Rescuing the Bad Boy: Bad Boy Sweet Romance (Last Chance at Love Book 1) Read online

  A second chance.

  Truth is that I’m at least on my third, if not more.

  He shakes his head. “This is what we’re spending our tax dollars on? Ridiculous. People care more about animals than they do about people feeding themselves.”

  I roll my eyes. As if he pays taxes.

  “At least they feed you. What kind of service work are you doing?"

  “Not sure,” I say, shoving a pair of jeans into my bag. “Some kind of job that’ll teach me a lesson, I guess.”

  “Yeah,” he laughs, sprawling on the worn, plaid couch. “Not to get caught.”

  “Funny.”

  I zip up the bag and grab a few pairs of shoes to take with me.

  “Look,” James says, leaning forward. “You say the word and I’ll get you out of this. Bart’s got room in his place down in Huntsville. You can lay low for a few months and when you come back, no one will remember.”

  “Thanks,” I say automatically, even though I know it’s just another one of James’ stupid ideas. That’s what got me into this in the first place. My mom and dad would be horrified by all of this. I’d be horrified for them to know how far I’d let it go. “But I’m not spending the rest of my life running because of a thirty-day community service project.”

  I pick up my bag and head to the door.

  “See you in a month,” I say.

  “Yeah, stay out of trouble, nephew. We’ll pick right back up when you get out.” He grins. “I’ve got a few new projects in the works. Big ones.”

  I walk out the door, a feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach. That’s the catch in all of this. I’ll do my thirty-days, but then what? I’ll come back home and get caught back in James’ world all over again.

  Last chance or not, I’m not sure there’s any way out.

  One turn and I could make all of this disappear.

  James’ offer lingers in my mind—the house in Huntsville. Laying low.

  Sure, I’d be on the run. There would be a warrant out for my arrest. But the police would be looking for more dangerous criminals. Not a dog snatcher. I could vanish, start over, build a life, meet a girl, get married, have a kid…

  Get away from James.

  An image of a nice house with a white picket fence and a swing set in the yard comes to mind. I’d had that once and it was what I wanted for my own kids one day. Unfortunately, I knew how easily it could be taken away, and the tranquility of my fantasy is dashed by a vision of police surrounding the house and dragging me down the front steps in front of my beautiful wife and children.

  That imagery is what finally propels me to pull my car into the driveway of the two-story house. It’s nice enough. Nothing about it says half-way house. Nothing announces that the people living inside are on their last chances. In a way, it makes me feel better. Less labeled. It doesn’t take away the truth; that I’ve been sent to live with a bunch of other screw-ups.

  I grab my bag and lock the car, walking up the front porch. The house is old and we’re in a strange part of town; a strip squeezed between the railroad tracks and the large, historic homes that surround downtown. Despite the ache in my stomach and the urge to flee, I press the buzzer by the door. A few moments later, a man answers the door. He’s a few years older than me, with shaggy blond hair. A scar cuts through his eyebrow and a sleeve of tattoos are inked over his arm.

  “You the new guy?” he asks, assessing me.

  “Yep.”

  “Follow me.” He turns and I shut the door, following him through the house. There’s a living room to the right with uncomfortable-looking furniture. A dining room to the left, with a long, shiny, wooden table. I see a doorway that leads to a kitchen, and a staircase that goes to the second floor. My feet echo off the hardwood floors.

  He pauses in the hallway where a bench has been set up next to a small table. A plaque by the door is etched with a name. Gabrielle Reeves.

  “Drop your bag here,” he says, pointing to the table. Then he blinks, like he’s just remembered something. “I’m Felix, the house manager. I’m here to make sure everything at the house runs smoothly. Gabrielle is the program director. She’ll talk with you about your stay, read over the probation contract, explain your community service—”

  “About that,” I interrupt, “do you know what I’ll be doing?”

