“This is ridiculous,” he snapped and started to pull away.
Jack snarled and Coop froze, belatedly realizing the seriousness of the situation. And to add insult to injury, by tomorrow, the whole county would be buzzing about Sheriff Cooper Delaney, ex-Army Ranger and lawman extraordinaire, being held hostage by a mutt of indeterminate heritage.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
He took a deep breath and looked at the creature glaring back. The mottled black and brown fur covering his body stood on end as he watched Coop with deadly eyes. With an inward groan, he knew if he didn’t convince him he truly meant no harm, things would go to hell in hurry. He slowly pushed his sun glasses up until they perched on top of his head. “See here, uh, Jack, I didn’t hurt her.” He kept his voice light, ignoring the ever-growing laughter from the crowd. “I know it probably looked like I did somehow, but I didn’t. I swear.”
The mutt glared, his expressive eyes accusing.
Without forethought, Coop argued—with a dog. “I didn’t push her, she tripped and I grabbed her so she wouldn’t fall.”
Jack’s defensive stance weakened, and his growl grew less menacing. He looked from one to the other, but didn’t appear totally convinced.
The snickers spiraled into belly laughs. Coop ignored them. “I didn’t hurt her. I swear. I couldn’t.”
Jack eyeballed Coop, and sniffed once.
“I promise.”
The dog studied the crowd, now laughing hysterically, then Coop, and finally, Sam. Satisfied at last, he wagged his tail, and ambled back to the car, jumping over the door in one smooth move to settle in the front seat.
Coop immediately stepped back and put on his sunglasses.
“Hey, Coop,” came a voice from the crowd, “you think she done it or the dog?”
“She don’t look like no killer to me,” came another, “but that dog, now, he’s another story.”
At his thunderous glare, the crowd shuffled back, still laughing at the incident, no doubt altering the details to suit themselves.
“You’re hurting me.”
He looked at her, then stared at his fingers, surprised to see how tight he held her. He didn’t even remember reaching for her. A quick look at Jack told him the dog saw no reason to get hostile again, though he continued to watch. He loosened his grip.
Lips forming a tight line, she glanced at his hand, then shot ice-blue daggers at him until his hand dropped away.
The imprint of his fingers was clearly visible, and he mentally kicked himself for such a deplorable lack of control. He didn’t hurt women. But he’d hurt her.
“On second thought, maybe you should wait in the car with the dog. I don’t want him getting excited and hurting someone.”
“Fine.”
He gritted his teeth at the sharpness in one four letter word. He probably had it coming. And then some.
Jack stood in the seat as they approached. A snap of her fingers, and he hopped into the back seat.
“I have a g-u-n. I’m licensed to carry and sorely tempted to use it.”
He ignored the jibe. “Where?”
“Glove compartment, a thirty-eight revolver, loaded, not chambered.”
“I’m going to look at the gun,” he said firmly. “Keep him off me.”
“Just tell him what you’re doing. The g-u-n will upset him.”
Surprised when she spelled the word again, he asked “Why spell it out?”
“When I found him, he had two bullet holes in him.”
Coop shook his head in disgust, and shifted to the dog. “Look, Jack, I’m going to come around and get the…,” he stopped and looked at Sam. “The gun, okay? I’ll unload it, and lay it on the seat. No need to go all nasty on me.”
Coop slowly opened the passenger door, one eye on the dog. “I’m just gonna reach in, and get the gun, okay? No need for us to get sideways again.”
Jack whined every time he said the word gun.
Slow and precise, he reached toward the glove box, released the catch, and let it drop. “I’m gonna take the gun out and unload it, okay?”
When he reached for the weapon, Jack tensed and growled.
Sam reached over and patted his hindquarters. “Shhhhh, baby. It’s okay.”
“Look, boy, one hand,” said Coop. “See? One hand.” He grasped the butt of the gun, and pulled it toward him.
Jack whined.
“It’s okay,” Sam murmured as she stroked his arched back, “it’s okay.”
A quick glance at the dog ensured he wasn’t ready to attack, so Coop unloaded the gun and dropped the shells in his pocket. He placed the gun on the seat next to the camera, then turned to end the one-sided conversation. “See, Big Fella, just like –”
