Page 44 of Return of the Bad Girl (Rock Canyon, Idaho 4)

“Like Kirsten Winters?” Chase asked as he parked in front of Chloe’s Book Nook.

“How the hell do you know about her?” Gabe asked.

“It’s a small town. People talk. I’m just glad it’s you and not me, because the last thing I need are the biddies of this town in my business again.”

Gabe shook his head. “I will never get used to people knowing my business before I’ve figured it out for myself.”

“Eh, I’ve learned to take it as a compliment. It means they think you’re interesting.”

“Well, hey, I am that,” Gabe said, holding his hand out to Chase. “Thanks again, man.”

Chase shook it. “I really believe that you’ve changed for the better, Gabe. You don’t have to worry about us, as long as you just keep doing what you’re doing.”

Gabe’s eyes were stinging, and he tried to shake off the emotions raging inside. No one had ever forgiven him for that night. Not the people he grew up with or his mother, who had probably died hating him for making her life harder.

But Chase—whom he’d beaten, blamed, and cut all ties with—was forgiving him. Telling him that he knew Gabe was trying and that they were good to start over.

Rubbing his hands over his face to wipe away any moisture, he said, “Thanks, man.”

Chase slapped him on the back. “What can I say? I’ve matured.”

Gabe choked out a laugh. “I appreciate that.”

“It had to happen sometime, right?”

“Amen.”

Gabe climbed out and, with a wave at Chase, headed around the back of the building. Jogging up the stairs to his apartment, he was almost to the top before he heard deep, booming barks and realized they were coming from inside.

The door swung open and although he registered Caroline standing in the doorway, holding a tiny ball of fur in her hand, that wasn’t the main focus of his oh, shit reaction. No, his eyes were trained on what could only be described as Beast from The Sandlot, stepping so close he could feel the dog’s hot breath right in his crotch.

Please don’t bite my nuts off.

Just as he was starting to sweat, another woman, with frizzy blonde hair, stepped up and called softly, “Killer.”

The dog whipped around and went back inside, just as Gabe sagged against the railing, and Caroline laughed.

“That’s not funny. I thought that dog was gonna bite my junk.”

“Yes, because that’s exactly what he wants.”

“Look, I don’t like dogs, especially not giant ones that come charging outside—”

“Caroline, I’m gonna take off. If you wanna meet us later, we usually get to Hank’s around seven thirty,” the blonde said as she stepped past them, the giant dog sniffing at him as they went down the stairs.

“Hey, thanks for keeping me company, Callie.”

“Any time. And thanks for getting that interview set up.”

But before he could ask what kind of interview, Caroline was already back inside. He followed behind her, closing the door with a loud click before turning to find her sitting on the couch with a baby bottle in one hand and a squirming, slurping kitten in the other.

“So who was that woman, and why was her giant fucking dog in our apartment?” he asked, hoping the “our” would irritate her. And by the narrowing of her eyes and the clenching of her jaw, he figured he’d hit a bull’s-eye.

“I don’t bother you about your guests,” she said.

“My guests don’t bring Cujo with them.”

“Killer is an extremely well-behaved dog and goes with Callie everywhere. He’s like a service animal.”