  “No, but I can assure you it’s not going to be fun.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Judge Johnson believes that we should conquer our issues by facing them head on. Whatever it is that landed you in his courtroom is going to be relevant to your service.”

  We? I run my hand through my hair and mutter, “This is a joke.”

  “Let me give you a piece of advice. Do not consider this a joke. Take this for what it is; an opportunity to turn your life around. This is your last chance. From here you go to prison, from there it’s downhill.”

  “So I do my time and then what? I’m off the hook?”

  He doesn’t answer but looks at my bag. “I’m going to need you to dump the contents on the table.”

  “You’re searching my things?” He nods. “Fine. There’s nothing in there.”

  Fortunately, I’m telling the truth, but it’s still humiliating to watch a guy I don’t know rummage through my underwear. He’s thorough; checking pockets and inside my toiletries. All I brought were the basics. Like Judge Johnson said, I’m a good guy. No drugs. No anger problems. I just have a unique way of making money.

  He runs his hands over the lining of the bag, searching for god knows what.

  “Satisfied?” I ask, unable to control my snarkiness.

  His eyebrow raises and he opens his mouth to respond, but the door opens, cutting him off. A pretty woman with short, light brown hair stands in the doorway. “You must be Mr. McGuire.”

  She offers her hand and I shake it. Her grip is firm.

  “Welcome to Redemption House. I’m Gabrielle Reeves."

  The name of the place makes me cringe.

  “Felix will drop your bag off in your room upstairs while you and I will go over the rules, expectations, and requirements for the next month. We’ll also discuss the terms of your service project. Do you have any questions before we start?”

  I look between her and Felix, suddenly feeling a little lost and unsure. It’s not too late to run.

  “Yeah,” I say, “can you tell me what kind of work I’ll be doing?”

  She smiles, eyes brightening. “We’ll talk it over in a few minutes, but I can say Judge Johnson found the perfect program for you.”

  Yeah, that’s what I’m worried about.

  4

  Mave

  There’s a reason the rescue is way out in the country on a hundred acres of farmland, other than the fact we inherited the property from our grandparents. The noise and smells would drive normal neighbors crazy. This is confirmed each day after breakfast when Paul and I head out of the house to feed the animals. The dogs, tucked in their kennels overnight, start barking as soon as we unlatch the door. This is followed by the cats ramping up their meows. Hamilton, the pig, sniffs and snorts around my feet looking for any and all scraps of food.

  That pig is a total…well you know, pig.

  “What’s wrong?” my brother asks, adjusting his baseball cap. Maverick Farms is stitched on the front. He’s three years older than me and since Granny and Pop Pop died, my only family.

  “I’m just not sure this is a good idea.”

  He snorts. “Allowing a convicted dog flipper to work our animal rescue program? A guy you’re convinced has no remorse or understanding of what he’s done wrong? Why would that be a bad idea?”

  I feel sick to my stomach. “Judge Johnson asked me personally. I didn’t feel like I could say no.”

  “It sounds like he’s aware that McGuire guy is a total jerk. We’re busy enough, the last thing we need to do is make sure he’s not stealing dogs behind our backs. Couldn’t you have said that?”

  I wal
k over to the storage closet and unchain the door. Inside are massive bins of food. I grab a scoop and bucket and start filling it up. “I did, but Judge Johnson explained the program to me. They match up offenders with a service project that challenges their belief system. Griffin McGuire does not have compassion for animals or their owners. He doesn’t understand the relationships people have with their pets or why stealing and selling them for a profit is wrong.” I dump in more food and catch my brother’s eye. “You and I both know the need for rehabilitation instead of just locking people up.”

  He frowns at that. Rehabilitation is important—and also, often pointless. Paul scratches the back of his neck. “But why us?”

  “Probably because I showed up and interrupted the hearing.”

  He snorts. “So the Judge is punishing you.”

  “I think he just saw my passion for the issue and saw a good opportunity.” I pour one last scoop into my very full bucket. “But yeah, I think he’s punishing me.”

