Reluctant Roommates Page 2

  He’d had no idea. His father had always been one to immerse himself—and by association, West—fully into whatever project he’d taken on to make life better in some way...but living beings?

  Had Walter been that lonely?

  He should have known. Had a headache. Needed a shower. And some rest.

  “So, tell me what I have to do,” he said instead. “Are there different diets? Where is the food? And bowls, for that matter. I’ll need vet numbers, shelter contacts...has anyone else already been placed?” He ran through the first things that came to mind. And then, before she could supply any answers, asked, “Do they all have names?”

  Where was the mop? Where were the puppy pads kept? And who was the untrained one?

  One of the friendlier three, a black, brown and white terrier-looking dog, male by the looks of things, sat down and started to scratch as he spoke.

  “Have they been checked for fleas?” he added. “And are any on medications?” Made sense, if they’d been mistreated, they might be.

  As he continued his barrage, still standing there, shell-shocked, in the doorway, both hands in his pockets, Paige stood up and faced him.

  “How about if I take care of everything this morning, while you get yourself settled, showered and rested,” she said, her smile just...kind. How long had it been since he’d slowed down enough, tuned in enough, to experience the kindness of others? “I’ve been helping Walter for the past year and handling them alone this past week. Then later today, when you’re feeling better, we can sit down and talk it all through.”

  Not sure he liked the knowing look in her gaze, or the fact that she was taking control of a situation in his house, he nonetheless jumped right on the respite she’d offered. A smart man knew when he needed to get to his corner and regroup.

  But... “There’s a puddle over there by the green couch.”

  “Buddy, yeah,” she said. “Every morning in the same place. He’s marking his spot. Taking ownership. It’s a good thing.”

  Not if the pup hoped to find a home, Weston thought, looking over the bunch, wondering which one was Buddy. And realizing that she was right. One more feeding wasn’t going to change the world, either way.

  Nor was kicking her out the front door immediately as critically important. No way he was putting those poor pups further at risk simply because he needed to be alone.

  He was tired. Not heartless. Regardless of what his father might or might not have grown to think about him.

  “How do I reach you when I’m ready to talk?” Relaxing enough to believe he was actually going to sleep at some point very soon, he gave in long enough to get his wits about him.

  “I’ll be out here,” she said. “I’ve got my laptop and have been working here since Walter’s death. The dogs and I...we’re grieving together.” Her voice broke.

  And when Weston’s heart felt an answering pang, he turned and got the hell out of there.

  * * *

  Paige watched Weston Thomas’s very nice backside leave the room, glad to see the broad, military-straight shoulders disappear. Tension slid out of her in a rush, and Buddy, the boy who couldn’t quite let himself accept the love he so desperately needed, sat down.

  She stared at Buddy. He never relaxed enough to sit unless he was across the room from any human who happened to be sharing it with him. He’d started to come within a couple feet of her in the past week. Had done so with Walter almost from the start. But always on all four feet—able to get himself immediately away in the event a hand that reached toward him turned violent. Never sitting.

  And there he was.

  Buddy didn’t trust people any more than Paige trusted in forever.

  He was probably right not to trust Weston Thomas, either. Paige had been dreading the arrival of Walter’s uptight son since her employer and friend had suffered the heart attack that had prematurely ended his life. Weston would want to clear out some family mementos, for sure, before Paige took formal possession of the house that was now hers.

  Like she had any use for owned property, period, let alone a mansion and grounds outside of Atlanta, Georgia. She’d tried many times, unsuccessfully, to convince Walter of the fact. He’d always come back with the same question. “How can you know something you’ve never known?”

  How could she know she had no use for property when she’d never owned any? The only way to know what she’d do with it, and what she could gain from it, was to have it and find out.

  Their conversations about the matter had always gone the same way. He’d been very definite at the end, too.

  He had the right to do whatever the hell he liked with his own property.

  The man had definitely liked getting his own way.

  And had been the most tenacious person she’d ever met.

  She’d been hoping his son would not have inherited those qualities from the father with whom he’d spent little time in the past few years.

  Since West’s fiancée’s death, according to Walter. Prior to that, when West had humored Walter and his various schemes and ideas, he’d still taken time to vacation with him. To go deep-sea fishing. And hiking in various places throughout the world. Both were activities Walter had introduced West to as a child.

  And ones, according to Walter, West had given up after Mary died.

  Along with the ability to smile, apparently, she thought, with one last glance to the space the man had recently occupied.

  He was everything she’d dreaded—and worse. As tenacious and certain he’d get his way as his father had been. Minus Walter’s whimsy, his undying optimism and love of life.

  “How does a guy who’s two years younger than me make me feel like a kid?” She directed the question at Buddy, who didn’t move, but the fifteen-pound, skinny blond cocker mix was still sitting within a couple feet of her.

