Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Epilogue
RECKLESS AND WILD
ALYSSA COOLEN
CONTENTS
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Epilogue
About Alyssa Coolen
DEDICATION
F or Paul Michael, who has been rooting for Logan since day one. Thank you for being my cousin, my sounding board, and one of the brightest lights in my life.
Chapter 1
W hoever was banging on my door was in for a rude awakening. Angry didn’t even begin to describe the feeling that rocked through me as I blearily looked at the clock and saw that it was just after one thirty in the morning. Sadie was barking her ass off as I carefully stepped down onto the first floor, my bare feet padding along the hardwood.
“Sadie,” I hissed at my german shepherd as she sat in front of the door barking and slamming her front paws against the ground. “Is there a bad guy out there?” I whispered.
My heart started to beat a little faster and I inched the curtain aside, peering out through the side window at the thin silhouette of a man holding something in his hands.
“What do you want?” I called warily through the door.
“Um, I, uh, have an injured dog out here. I don’t know what to do with it,” was the response.
I wasn’t buying it. Not at such a late hour. “Bring it to the vet.”
“It’s one thirty in the morning!”
“Yet here you are knocking on my door.”
But then I heard it. The small, barely audible whimpers of a puppy came through the door and my heart softened a little. Sadie’s tail wagged at the prospect of a new friend and I waved my hand, silently demanding she go lay on the couch. She did, resting her big head on the arm of the couch and watching as I unlocked the door.
“I’m letting you know that I have a trained attack dog. If you try anything funny then she’ll, you know, attack you.”
I could have sworn I heard laughter before he said “Deal.”
I opened the door a crack and flipped the outside light on, watching as a lanky man with shaggy blonde hair blinked rapidly against the sudden onslaught of light. His dark brown eyes met mine and he shot me a glare. “A little warning would have been nice.”
Pulling my bathrobe tighter around me I rolled my eyes and opened the door a little wider. “You know I’m not a vet, right?”
“Yeah, but you always have animals coming in and out of here and you work at that farm.”
Water sloshed against the sides of my home and under the dock my surprise guest was standing on. It was late and the early November chill was wrapping around me. I looked at the man again and tried to place him. There was something familiar about him and it was right on the tip of my tongue…
“You’re that stoner that lives three houses down,” I said, my eyes narrowed as I sized him up.
His jaw clenched. “I’m not a stoner.”
I was about to respond that I’d seen him smoking a joint on his back deck multiple times when a small whimper erupted from the wrapped up flannel in his arms.
I had a soft spot for animals and always had. When I was a child, I was always bringing home injured birds and stray cats. It made Gran want to tear her hair out, but she never made me leave them outside. She always tried to help me help them even when neither one of us knew was we were doing. She told me I had a gift and I never knew what she meant until I was an adult. I had a gift of compassion, something that Gran said the world was severely lacking. She told me to hold it close to me because people would try to take it away.
No one was going to steal my gift.
I reached out and pulled back a corner of the soft red and black flannel to see icy blue eyes and a wet black nose. Dried blood coated the mutt’s fur and the sadness in its eyes was palpable.
“Hi, pup,” I whispered and reached out at the same time the man extended his arms, slipping the puppy- who couldn’t have weighed more than a handful of pounds- into my arms. The dog yawned and hunkered down into the shirt, showing off its forehead and the large open wound that lay close to its floppy left ear.
I shot a glare at the man in front of me and took a step back. “If I find out you had something to do with this I will have you thrown in jail so fast it’ll make your head spin.”
He pointed a slim finger at me. “Hey, I would never do this to an animal and I don’t like the implication that you think I would. It was sitting at my damn doorstep when I got home. What kind of person do you think I am?”
“The kind of person who shows up at a stranger’s door in the middle of the night with an injured dog.”
He opened his mouth to respond and then shut it.
“Listen,” I started and hugged the dog closer to my chest. “Thank you for bringing the dog here. I’ll take care of it. Have a nice night.”
I was in the middle of kicking the door shut when a dirty high top toed its way between the door and doorframe. Sadie was immediately on alert, sitting up on the couch with her black ears pointing sky high.
“I’m not leaving. That’s my dog.”
I arched a brow. “You just said that it was sitting at your doorstep.”
He huffed out a frustrated breath and placed his palms against the doorframe. It was then that I noticed the dark circles under his eyes and his slumped frame. The man, whoever he was, looked as though he hadn’t slept in more than a week.
But he’s beautiful.
I shushed the voice in my head even though I knew it was true. He was beautiful in a grungy, tortured artist kind of way with his slightly curly blonde hair and hollowed out cheeks. A long, straight nose complimented his heart shaped mouth and I could see the dark ink of a tattoo peeking out of the collar of his shirt. He was definitely good looking, definitely dangerous and definitely glaring at me like he hated everything about me.
