Wilde One (10 page)

“It’s okay, baby. You’re safe.”

Baby? Oh, she’s talking to the damned dog.

“God, I must be crazy. That truck almost killed me.”

“Thank you, Griff. It would have broken my heart to see this sweet boy get squashed.”

He noticed she didn’t mention the state of her heart if he’d been turned into a grease spot by oncoming traffic. “Is it a puppy? I’ve never seen a dog that small.”

The quaking bundle of sleek brown and black fur pressed against Ainslee’s breasts. A hint of jealousy for the oil-streaked, smelly mutt stirred.

“I think it’s a miniature dachshund. The poor little guy can’t weigh more than five or six pounds. Our farm cats are a lot bigger. He’s filthy and thin, but I’d say he’s close to full grown.” She turned flashing brown eyes in Griff’s direction. “I can’t believe some idiot dumped him by the freeway.”

“Maybe the dog lives nearby and wandered off.”

“No collar.” She pointed at a road sign ahead. “The nearest town is two miles from here. We can take him to a vet to see if he has an identification chip.”

At least she wasn’t thinking about keeping it. Not that he had anything against dogs, but he liked real dogs. Ones bigger than his running shoe. And this one smelled like it had rolled in something nasty. “I’ll take the first exit. We can ask for directions to a veterinary clinic.”

“Thanks. You really are a good sport.” She stroked the still quivering animal.

At least he was making points with Ainslee—even if he had nearly died in the process. On a head shake, he gave in to a smile.

A few minutes later, he exited the freeway at a sleepy little North Carolina town, stopped at a gas station to fill the tank and get directions then headed to the vet’s office located on a side street. He parked in the shade of a magnolia tree and rolled down all the windows. “I’ll stay here while you take him inside.”

“Or you could get us some lunch and come back. We passed a burger place not too far from the freeway. No onions, please, and lots of ketchup for my fries.”

He straightened in his seat. “Terrific idea. I could eat.”

“You can always eat.” She shot him a grin then stepped down from the vehicle with the dog clutched in her arms and her purse strap draped over her shoulder. “See you shortly.”

Griff tapped the steering wheel and hummed along with The Who as he drove to the burger joint, placed their order, then waited at the drive-up window to retrieve it. Back at the vet’s office a few minutes later, he munched fries and wondered what the holdup was when Ainslee didn’t come outside.
How long does it take to drop off a dog?

He was about ready to go in to see what the problem could possibly be when she hurried through the door—still clutching the damned dog along with a bulging plastic bag and a sack of kibble. He jumped out of the car to relieve her of her inanimate burdens. “Uh, are we taking him to his owner’s house?”

The pooch’s stare held a hostile glint, as if he was sizing up the competition.

Ainslee gave him an incredulous glance before climbing into the SUV. “He’s a stray without an identification chip, and the receptionist said no one in the area has reported a missing dachshund. Thankfully, they weren’t very busy, so the vet checked him out then let me give him a quick bath in a tub out back. He’s a little malnourished but otherwise healthy. Probably just over a year old. The vet cut me a deal on shots, which was awfully nice.”

Griff shut the car door and turned to face her. “Shots? Why would you pay for shots?”

“Because the vet said he was probably due.” She frowned. “I’m keeping him.”

“What?”

“If I don’t, he’ll have to go to the shelter.” Her voice rose. “Which I was told is already overcrowded. After what he’s been through, he deserves a real home.”

“Except right now you don’t exactly have one to offer.”

Irritation flashed in her eyes. “Temporary problem. I was thinking about getting a dog, anyway. If you don’t want to hang out with us, you can—”

“No, no.” He raised both hands. “I’m fine with your new friend. Maybe I’d be happier if he was a real dog like a lab or a retriever, but I’m down with Small Fry.”

“He’s a real dog. Completely adorable. And I’m not calling him Small Fry.”

“Speaking of fries, your burger’s probably cold by now.” Griff started the engine.

“I’ll survive cold takeout.” She fastened her seatbelt, shifted the dog to the seat beside her then reached for the greasy paper bag. “I do need to come up with a name for him, though.”

“If you don’t like Small Fry, how about Tiger or Killer or Bear.”