  Paul picks up the bucket and carries it out of the storage room. I follow him out and secure the door. It’s important we keep it closed so that rodents or other animals (looking at you, Hamilton) get in.

  “Look, I’m okay with this if you are,” he says, “but if you’re uncomfortable or if there are any issues at all, you have to let me know.”

  “Okay, big brother,” I say, rolling my eyes. He’s always been overprotective. It makes sense. Even when Granny and Pop Pop were alive, there were times it felt like it was just the two of us. Just two kids that spent more time with animals than with other people.

  Paul and I split up; he takes the livestock as I carry the large bucket of food into the kennel. I pour a scoop of food in each bowl.

  “Morning, Dawson,” I say, chatting to the dogs. Lolly has joined Hamilton, following close by, hoping for a stray piece of kibble.

  “Looking good, Dylan.” I pet the border collie on the head, taking a moment to check the wound by his ear. “That wound is way better today.”

  I go down the row, petting and talking to each dog.

  “Well, this is a surprise,” a voice says behind me. “Thought you’d consider caging animals abuse.”

  I jump, surprised that anyone else is in here. Kibble scatters all over the floor and both Lolly and Hamilton dive for it. I’m instantly enraged, not just because of the mess, but because Griffin McGuire is standing two feet away. He’s wearing jeans and a sweater, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. His boots are nice, too nice for working on a farm. I can’t help but notice that his dark hair glints in the sunlight, showing streaks of auburn.

  “What did you say?” I ask, trying to settle my startled, pounding heart.

  “I said, I would’ve thought putting dogs in cages would go against your values.”

  “They’re in the crates for safety and comfort. Some are injured or wander at night. All of them will get exercise time today—most will get to play in the pen for hours.” Why am I explaining this to him? “Why are you sneaking up on people?”

  “It’s not my fault you were so involved feeding the dogs you didn’t hear me walk up.”

  I grit my teeth, and force back the desire to kick him off the property. I’d made a deal with Judge Johnson. I take a deep breath and nod at the broom and dustpan leaning against the wall. “While I finish with the dogs you can clean up that mess.”

  “You want me to clean up the mess you made? Can’t the pig just eat it?”

  “Nope. Come on, Hamilton,” I say, pushing the pig out of the kennel and shutting the door. Then I turn back to the dogs. A three-pound terrier mix wags her tail eagerly. “Morning, Brenda, how are you today?” She’s in the final cage and I open the door. I pull out the small black and white puppy. “Hey, pup, how are you feeling?”

  “What’s wrong with that one?” Griffin asks, holding the dustpan in one hand and the broom in the other.

  “She’s just a runt. The rest of her litter abandoned him. Someone found her tucked into a sewer drain.” I grab a handful of kibble and let the little dog eat out of my palm.

  “Maybe there’s a reason she got left behind. Survival of the fittest and all that.”

  I look up at him in horror. “What’s wrong with you?”

  He shrugs. “I’m just being honest.”

  “You’re a terrible person.” I stroke the puppy’s fur. “I thought I could do this. I thought I could maybe help the court make a difference, but you’re awful. Like truly, terribly, awful.”

  “I’m awful? You think that misfit three-legged dog that was in here earlier is happy? Or a pig living with a bunch of dogs?” He shakes his head. “I don’t get it.”

  “You don’t get it? What don’t you get? That all living creatures are important? That just because someone may be small or weak that doesn’t mean they have less value?”

  I’d like to say Griffin is angry—that he looks violent and it’s an excuse to kick him out of here. That’s not the problem. He’s smug, condescending, and entitled.

  The door slides open and Paul stands in the entrance. He eyes the two of us standing toe to toe. “Everything okay here?”

  “Nope,” I say, pulling off my gloves and throwing them in the bucket. “I’m done with this idiot.”

  “I didn’t want to be here in the first place,” Griffin shouts.