  Darcy, an approximately three-year-old beagle mix, came forward and nudged her hand. He’d completely recovered from the surgery on his right front leg, and the hair was even starting to grow back. The leg break had been just one of the atrocities Darcy had lived through. And still, he was willing to give and receive love.

  She was right there with him on that one. No matter what life had dealt you, you could still be kind.

  Darcy’s second nudge was a little less gentle.

  She got it. They needed to eat. Not watch her worry about things. All they wanted was to have enough to eat and drink. And to love and be loved. All in one room was fine with them.

  They were happy with very little, as long as there was no more cruelty.

  And maybe that was why she’d spent the past week with only the dogs. They knew what did and did not matter. And gave unconditional love without limits. People had a lot to learn from the canine population. Walter had known that.

  She did, too.

  She wasn’t so sure she could say the same for Weston Thomas.

  Which meant that the sooner they got him out of their orbit, the better.

  Chapter Two

  Paige wasn’t actually getting a lot of work done. West had gone to sleep after his drive, leaving the house in the quiet she’d expected when she’d let herself in that morning. But though there were still three chapters to go before Walter’s memoir was complete, and she had all the information she needed to write them, she hadn’t listened to any more of the recorded interviews since they’d made them. She wasn’t ready yet.

  She’d been editing instead. And hadn’t been doing a whole lot of that. How could she exist in someone else’s head when she was still struggling with the anguish of losing them?

  A lesson she hadn’t yet learned. How you went deep with the anguish and lived life, too.

  She’d learn it. For Walter, she’d get the book done on time. As flexible as Walter had been, he had a thing about meeting deadlines. You always did it. He’d said it defined the t
ype of person you were. A point upon which they’d wholeheartedly agreed.

  She just needed a minute—or a week or two of them. And she needed the cloud of Weston Thomas’s presence, which had been looming over her and the dogs since Walter’s death, to blow over. Once he was gone, and she could figure out why Walter thought owning property would be so important to her own personal journey, she’d be able to submit proposals for her next job. The next chapter in her life.

  She could write from anywhere. And while she made a good living, having amassed a positive reputation in the industry, Walter had left enough money in an estate account to keep the bills paid long into the future.

  He’d left her none of the rest of his fortune. Just the estate and its account.

  She hadn’t backed down on that one. If he’d left her other money, she would have donated it immediately. Period. She’d stared him down, and for at least once in his life, he had backed down. He’d looked away, muttering, and when she’d seen the page of the will leaving the house to her, she’d noted that he’d left a sizable amount of money to the estate. And not another dime to her.

  She’d smiled through her tears.

  And was tearing up again, just thinking about the eccentric old man. He’d been in his forties when West was born—his only child. A son who had so been like his wife, Barbara, West’s mother, and not a whole lot like Walter. But a son the old man had adored with every fiber of his being.

  For Walter she’d be patient with West. Make sure he had all the time—and whatever possessions—he needed to help him make peace with Walter’s death. She’d help him in any way she could. Make him feel welcome.

  Because Walter would want that.

  And her own life...its next chapter could wait a bit. That’s how she rolled. One project to the next. Giving her all to whatever she was working on. After her first unexpected windfall of a project while she was still in college, she had enough in savings, smartly invested, to support a simple lifestyle, and to be able to help her siblings if they ever needed it. Her only real goal was to make enough at each job to add a little bit more to savings. Or, at least, not drain from it.

  Maybe, if she lived long enough, she’d be rich.

  Maybe not. Didn’t much matter to her either way.

  She was going to enjoy every single chapter of however long her life’s book was going to be.

  To find the joy.

  Because every moment was precious.

  Beyond the moment, she knew not to count on anything.

  As she had the thought, the next moment came—in the shape of Weston Thomas. In another pair of dress pants, a lighter gray this time, and ironed looking. His white shirt was also wrinkle free, cuffs rolled halfway up his forearms. The military-cut dark hair might have still been wet from a shower. It was too short to tell.

  Those green eyes, though...they were definitely different. The power in that gaze took her breath away. She didn’t even know why. Sitting there on the couch with Abe on the other end while Darcy snoozed with her head against Paige’s thigh, she pretended to be closing down the document on her laptop. Probably would have been, if she’d had a program open.

  She’d just been sitting there, staring, when he’d seemed to barge into the room.

  He’d come in quietly enough. It wasn’t that the man was a raging bull or anything. He just... exuded...power.

  He’d shaved. She’d liked him better with a shadow of stubble.

  He didn’t look angry. Or even all that tense.

  But there was purpose about him.

  And she had a feeling she wasn’t going to like whatever that purpose was.

  Not a problem, really. She knew how to stand her ground. Had been doing so since a carjacker had killed her parents when she was eleven. In spite of the grandma and siblings who’d tried to baby her.

