Blue eyes flashed up at her. “I’ll try not to.” He dabbed at the slowing trickle of blood from his nose. “You have a good punch. How’s your hand?”
“Hurts.”
“So does my nose.”
“Good.”
He sat there looking as if he might keel over again, which made her wonder if she’d try to get him up or just let him lie there. No, she’d have to get him up, or Tricks would go bonkers with joy thinking a human on the floor was some new game. Thinking of Tricks made her look around in search of her pet, and she heard the big slurps from the kitchen as Tricks got a drink of water. She looked back at her guest to find him slowly surveying the mound of stuffed animals and squeaky toys in front of the sofa. His chest rose and fell as he took a cautious breath. “Booby trap?” he finally asked.
As if she knew they were now talking about her, Tricks abandoned her water bowl and grabbed another toy before trotting over. This one was a squeaky rubber chicken which she had never played with a lot, but now she bit the squeaker and made what was supposed to be a clucking sound, then deposited it in his lap.
“Bribes,” Bo said. “She’s trying to entice you to play with her.”
He looked down at the rubber chicken draped across his leg. Tricks nudged it as if urging him to pick it up. “She’s gotta do better than a chicken.”
“She won’t give up until you give in, so my advice is to go with it.”
He scowled at her, the expression on his rough face both annoyed and exhausted. “Can’t you keep her in a crate or something? I’m really not up to this.”
He was only telling the truth, and ordinarily Bo would have already been making Tricks behave, but she was still pissed so she wasn’t inclined to cut him any slack. “I’d put you in a crate before I would her,” she snapped. “Here, baby.” She clapped her hands and Tricks came to her, nuzzling her knee. She bent to stroke her dog and narrowed her eyes at the human interloper. “This is her home, not yours. You’re here on sufferance.”
His glance was cold, telling her that despite his condition, he wasn’t about to back down. “I’m here because you need the money.”
Knowing he was right didn’t help her temper any. On the other hand, continuing to argue with him would be childish. She clenched her teeth, then grudgingly said, “You’re right, and this isn’t getting us anywhere. I’ll try to keep her away from you. Before you pass out again, you need to eat something. What would you like?”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Okay, I’ll fix you a smoothie.”
An appalled expression crossed his face before he quickly blanked it and said, “No, thanks, I’m really not hungry.”
“I didn’t ask if you were hungry.” Her tone was curt. “If you don’t have something, you’ll just get weaker. It’s common sense. If you aren’t up to solid food, I can throw together a smoothie with some peanut butter, milk, banana—things like that. That way you’ll at least have something nourishing.”
“How about just some milk?”
“Fine with me, as long as it has peanut butter and a banana in it.”
He muttered something under his breath, but her own expression must have said he’d drink it or wear it, so he finally said, “I don’t care, make what you want.”
She intended to. She turned and went to the kitchen, which meant the middle section of the wide-open bottom floor plan. She lived in a barn—a real, honest-to-God barn, one that she herself had overseen the design and renovation of, though it hadn’t been for herself because she’d never wanted to live in a barn. She’d done it for a client who had then backed out on her, leaving her saddled with debt and a barn dwelling she didn’t want in a location she hadn’t picked for herself.
But it had worked out. She couldn’t say it hadn’t. The barn had become hers, and she had made a life for herself here in this little corner of West Virginia, with the mountains and rivers and plenty of space for Tricks. She had friends, she had a job—two of them—and damn if she wasn’t content with it all.
The kitchen was a brightly lit square, framed by posts that set it off, and the flooring was slate while the rest of the first floor was plank hardwood. It was so open that she could keep an eye on both Tricks and Yancy while she threw things into the blender: milk, yogurt, peanut butter, a banana, vanilla flavoring. She kept the portions small, because she didn’t think he’d be able to down very much. That was guessing on her part because she’d never been seriously ill or injured, but she imagined his appetite would be slow to return. The trick was to keep enough nutrients in him that he’d get better. The deal was to give him a safe place to recuperate, right? Once he had recuperated and could take care of himself, he’d be gone; therefore, the better care she took of him now, even if she had to bully him to eat, the better the deal for her.
Besides, she liked the idea of bullying him. He’d not only tried to choke her, but he didn’t like Tricks. She found the second charge the most damning. Okay, so a lot of people weren’t animal lovers, but considering his position in her house he’d been damned rude about it. He wasn’t even allergic because he hadn’t started sneezing or anything even when he was lying on the sofa, where Tricks liked to lounge. Some people were just butts, with no other explanation needed for their behavior.
She added ice to the blender and turned it on, running it until the contents were smooth. Then she poured it into a glass, stuck a straw in it, and took it to the sofa. “Here,” she said, setting the glass on the end table. “Cheers.”