for crumbled to dust under his hand. He grunted a curse as bits of the now-obliterated rock pinged off the wall he hung from. Losing his stability caused his arm to swing behind him, threatening his already precarious balance. Biceps burning, he held fast with the hand thankfully still anchored to the wall.
“Donny!” Sofie gasped, and repeated her plea for him to come down.
He blew out a breath through pursed lips as he carefully shifted his foot to brace his weight on his left side, the fingers on that hand aching, arm muscles beginning to shake. He prayed the bit of rock he clung to held him until he could get his balance.