Shoulda Been a Cowboy (Rough Riders #7)(47)

“She’s sleeping on the deck out back. She did a lot of running today. Why? Did you want me to bring her in?”


“No! I mean, that’s good she’s outside. I don’t really…get along with dogs.”


“But Gracie isn’t just any dog.”


Where had she heard that before?


Brock popped the cap on a bottle of Corona and handed it over. “Didn’t Cam tell you how he ended up with Gracie?”


She shook her head.


“When Cam was rehabilitating in Cheyenne, this do-gooder group began showing up with ‘therapy animals’. At that time Cam was in his bitter stage and he didn’t want anything to do with anyone, let alone an animal. He refused the therapy, but one day Gracie escaped from her handler and cowered under his bed.


“He didn’t rat her out. He realized she didn’t want to be a therapy animal any more than he wanted one. Long story short, they bonded and the people were more than happy to pass Gracie off to Cam, because she’d broken the rules and attached herself to one person.”


“Cam.”


“Uh-huh.”


“I know how she feels,” Domini muttered.


Brock’s eyebrows drew together but he didn’t comment.


Domini stayed mum and swigged her beer.


“You an MMA fan?”


“What’s that?”


He sighed. “I’ll have to whip that white boy for your lack of education. Come into the living room and prepare to be enlightened on the ways of the ring warrior.”


She perched on the edge of the couch and watched two guys beating the crap out of one another with punches, kicks and wrestling moves. Brock cheered them. Booed them. It wasn’t her thing, but she saw how it’d appeal to men with an abundance of testosterone. Like Brock. Like Cam.


“So how long have you known Cam?” he asked.


“He’s been coming into the restaurant I manage for a while. Only recently have we…started seeing each other outside of working hours.”


“You’re very diplomatic, Domini. Where are you from? Switzerland?”


“No, the Ukraine.” Her head snapped up. Blood tinged her cheeks. “I get it. Neutral. Switzerland. Funny.”


Brock shrugged. “I’m guessing it wasn’t a picnic living in the Ukraine after the Chernobyl disaster and the fall of the Soviet Union.”


“It was bad, which was why I left.”


“Not as a mail-order Ukrainian bride, I hope.”


“No. That was never an option for me.”


“Why not?”


I’m damaged goods. “The Evangelical Church of Hope got their hooks in me before the marriage brokers did and they offered me a better way out of the country. I eventually found a way to escape them too.” She chugged her beer and boldly changed the subject. “You’ve known Cam for a long time.”


“Yep.”


“Can I ask you something about him?”


“Sure. Doesn’t mean I’ll answer.”


That flip reply might’ve stung if she hadn’t suspected Brock’s passive aggressive responses were his way of protecting his friend. “Was Cam always…such a…” Domini struggled with the right word.


Brock’s eyes narrowed. “Such a what?”


“The type of guy who’s loyal. Polite. Thoughtful. Generous. He’d walk a little old lady across the street. He’d jump in front of a bus to save a baby in a runaway stroller. He’d give up his seat to a pregnant woman. He’d…”


“Throw himself on a grenade to save your life?” Brock supplied.


“Exactly. Has he always been that way? Or did he become that way after his injury?”


“What do you think?” he asked without guile.


“I think he’s always been the selfless guy who does the right thing. No matter what. No matter the personal cost.”


“You’d be exactly right. And you’re the first person who’s picked up on that…except for me, of course.”


“Of course.”


“I owe him my life. He’ll tell you the reverse is true, but it’s not. He saved my dumb ass more times than I care to count. I will do anything for that man. Cam is one of a kind and he deserves the best—” his cool appraisal moved over her and he frowned, “—in everything.”


Stung by his less than flattering perception that she wasn’t good enough for Cam, she stood. “I should go. Please give Cam the shirt.”


“Chill out. Finish your beer. I didn’t mean to run you off.”


She allowed him time to consider his statement, then challenged, “Didn’t you? Didn’t you really?”


Brock attempted to stare her down, but gave up and laughed. “Man, you ain’t a pushover at all, are you?”


“Some people confuse a quiet nature with timidity. There is a difference, Mr. Tennyson.”


“I see that now.” Brock snatched her hand and kissed her knuckles with exaggeration. “Call me Brock. I owe you an apology, delectable Domini.”