“I’m not leaving the dog. I found it, it’s mine. I either come in there or I take it back home with me and bring it to a vet in the morning.”
Weighing my options, I looked down at the ground. On one hand, I could let him in and allow him to watch me clean the wounds and figure out the damage so he would know what to do. Or, I could easily hand the dog back to him and wash my hands of the whole thing. After all, it wasn’t my responsibility.
You have a gift, Gran’s voice echoed in my mind. Don’t let anyone steal it from you.
I growled, actually growled, and then took a step forward. “
I have a very big, very mean shepherd in here and she’ll-”
“Attack me if I try anything funny.” he finished for me. “I’m Logan, by the way.”
“Juliette.”
Warily, I let him step into the small living room, barely giving him room to slip through the door. Sadie was on her feet in seconds and staring up at him like she was waiting for him to either attack me like a mad man or crouch down and give her the attention that she was always seeking.
I turned on my heel and stepped into the kitchen, placing the wrapped up puppy on the small granite counter before walking into the small bathroom that was off to the side of the kitchen. Then again, everything about my house was small and I loved it.
Living in a houseboat was a risky move, I knew that as well as anyone. But the second I saw the small, two floor floating home I knew I had to have it. Hardwood floors, enough kitchen space that I wouldn’t struggle and a loft style bedroom upstairs left me feeling like I didn’t need anything else. So, doing the first impulsive thing I’d ever done, I put a deposit down with the small inheritance Gran had left me in her will.
That was three years ago and I never regretted it. It was difficult to get used to at first and nobody warned me about how nauseous I’d feel from the home rocking back and forth, especially when the water was choppy. It was a problem that was easily fixed when I installed some boat stabilizers and now I could barely feel the movement. Over the last three years I’d made the place my own, hanging photos of me and Gran, Sadie, and old pictures from when I was a kid. My bedroom was decorated ivory and blue. Peaceful. The kind of peaceful that I needed after losing my grandmother.
I opened the medicine cabinet and started taking things out. Gauze, tape, neosporin, peroxide. Flea and tick treatment. Most of the supplies would normally be used on a human but, depending on the puppy’s injuries, I could get by with what I had.When I walked back into the kitchen I saw that Sadie was standing on her hind legs with her front paws on the counter as she stared curiously at the puppy who cowered into the shirt that presumably Logan had been wearing when he got home.
“Okay, so I need to figure out how bad its injuries are. Can you take it out of the shirt?”
I dropped my supplies on the counter as Logan carefully scooped the puppy out of the shirt. The poor thing was shaking with its small brown and white ears flopping forward and its skinny legs shaking. I immediately noticed three cuts excluding the one I previously saw on its head.
“Is she gonna be okay?” Logan asked.
“He.”
“What?”
“He’s a male. He has testicles,” I pointed towards the dog’s tail and watched as he gently flipped the dog around.
“Wow, yeah. He’s definitely a he.”
I couldn’t hold back the small laugh that escaped me as I began opening products. Every time I rubbed a peroxide soaked gauze pad on a wound, the puppy let out a small whine and began to shake. Guilt swamped me but I tried to find comfort in the fact that I was helping him, that I was healing him.
From what I could tell there didn’t seem to be any broken bones. The dog could walk, albeit shakily, and was a brave one as he shimmied his way across the counter. His tail eventually came out from between his legs and it helped put me at ease to know that he wasn’t in fear of being hurt again. Plus, he was adorable to the point that I was practically making heart eyes at him. He definitely wasn’t a pure bred, but I could see a little bit of pitbull and a little bit of what looked like some sort of spaniel with the floppy ears and soft fur.
“You’re a good boy, huh?” I cooed and scratched under his chin, smiling when hs wiry little tail began to wag. “I’m going to give you enough dog food to last until tomorrow, but I’d really appreciate if you filed a report with the police so that I don’t have to.” I said and looked at Logan.
He nodded his head and mumbled a quiet “Thank you.” I noticed that his eyes didn’t leave the injured dog and I couldn’t help but think that maybe he felt some sort of kinship to the animal. A little beat up, a little tired.
I also couldn’t shake the feeling that I was about to get myself into a whole lot of trouble.
Chapter 2
“L ogan? Logan Ashford?” Rose asked me the next day as we walked a few of the rescue dogs back to the farm.
I tugged my beanie lower over my head as the wind whipped my red hair around. Winter was approaching quickly and we only had a few more walks in the woods before the snow hit and the animals were stuck hanging out closer to the farm.
Lady, an older golden retriever, fell back and walked alongside me as if she too wanted to hear the conversation.
“Yeah, do you know him?”
“No, but I know the name. Doesn’t his family own Port James?”
