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“You’re not the boss of me, Dodger. And I can be out there if I wanna be.”

“Not when it’s not safe. And not when I said you ain’t.”

My eyes narrow as another droplet of rain falls off his hat. “Last time I checked, I was single.”

“Shame.”

My stomach flip-flops even though that response can be translated into so many different ways.

Regardless, he has no right to keep me here against my will. If I want to go die in a storm over a dog, that’s exactly what I’m going to do.

“Get your hands off me, Dodger,” I command through my teeth, pushing at his arm to set me free. “I’m not playin’ around.”

“Naw, you’re just bein’ a pain in the ass.”

“The more time you sit here, the longer it’s going to take me⁠—”

“If we don’t find mutt in five minutes, he’s on his own. Ya hear me?”

Repeating his words to make sure I heard them right, I finally give him a curt nod, even though I’ll be looking longer than that when Dodger puts his truck back in drive, finally getting me to release the held breath out of my lungs.

He doesn’t let go of me as he drives through the progressively worsening rainstorm. The windshield wipers’ speed does nothing to clear the path down the road as minutes tick by, and I silently hope and wish Pickles is still going to be on the road and hasn’t veered off somewhere.

Or worse.

“There!” I point at the only moving thing on the road, watching Pickles trot through the rain like the little warrior he is. “Pull over.”

Dodger rolls to a stop and puts the truck in park. “Stay here.”

Hesitating to open my door, I remain inside as Dodger slides out. I can see him yelling, then jerking his head toward the truck when Pickles’s ears perk up in the headlights, and he cranes his head.

Dodger isn’t nice about it.

His face is all skewed up in irritation, and that’s not going to win over my dog. He’s doing it all wrong.

Rolling my eyes, my hand is on the door handle when Pickles cautiously turns around and slowly walks toward him.

Wait, what?

Dodger turns on his heels as if he could care less, pops open the back door to his truck, and then I hear him.

“C’mon now, ya dirty ass dog.”

“Dodger!” I scold. “You’re gonna scare him.”

He glances over at me, clearly not amused because he’s getting more soaked by the second. “What did I tell ya about shuttin’ up?”

“I don’t listen to hollerin’.”

“Ya gonna do more than that, AK. Wait until I tell our kids how many times I’ve kept you alive and dealt with your stupid antics.”

My eyes widen at the impromptu mention of our kids as he steps away from the door and shouts at Pickles again.

“C’mon, ya dumb mutt, inside the truck. Or I ain’t gettin’ this woman home. And, if I don’t get her home, I’m gonna come back out here and hide your ass.”

He said our kids.

Our kids.