A smile slipped out before she popped fries dripping with ketchup into her mouth. “I was thinking more along the lines of Buddy or Prince or Champ. Ooh, what about Romeo?”

He made gagging noises. “Sissy names.” Griff took the onramp for the freeway, cruised past a big rig then snapped his fingers. “I’ve got it. Call him Mack since he somehow survived his close encounter with a Mack truck. The damn thing drove right over the top of him.”

Munching her burger, Ainslee stroked the dog, who’d fallen asleep with his head on her thigh. “He doesn’t look much like a Mack. He’s so sweet, but I don’t imagine I can call a boy dog Sweetie.”

Griff rolled his eyes.

She finished her lunch without saying much, apparently deep in thought. “How about Rocky? He was off to a rocky start, but all that’s changed now.”

“I can live with Rocky. At least I won’t be embarrassed to call him when we stop at a rest area.”

“Sorry about all the delays on this leg of the trip.” Ainslee crumpled the burger wrapper and stuffed it into the bag. “We seem to be losing a couple of hours here and there every time we turn around.”

“No big deal. For me, it’s all about the journey not the destination. These little detours add to the fun.” He glanced over at the sleeping dog. “I’m sure he’ll keep us on our toes and make life interesting.”

Her smile warmed his heart—and other parts of his anatomy.

A touch of pink colored her cheeks. “I have a feeling life’s always interesting with you around.”

Ainslee strolled back from the restroom with Rocky trotting at her heels. Birds chirped in the trees along the shore as Lake Hartwell shimmered in the early morning light. She and Griff had reached their destination on the border between South Carolina and Georgia much later than anticipated the previous evening, thanks to her furry little pal. A smile curved her lips as she glanced down. Rocky danced in a circle around a pinecone and growled ferociously.

“You’re a nut.” She scooped him up and gave him a hug then set him down as they entered the campsite. The scent of bacon made her stomach growl.

Griff waved a spatula. “Just in time for breakfast. I hope you like your eggs scrambled.”

“I’ll eat them any way you cook them.” She took the plate he handed her then sat at the picnic table. “Thanks.”

“I had to try out the camp stove. Eating out all the time was getting a little old.”

“Not to mention expensive.” Ainslee savored crisp bacon. “Yum. This is great. One more reason to keep you around. You cook.”

“Oh, yeah? What’re the other reasons?”

She nearly choked on her eggs as a vision of Griff, throwing aside his shirt to dump a bottle of water over his head in an effort to cool off the day before, flashed through her mind. The man had abs, not to mention an intriguing trail of hair that led from his navel into the waistband of his shorts. Her fingers had itched to follow it.

Not that she would mention those particular reasons to him. She cleared her throat. “You’re funny, and you do most of the driving. I prefer being a passenger so I can focus on the scenery.”

“Not me. I like to have control.” He set his plate on the table and slid in next to her. Their arms touched, but he didn’t move over.

“Most guys do.”

They ate in silence for a couple of minutes. At the end of the table, Rocky growled and snapped at the chunk of firewood left next to his bowl before diving into his breakfast with some serious crunching.

“He’s growing on me.”

Her head jerked around. “Huh?”

“The mutt. He has spirit. However, the way he bristles and barks at inanimate objects, I’m a little concerned about how he’ll react to a normal-size dog.”

“We encountered a German shepherd last night when we walked down to the lake. When the dog checked him out, Rocky just sniffed and wagged back. Apparently he only gets bent out of shape over things that don’t move.”

“We all have our foibles.” He bit into a piece of wheat toast covered in jelly then licked his finger. “What’re yours?”

She dragged her gaze away from his mouth. “Hmm?”

“Are you okay? You seem distracted this morning.”

More like exhausted
. She’d tossed in her sleeping bag half the night, thinking about the man in the tent a couple of yards away. Her resistance was weakening. The way he’d run out on the freeway to save a stray dog had put major points in the plus column of her mental
jump into bed with Griff
tally sheet. At the moment, the only negative she could come up with was the temporary nature of their union since the only thing they really had in common was the crazy quest they were on.
Not to mention he made it clear he likes to keep his relationships casual.
Still, she’d about decided the risk of him walking away once the treasure hunt was over would be worth the pleasure of getting up close and personal with those abs and biceps.