  “Get him out of here,” I say to Paul, passing him on my way out. “I’m calling the program. He can’t stay here.”

  I storm out of the kennel, Lolly following close behind. She keeps up despite her lost leg, because she’s a champion, something a guy like Griffin will never understand. One thing is for certain, I was right yesterday; Griffin McGuire is a monster and I want him out of my life.

  5

  Griffin

  The woman—Mave, or something, walks out of the kennel, boots stomping in the dust. As much as I don’t mean to, I watch her, taking in the stubborn set of her jaw and her pushed back shoulders. She’s a firecracker.

  The man next to me coughs and I jerk my eyes away.

  “I’m Paul.” He offers his hand. “Mave’s brother.”

  Familiar yet less hostile blue eyes hold mine. I take his hand and shake. “Griffin McGuire.”

  “The dog thief.”

  I nod. “So they say.”

  “You deny it?”

  I grimace and look out the door where Mave heads to the main house. The three-legged dog and pig follow her. “You think she’s really going to call the Judge?”

  “Probably.” He takes the dust pan from me and walks over to a metal trash can, tossing in the debris. “I’m not sure what you said to her, but she’s not happy.”

  I look around at the dogs in the kennels, most still occupied with their breakfast. “I’m not trying to be a jerk, I just don’t get all of this. There are a lot of nice pets out there. Why take in sick and damaged animals? What’s the point? Like I said to her, survival of the fittest and all that.”

  Paul shakes his head. “You just think only the best should find a home? And then what? You snatch it over the fence and sell it to the highest bidder, like it didn’t already have a family?”

  I can’t deny it. That’s exactly what I do. It’s my job—my own survival of the fittest. “They’re just animals. It’s not like they have feelings.”

  Paul’s jaw tenses and his thumbs hook into his belt loops. “If you’re going to have that attitude, then you probably do need to get out of here now. It’s not going to fly.”

  If Mave calls, if she turns me in to the judge for not cooperating, then I’m done. I’m headed to prison. “Listen, I need to make this work. Desperately. I didn’t mean to make your sister mad. I’m exhausted. Last night was the first night in the half-way house and I have a roommate who snores like a freight train. Then I had to get up this morning before dawn and meditate with a room full of losers.”

  That makes him laugh and I take a chance.

  “Help me convince your sister not to turn me in.”

 
“I could, but you’re going to have to do the work. All of it.”

  “I can feed dogs—whatever.”

  “It’s more than that, dude. It’s your attitude.” Paul looks me up and down. “And you can’t wear fancy clothes like that here. It’s an animal rescue farm. We clean up a lot of crap. Literal crap.”

  I nod. “Okay. I can do that.”

  “My sister may be tiny, but she’s got a huge heart. She’s also smart. You can’t come in here and fake compassion, but if you keep your head down and your mouth shut and do what you’re told, this can be over in thirty days.”

  “All right.”

  “This place is her everything. She’s not going to let someone like you destroy that for her.”

  Her everything. It’s a loaded statement and I want to ask more, but I don’t. “I understand. Thanks.”

  “Don’t thank me yet. Let me see if she’s called yet.”

  I swallow and nod.

  “While I’m gone, you can take the dogs to the run over there.” He points to a fenced in area not far away. “One at a time. Use a leash. After that,” he walks over to a big crate and pulls out a stack of newspapers, “start repapering the cages.”

  I open my mouth to argue but shut it with a snap when his eyebrow lifts. “Got it.”

  “Good.” He claps me on the back. “I’ll see if I can work this out.”

  “Thanks, man.”

  He walks off, leaving me in the kennel alone. I try hard not to see the irony.

  It’s been less than an hour and I’m already in the dog house.

  6

  Mave

  “And then he asked what’s the point of keeping a weak animal?! Can you believe that?” I look down at Lolly and stroke her soft fur. “What a jerk.”

  The door opens, and Paul enters the room.

  “Did he leave?” I ask.