Kellen grimaces. “Yeah… I know. I just hate it.”
A surge of fondness wells within me. This is a man who has an extreme love for his dog. Someone who probably would break the law for Bubba’s welfare.
Without even realizing it, the words slip out freely. “I don’t mind watching him when you’re gone. He’s so well behaved, he can stay here in the clinic during the day. We’ll put a bed out there with Christy, and he can stay at my place at night.”
Kellen blinks at me in surprise, his mouth curving in a smile. “I’ll take you up on that. I’d pay you, of course.”
I wave a hand. “You don’t need to. Maybe buy me a drink sometime.”
“Dinner,” he says with a grin. “I’ll take you out to dinner.”
Wait! Would that be a date? Because I wasn’t soliciting for one. At least I don’t think I was when I mentioned a drink.
Shaking my head, I rise and motion toward the counter. “I’ve got his discharge instructions over here that I can go over with you.”
Kellen stands straight, and I hadn’t realized just how tall he is until he’s standing right beside me. I’m on the short side at five two, but he towers more than a foot over me.
And yes… Christy is right. He looks somehow hotter today than yesterday, but I’m thinking that’s because yesterday, he was in jeans and a short-sleeved T-shirt, and today he’s in workout shorts and a tank top, which showcases his muscular arms and legs as well as sexy tattoos on his chest and biceps and one on his calf.
I’m partial to tattoos—except the ones horribly etched inside dog ears to indicate ownership by a particular puppy mill. The golden retriever has a crude one on the soft underside of her ear—HK.
Hellman Kennels.
It should just be called Hell Kennels because the living conditions are akin to that.
The lobby door swings in, and Christy comes through, her expression pale. “Levi Hellman is out there with two other guys, and they have a gun.”
“What?” I exclaim.
“Well, he’s wearing his sidearm on his belt,” Christy clarifies. “He’s demanding you give him back his dog.”
“Shit,” I mutter, turning to Kellen. I press a hand to his chest and give a short command. “Stay here.”
His head drops, looks at my hand on his sternum, and then his eyes come back to mine. Such a pretty blue I could get lost if I didn’t have something more pressing.
“I’ll be right back,” I say before spinning away from Kellen and rushing through the door into the lobby, Christy on my heels.
Levi Hellman stands on the other side of the reception counter, and I recognize his two teenage sons, Levi Jr. and Abel. They’re both in their teens and I hate that their father brought them to witness what’s going to be a confrontation, but I suspect he considers this part of their training on how to be assholes.
Levi is in his late thirties, tall and thin with a protruding Adam’s apple. His face is plain, hair a sandy blond, his eyes a dull brown. He considers himself a legitimate businessman and drives a brand-new Mercedes. Today he’s wearing a pair of jeans and a nice button-down shirt, which doesn’t fit with the gun holstered on his hip.
There’s always a bland smile plastered on his smug face that’s completely disingenuous.
“Dr. Blackburn,” he says, clasping his hands before him. The gun is threatening enough, he doesn’t need to call attention to it. I see it. “I’d like my bitch back.”
“No clue what you’re talking about,” I reply, standing directly opposite him with the desk counter between us.
His lip curls in a sneer. “Don’t play stupid with me. I have you on video.”
“If you had me on video, you’d have the sheriff here arresting me.” That was a big gamble. I knew he had cameras, and I did my best to skirt around them, but I was mostly banking on him being too damn cheap to actually keep them in good working order. The fact he’s here and not law enforcement tells me the gamble paid off.
“How about we just go into your back room and let me take a look around?” he says, taking a step to the right.
Before I can protest or move an inch, a deep voice sounds behind me. “This is private property, and you’re not allowed in the back.”
I angle toward Kellen, who somehow came through the door so quietly, no one saw or heard him. He stands with his hands tucked casually in his pockets, acting like he doesn’t have a care in the world. But his bulging muscles are probably enough to let Hellman know they’re going to have to go through him if they want into the back.
If Kellen didn’t dissuade him, the hundred-and-twenty-pound Belgian Malinois standing at attention probably did. I’d learned that Bubba was an explosives detection dog and probably wasn’t trained to attack, but he sure looks like he could rip out a throat or two.