Too Hot to Handle (Romancing the Clarksons #1)(80)

Or. Or he could rise again. No. He would.

The Suburban passed a blue-and-white-painted sign that read NOW LEAVING HURLEY and Belmont tapped the horn twice. Aaron swallowed the smile he felt trying to form when he thought of Rita buying a pair of cowboy boots and started to return his attention to the Internet research documents in his briefcase. But a flash of white alongside the road caught his eye. A dog?

“Hold up.” Aaron jabbed the back of Belmont’s seat. “Hit the brakes.”

Belmont grunted, stormy gaze lifting to the rearview again, but he finally pulled over, the Suburban groaning with the sudden stop. Aaron felt ridiculous the minute he stepped onto the gravel, the utter silence of the desert like a void around him. Peggy and Sage were watching him with curiosity through the back window, the glow of The Golden Girls playing on the laptop illuminating their faces. Belmont’s scrutiny burned a hole in his back. What? Everyone else got to act crazy in this family but he pulls over to get a closer look at a dog and suddenly he’s the candidate for a straitjacket?

Aaron put two fingers in his mouth and whistled. “Come on. Don’t leave me standing here like a dick,” he muttered. Peggy and Sage came up on either side of Aaron after a minute passed, watching him instead of the black nothing before them. Just as Aaron poised himself to give up, a white blot of fur trotted into the light provided by the Suburban brake lights. “Took you long enough,” Aaron said, unsure what to do now that he’d confirmed what his eyes had seen.

Peggy almost swallowed half the desert with her gasp. “Puppy, puppy, puppy.”

Sage breathed a tremulous laugh, covering her mouth with both hands.

“That’s not a puppy,” Aaron said, hunkering down. “That’s an old man.”

The dog stopped trotting abruptly, as if insulted, sending both girls into a fit of laughter. Which cut off as soon as Belmont’s boots crunched up behind them. Aaron ignored his older brother and whistled again. Why? He had no idea. They’d never had pets growing up. He wasn’t even sure if he liked dogs. But leaving some poor mutt in the dark desert seemed like a shitty thing to do.

“Come on, old man.” Aaron clapped once, his lips twitching when the dog only tilted his head. As if to say, You talkin’ to me? Good God, this was stupid. Standing on the side of the road in between towns trying to attract a stray animal. Maybe Aaron was just bored, his brain having gone so long without a challenge. Maybe he needed a distraction from the journal that had unexpectedly landed in his lap. Whatever the reason, he wanted the damn dog in the damn Suburban.

“Could be a lost dog,” Belmont rumbled. “Someone might want him back.”

“I can see from here he has no tags,” Aaron returned.

Peggy hummed in her throat. “Can you see from here that it’s a he? Could be a girl. A little baby puppy girl.”

“It’s a he. And he is ancient.” Aaron stood, swiping an impatient hand through his hair and striding toward the dog, bringing him to the edge of the light. His intention was to crouch down and pet the dog enough to make it affable, then carry it back to the Suburban. But the closer Aaron got to the animal, the more it cowered, which slowed him to a stop. “Hey,” Aaron murmured, checking over his shoulder to make sure none of the others could hear him. “It’s all right. We’re…peaceful people. Toward animals, anyway. Not so much to each other.”

Right. So he was talking to a dog now. But—was he insane or did the dog’s brown eyes calm with total understanding? Yeah, the dog’s paw even slid a little bit in Aaron’s direction, causing a mild disturbance somewhere in Aaron’s gut.

“Huh. Well, my sister just bailed and there’s an empty seat. There’s food—” The dog stood, ears perked. “Ahh, now I’m talking your language, right? We literally have restaurant doggy bags in the car. It’s like we knew…”

Aaron trailed off when the dog coasted past him, heading for the Suburban. After three unsuccessful tries, the streak of white fur vanished into the backseat, leaving the four passengers staring at one another. Peggy was first to react, cramming her knuckles against her lips to muffle a squeal, while Belmont watched Sage for her reaction, giving Aaron the overwhelming urge to roll his eyes. The sexual tension between those two was enough to turn Sunday mass into an orgy.

“What are you going to call him?” Sage breathed, addressing Aaron but staring at the Suburban. “You saved him. It’s up to you.”

“We’ll call him Rita,” Aaron deadpanned, earning him a slug in the shoulder from Peggy. “All right, we’ll call him Old Man. Just until I can come up with something better.” Reluctantly, he looked over at Belmont. “You have a problem with the dog?”

Belmont watched Aaron for a moment without responding, a muscle ticking in his jaw, before turning and heading back for the vehicle. When Peggy patted Aaron’s shoulder, necklace jangling, he shrugged it off. Where the hell had she gotten the impression he needed comfort? He was well used to being disregarded. By anyone other than voters, his constituents, the press. Which was why Iowa better look out.

Aaron Clarkson is gunning for you.

And nobody could stand in his way.

*



Rita’s legs were beginning to shake when Jasper guided her hands to the wrought iron of his headboard, wrapping their entwined fingers around one of the thin, curved poles. Since they’d retrieved her luggage from Buried Treasure and sped home in the truck, Jasper had spent the last hour taking her to the edge of heaven. Only to guide her in a floating gulfstream back down to earth and start the process all over again.