  “Where do you want to start?” she asked him as he stopped in the middle of the room, hands on his hips. “Introductions might be a good place.” She answered her own question. She owned the place. She was the boss.

  But she’d be a kind one. He was Walter’s son. And Walter had adored his only child. Had, Paige assumed, left the bulk of his fortune—which included outrageous monthly royalties for Walter’s self-filtering water bottle lid invention—to him.

  “This is Darcy.” She started right in. Because...she owned the place. She had to keep reminding herself. And because she loved the dogs. She’d had a pet as a kid, but after the carjacking, her shattered heart had been in no condition to give any of itself away. “We’ve been told she’s three years old. She was found in a vacated house with multiple injuries. Other than still needing to gain some weight, she’s healthy again.”

  “Why’s her leg shaved?”

  “She had surgery to repair a severely broken bone.” She ran a hand along the dog’s head, over her ear and down her torso. Darcy sighed, but didn’t open her eyes.

  “Down there—” she nodded toward the end of the couch “—is Abe. He came to us with ear mites, intestinal parasites and was suffering from severe malnutrition. He’d had fleas, but they got those under control before they let us have him, lest he inadvertently share them with the others. He’s still got some weight to gain, but he’s on a strict diet as he can’t control his eating. A result of having been starved. He’ll eat anything he can get and just keep eating until he vomits, and then go right on eating.

  “Buddy’s the little blond cocker mix over there.” She nodded to the little guy curled up in a dog bed in the corner. “We have no idea what happened to him, but he’s more afraid of humans than any animal I’ve ever met. He’s coming around, though.” She’d thought she might actually get to pet him off leash during morning feed. “He follows sit and stay commands long enough to be leashed, but if you reach out to love on him, he backs up. You could go after him, of course. He won’t run away. He’ll just back himself into a corner and press against the wall and shake. I work with him every day, though, and we’re getting closer.”

  West looked from dog to dog as she spoke. His gaze was not moving from them as she gave their history. She liked him a little better for that.

  “Annie over there is some kind of poodle/bichon mix. She’s our smallest dog, at just over ten pounds. She’s also the one I worry about most, weight-wise. She’s afraid to eat. She’ll drink like there’s no tomorrow, but feeding time is always a touch-and-go situation with her. I’ve learned that if I change the kind of food I give her every mealtime, she’ll take a few bites before she backs up.”

  “Maybe she just doesn’t like dog food.”

  “Believe it or not, Annie won’t even take chicken and rice for more than a few bites. If I take her out into the house, lock her away from the others, she’ll usually do better, maybe consume half a serving, but it takes an hour or more.”

  “Have you tried nutrients in water for her? Since she’ll drink?”

  Impressed by his intuitiveness where the dogs’ needs were concerned, seeing a hint of Walter in him, she said, “Every day. Twice a day. That’s why she’s as healthy as she is. We think she was either hit regularly or maybe attacked by another animal during feeding times when she was little.”

  “And that guy over there—” she pointed to a forty-pound Australian shepherd “—is Checkers. He’s eleven, deaf and partially blind, which makes him an unlikely adoption candidate. He was well loved and is loving, when he’s awake. His owner died and Walter took him in to make certain that he didn’t get put down.

  “And the pug cuddled up to him is Erin. She’d been both abused and neglected. She was rescued when her owner went to jail for possession. I’m not sure what all happened to her, but if you look closely you can see little scars over her body. She’s surprisingly friendly, though. And smart. She’ll probably be our next adoptee.”

  Hands in his pockets now, he glanced around, while she studied him, wondering
about a person who didn’t need to be touching fur with so many loving beings in the room.

  “Where’s Stover?” The German shepherd. He’d pet Stover that morning.

  “With his new family. He left an hour ago.”

  Which was really why Paige had been sitting there crying. Or why she’d started, anyway. She was happy for Stover. Just a little unhappy for herself. It would pass. She knew that well. She’d sit with the sadness and it would settle into a place where the memories of those she’d loved and lost hung out.

  He looked around him again, nodded and said, “Well, if you want to give me the rundown on who eats how much of what and when, show me where everything is and, if you could, help me make a list of everything you just told me, I’ll take over and you can be on your way.”

  She felt a frown take over her face of its own accord. And once there, she couldn’t seem to change it into a smile. She told herself to give him some slack. He’d just buried his father the day before. Was away from home. Had traveled all night.

  Compassion rose within her at all of the above, but not enough to get over his rudeness.

  “I don’t need, want or intend to allow you to take over.” She didn’t raise her voice. Was careful to monitor her tone in light of the skittish spirits in the room. But she wasn’t smiling. Not even a little bit.

  When his eyebrows rose, and his mouth dropped open, Paige stood—gently enough to help Darcy settle down to snooze on her own, and then, back straight, left the room.