I barked out a laugh and shook my head, tugging on a few leashes to keep the smaller dogs from tugging too hard and choking themselves. “No, but they do a lot around town. I don’t know much about them, just that they’re a prominent family. I read about his sister a lot over the summer.”
“Port James seems weird, man. I’m glad I don’t live there.”
Arden Farm and Rescue was located outside of Port James and a little closer to the city. It was owned and operated by fraternal twin sisters Rose and Violet Arden, and over the years had become a safe haven for injured, abused and neglected pets. They took in anything from dogs to cats to a few horses. There were even a few odd rescues thrown in that lived in the main house with the girls, such as a hedgehog named Spike and a blue tongued lizard named Mango.
It was my dream job.
Rose, who was now my best and practically only friend, was reluctant to hire me nearly three years ago. Thankfully, I was ambitious and persistent, eventually wearing her down. I was able to do what I love and make money while doing it. But, truth be told, even if I wasn’t making great money I would have taken the job anyway. Nothing could stop me from working with animals.
The property was huge with an expanse of field and forest for the animals to roam and heal. There were two barns, the main house, a small vet clinic and a guest house that many of the staff crashed in when the weather was too bad to drive or there was an animal in serious need of near constant attention. Everyone that worked at Arden Farm and Rescue was dedicated, passionate and knew how to do their job. I didn’t feel so much like an outsider when I was there, which was a complete one eighty compared to when I was younger.
I hated going out when I was child. I was never social and spent my adolescent years taking care of animals or reading books about how to take care of animals. I never cared about school dances or parties. Football games were never my thing. Learning was fun for me, it was my passion, but high school was a nightmare due to the fact that I had no real experience with acting like a normal teenager. I was quiet. My teachers barely knew my name. My peers referred to me as “the redhead” and boys didn’t talk to me. When I did finally work up the nerve to talk to someone I would always bring up something about a broken bird wing or how to tell the difference between field mice and muskrats.
The term “freak” was thrown at me fairly often when I was a teenager.
Of course, as I got older I was able to get out of that fumbling, nervous behavior, but not by much. Socializing still wasn’t really my strong suit and I hadn’t had sex or been on a proper date in three years.
Not that it mattered.
Except that it did.
“It’s not so bad,” I said now as we approached the barn that housed the dozen dogs that lived on the property and were up for adoption. “For the most part it’s really quiet. I like quiet.”
Rose tugged her gloves off and shoved them in the pockets of her vest. Her black hair was piled on her head and she was, as always, sans makeup. “What’s he gonna do with the dog?”
I shrugged my shoulders and yanked the barn door open with a grunt. “Don’t know. I asked him before he left and he said he’d figure it out later.”
A loud bark effectively ende
d our conversation as Lady pawed at the door of her little stall, politely letting me know that she was ready to be let back into her home. After a quick scratch behind the ears I unhooked her leash from her collar and she zoomed in, lapping up water as I secured the door.
Work days always flew by. There was always so much to do. I was the head of the Dog Division which sounded way fancier than it actually was. I pretty much took care of the dogs that were on sight and went through all of the adoption papers, visiting the homes of potential families that wanted to adopt. I was adamant and strict about making sure the dogs were placed into caring, safe homes- especially the ones who suffered from past abuse or neglect and needed special attention.
It was dark out by the time my shift was over and my back ached from sitting at the desk of my tiny office. It seemed that everyone wanted to adopt Wyatt, the fat pug that had been at the farm for about two months. He was friendly and quiet and his tongue was always hanging out of the side of his mouth. Everyone who worked at Arden adored him, including myself.
“Bye, buddy,” I whispered as I leaned over the top of his stall, making sure all of the locks were secured before I closed up for the night.
The temperature had dropped quickly and I wrapped my jacket tighter around myself, making a mental note to go out and get a proper winter jacket over the weekend. I was heading over to my car when headlights flashed bright, momentarily blinding me. Putting a hand over my face and squinting against the sudden onslaught of light, I tried to see if I recognized the car. A black SUV and what looked like tinted windows appeared as soon as they cut the lights and I stood in the small gravel parking lot. Something about this didn’t feel right and I contemplated making a sprint back to the house and getting Rose who, thankfully, was the toughest person I knew.
The door opened before I had to chance to turn around and someone jumped out, gravel crunching under heavy work boots.
“We’re closed.” I called out.
He slammed the door and I finally got a look at the face.
Definitely no one I know, I thought as I stood a little straighter, looking around. The lights were on in the main house and if I screamed someone was bound to hear me. Not that it was necessary, I technically wasn’t in danger and this person wasn’t a threat.
Reckless and Wild: A Small Town Romantic Suspense (Port James Series Book 1) Page 1