Page 37 of Raging Fires

He knew she hated when he talked about her being impractical, but he wasn’t going to get heatstroke in his own house just to make her happy. She wasn’t even really his wife anymore.

“Fine. We can keep the A/C at 72 and you can pay three fourths of the bill. Final offer.”

“Agreed.” Luckily all the negotiating had given him enough time to calm down. There was hardly anything for Kelli to notice at this point. She’d have to really be looking. Crap. Even just thinking about her really looking made him stiffer. Which reminded him. “I need a bat.”

“A what?” She twisted back, looking at him like he was nuts.

“A baseball bat. You know, for a weapon.”

“I don’t have a baseball bat.” She could do irritated-as-hell even in a whisper.

“How can you not have a baseball bat?”

“Because I don’t play baseball?” She crossed her arms.

“Well, neither do I. Anymore. But I—”

“Jake!” Kelli grabbed his arm.

“Ow.” Damn, her fingernails could really dig into you. “Okay, okay. Well, something else I could use, like a stick. A mop?”

She nodded and slipped away. He felt around for his shoes. He didn’t want to have to run after some guy in his bare feet. His fingers fell on his flip-flops, which were better than nothing, so he stepped into them. By then Kelli was back, holding out a plastic stick.

“A Swiffer?” His voice rose. “Are you kidding? I said a mop. Long wooden handle? Metal head?”

“Shhh…” she hissed. “Keep your voice down. I’m not a school janitor from an eighties Movie, Jake. I don’t have a mop.”

He sighed in disgust and pulled the Swiffer from her hands. He sincerely hoped she was wrong about there being anyone out there because he looked like an idiot in gym shorts and flip-flops, carrying a Swiffer. Jake headed for the door, Kelli right behind him, and opened the door a few inches to look out across the parking lot. Kelli squeezed in close to look out, too. She rested one hand on his back; her hair brushed his arm.

“You see anything?” she whispered.

Her breath touched his skin. He swallowed, not really registering anything in front of him, and he gripped the handle like it was a life preserver. There was a thud over behind the dumpster, followed by a clang of metal hitting metal and rolling. Kelli jumped. And, yes, he’d admit it: he jumped too.

Jake opened the door wider and slipped through. “Stay here.”

Naturally, she was right on his heels, her hand still resting on his back. “Are you crazy? I’m not staying here by myself.”

He went silently down the steps. Kelli bent and scooped up a potted plant that sat on the porch. A Swiffer and a potted plant. They were really a terrifying duo. He grasped his weapon in both hands like a bat, ready to swing, and broke into a run. He rounded the dumpster with a roar, Swiffer raised, and stopped abruptly. Kelli slammed into his back.

“A dog,” Jake said in disgust. “Jesus Christ. It’s just a dog.”

A thin, mangy-looking animal slunk into the faint shelter of the plastic crates and a couple of empty paint cans that he’d just knocked over. He quivered, back against the wall, tail tucked and head lowered. He was a mutt, a mix of who-knows-what about the size of a Labrador, his brown and black fur matted and dirty, with a scraggly tail. An old scar crossed his muzzle, and one of his ears was missing a little chunk.

“Awww,” Kelli said. “Look at him. He’s scared.”

“You would be too if some screaming maniac charged at you with a Swiffer.”

She set down her pot and stepped around Jake, going closer to the dog. “Poor thing. He’s so thin.”

“Kelli, don’t get close to him. He might bite you. He could have rabies or something.”

Kelli turned to give him the full effect of her massive eye-roll. “Look at him; he’s cowering. Poor little guy.” She squatted down and held out her hand toward the dog. “Hello, buddy. Don’t be scared. We won’t hurt you.”

“Kell...” Jake sighed. She was going to feed it. She was going to feed it and give it water, and they’d have the scrungy stray hanging around forever.

The dog crept closer to Kelli, head still low and tail slightly wagging. “There you go. Good boy.” Kelli reached out and stroked the dog’s head. “You are so dirty,” she cooed. “And I bet you’re just covered in lice and ticks.”

“Yes,” Jake added firmly. “Don’t let him in the house or we’ll be infested.”