The guy pivoted, staggering in the sparse grass. Definitely drunk even this early in the day. His dog cowered closer to the ground, whimpering. “Wanna mind your own business, bitch?”
“That’s no way to treat your pet. If you need help, I’ll be happy to lend a hand—”
“Get the f**k out of my face.” He jabbed a finger in the middle of her chest. Then hesitated. Eying her br**sts in the tight pink shirt. Twisting his finger in the fabric.
She didn’t back down even a step. Just held a hand up behind her, stopping Liam in his tracks. For now.
Disco crouched low to the ground, snarling. Liam echoed the sentiment. Completely.
Grasping the Lab’s collar, Liam paused about five feet away. He held back the dog, respecting Rachel’s request. But he stayed close enough to end this in a heartbeat. The guy was too wasted even to see Liam standing on the perimeter, ready to pound this dipshit loser into the ground if the bastard dared hurt Rachel.
Her eyes narrowed. “Move your hand. Now.”
The bastard just sneered and poked her chest again. “How about you move your sweet little ass, lady.”
Liam growled. Rachel smiled.
“I warned you.” She moved in a flash, whipping her hand around his wrist. Her other hand bent back his pinky back until he dropped to his knees, shrieking.
“What the fuck? You’re breaking my finger. Let go!”
“Does that hurt a little bit?” She pushed harder on his finger and leaned right into his face. “Lay off the dog, you psychopath.”
She was frickin’ magnificent.
Her confidence, her strength of will and passion, radiated off her in tangible waves. She didn’t need to glam up or plaster on makeup. Pure, undiluted Rachel was absolute perfection.
Liam couldn’t pull his eyes away.
A second lanky guy in board shorts shouted from the doorway of the Porta-Potty before he jogged toward them. “Hey, Chaz, dude, chill out. You’re gonna make them call the cops and they’ll find the weed in our—Just lay off.”
Snapping into action, Liam put himself between Rachel and the second approaching guy—who appeared sober enough to grasp the wisdom of staying back from Liam and the tensed black Lab.
The sober guy raised his hands. “No harm, no foul, old man. We’re outta here as soon as she lets go of my buddy.”
Slowly, Rachel released his hand, but her guard was clearly still in place. The way she kept her arm extended protectively in front of the leggy puppy, she wasn’t as ready to let this guy off the hook.
Shaking his hand, Chaz stumbled to his feet again. He dropped the leash and staggered away mumbling, “Worthless chickenshit dog… You want it? You take it.”
His sober pal hauled him toward the Land Rover, mumbling warnings to shut the hell up as he stuffed him into the passenger side. Once they’d roared out of the parking lot, Rachel knelt in front of the puppy, extending her hand for the cowering pup to sniff.
“It’s okay, little one. I won’t hurt you.” Carefully, she stroked her hands over the dog’s sleek brown fur, checking the legs and paws for injury. “Want something to eat?”
She fished into the paper bag she’d dropped to the ground. She dug out… a po’ boy. Their supper. Of course. She tore off pieces of their food and fed it to the puppy one bit at a time, making fast friends.
Watching the way she’d pulled the dog away from its abusive owner told him that while she might be taking a break from her profession, she would never be able to turn off that need to rescue. She might not know it yet, but she would be back one day, sifting through the rubble, willing the survivors to hang on until she could find them.
And he intended to make sure she lived a damn long time so she could take back her life.
“Uh, Rachel…” He glanced over his shoulder, more than a little uncomfortable with the way the older couple was openly staring at them on their way to their twenty-year-old Caddy. “Do you think we could feed the dog in the Jeep?”
Although how in the hell they were going to fit two dogs in with all the gear was a mystery to him. He needed a bigger car.
Or less baggage.
Rachel glanced up. “There’s still plenty of food left in the paper sack. We have supper, like you asked.”
“And I’m assuming we also have another dog.” Crouching on one knee, he glanced at the collar. “No name. So, it’s up to us to pick, and I choose to name him Fang.” He stood, knees groaning. “Come on, Fang. Be nice to Disco if you want some of the dog chow in back.”