Eventually he rolls onto his side, taking me with him. With my head on his shoulder, I relax and enjoy the way he holds me. Once again, I feel treasured.
Being with him and feeling the way I do is something I want to experience for the rest of my life.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
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ASHLEY
I’M SURPRISED WHEN Boo isn’t at the door when I let myself into Tyler’s house. Shrugging, I figure she’s probably down at Millie’s being spoiled with snacks and belly rubs. I swear the dog has bionic ears where Tyler’s truck is concerned. It’s been about six weeks since I started coming over every night, so she’s probably still getting used to my car.
Heading into the kitchen, I open the fridge to take out the steaks we bought at the market last night. I want to put the spice rub on so that they have time to marinate before he gets home. We normally leave work at the same time but there was a call from the marina about two cars with bashed in windshields, so he went to take the report.
After setting the steaks on the cutting board I pull out the meat tenderizer and hit them a few times on either side. Once that’s done, I set the steaks on a piece of tinfoil, season both sides with the rub and then seal it up so that the flavor will be stronger when Tyler comes home and puts them on the grill. Crossing to the fridge I open it and bend down, pulling the crisper drawer open so I can take out a few ears of corn. Closing the door, I let out a muffled shriek when I come face to face with Rita, who is standing a mere three feet from me.
My anger is immediate. Throwing the corn onto the counter, I point at her. “Are you crazy? Why would you just walk in here?”
The way she grins is unsettling. “I didn’t walk in,” she says, her tone cocky.
God, she’s always been such a bitch with her stupid games and the way she draws things out. “Let me guess, you flew,” I say, my tone snippy.
The way she smiles is very Cheshire cat. She’s playing with me, and she’s enjoying it.
“Actually, I crawled.”
Something about the way she says that makes my stomach clench. “What?”
“Are you stupid? I said I fucking crawled,” she snaps.
My brow furrows as I try to make sense of her words. “You seriously crawled?”
“Came in through the dog door,” she answers, her smile smug.
My heart starts beating faster as what she’s just admitted works its way through my head.
“You came through Boo’s door,” I say, my voice flat.
“I did. Tyler overcompensated with that, by the way. He could’ve done with a smaller door. If he had, I might’ve had a harder time getting in.”
Smiling, she looks me over. “Of course, you’d have no idea what that’s like. No matter the size you wouldn’t have been able to get your fat ass in. I’ve been eating a thousand calories a day since high school, so it was easy for me.”
I can’t wrap my mind around the fact that she’s standing in front of me in Tyler’s kitchen talking about doggy doors and calories. She’s always been a nightmare, but until this moment I’ve never actually feared her. Crawling into this house and boasting about it freaks me out. A lot.
“Oh, don’t worry,” she says, like she’s answering a question even though I didn’t ask one. “I only gave the dog half a sleeping pill.”
“You drugged Boo?”
She shrugs like she just told me she forgot her wallet or something trivial. “I had to. I’ve been watching the two of you out there with her at night when you walk her. Animals are loyal to begin with but Malamutes are pack animals. She’d fight to protect her pack, and I can’t have that.”
I’m not freaking out anymore. I’m officially scared.
“Why are you here, Rita?”
I do my best to sound calm, but even to my own ears the wobble in my voice is obvious.
“Tyler Jameson ruined my life. I’m here to return the favor.”
“By breaking into his house and drugging his dog?”
The smile that spreads across her face is chilling.
“No. That was just one of the things I needed to do to get you alone. Like having my mom smash car windshields over at the marina so that Tyler would be out on a call.”
When I take a step back, she takes one forward. I take another, and she comes closer.
“Stop fucking moving,” she bellows.
I’m about to defy her and move back, but when she raises her right hand, I see that she’s holding a knife. It’s the kind hunters use. My grandfather and Rob’s dad had similar knives for their yearly vacation to Montana to hunt deer.
“Yeah, now you see,” she boasts, her expression full of pride. “Your man thought he could come up against me, but I’m not taking things lying down. I gave Ronald the best years of my life and how did he thank me?”