“I’m just a little tired.” She glanced down at her plate. “One of my foibles is thinking things to death. It interferes with my rest.”

“Did you figure out the remainder of the clue with all that cogitation?”

“The clue? Oh, no, I didn’t. Maybe we should work on it since we’ll be in New Orleans by early evening. It’d be nice to know where we’re going.”

He forked up the last bite of eggs then stood to scrape a couple of pieces of bacon fat into Rocky’s bowl. “Hope you don’t mind, but I’m trying to make friends. He looks at me like I’m something you stepped in.”

Ainslee grinned. “Bacon probably won’t kill him. I’ll wash the dishes since you cooked.” Hopping up from the bench, she grabbed a pail and headed for the water spigot next to a big rhododendron, relieved to have a moment alone to compose herself. She had sex on the brain this morning. All his innocent little touches—a hand on her arm, shoulders brushing, a thigh bumping up against hers—were making her a little crazy. And though she was certain Griff would be more than willing to satisfy her itch, she wasn’t quite ready to give in to temptation. Solving the clue would provide a welcome distraction.

Returning with the half-full bucket, she poured in soap and set to work.

Griff laid the riddle on the table and frowned. “Look behind a founding father’s little achievement for your stone. That’s the part we still need to solve. Any ideas?”

Ainslee scrubbed at congealed bacon grease. “I suppose stone could refer to the rings that were in the bottles. One is red and the other kind of golden brown.”

“Does that mean we’re looking for a ruby?”

“I guess. Or maybe a garnet. The brown one could be amber.”

He turned on the bench to regard her from beneath pinched brows. “Victor is sending us to a jewelry store this time? That seems odd.”

“You’d think the place would have something to do with Thomas.” She piled soapy plates into the frying pan. “The other spots were both associated with his army buddies.”

His eyes brightened. “Hey, the founding father must refer to Washington. Thomas Washington.”

“Exactly!” She gave him a high-five with a soapy hand. “So, we’re looking for a stone behind Thomas’s little achievement.” Ainslee set the load of dishes onto the table then ran over to the SUV. “I just had an idea.” She pulled out her tablet and flipped through the pages of notes she’d taken. “Here it is.”

Griff walked up behind her and dropped a hand on her shoulder as he read. “Thomas Washington returned from the war and opened a restaurant. The Shrimp Shack.”

She glanced up. “Does that sound like a
little
achievement? Little. Shrimp.”

“We’re both brilliant. I guess we’ll go find the Shrimp Shack and look behind it.”

“All that research we did is paying off.” Ainslee hesitated for only a moment before dislodging the hand on her shoulder to head back to the table to gather up the dishes. “Let’s pack our gear and hit the road. We have a couple of stones to uncover.”

* * * *

The Shrimp Shack was located on the outskirts of the French Quarter. The scent of fried fish, bright light and Cajun music spilled out the open front door. A laughing couple, arms entwined, exited and headed toward the vehicles parked in the gravel lot. The woman pushed her stumbling companion toward the passenger side of a pickup and demanded the keys. Griff guessed the bar inside the restaurant was doing a thriving business.

“Shall we go take a look around back?” Ainslee’s attention was focused on the dark blur beyond the Shrimp Shack.

She’d piled her curls on top of her head, probably in an effort to combat the sweltering heat, and wore a pale blue sundress that hit her at mid-thigh and bared most of her back. He tried to swallow, but his throat was too dry.

“I could go for a drink first. Too bad we ate earlier. The food smells incredible.”

“If you like deep-fried.” Hands on hips, she turned to survey the frame building that really wasn’t much more than a shack. “I wonder if the Washington family still owns the chain.”

“Thomas only had one daughter, and didn’t you say she has a law degree? We know Parnell doesn’t have time to run a bunch of restaurants, though I suppose they could leave them in the hands of managers.” Griff took her arm to walk across the lot. “Doesn’t really matter. This has to be the place. I won’t even try to guess what’s back there.” He jerked a thumb toward the gloom beyond the lighted parking area.

“Too dark to see much now. If we hadn’t gone to the wrong Shrimp Shack,
twice
, there would have been some daylight left. I hope the bartender at the last one didn’t say this was the original just to get rid of us. Maybe he would have been friendlier if we’d ordered something.”