Troublemaker by Linda Howard

childish. She clenched her teeth, then grudgingly said, “You’re right, and this isn’t getting us anywhere. I’ll try to keep her away from you. Before you pass out again, you need to eat something. What would you like?”
    â€œI’m not hungry.”
    â€œOkay, I’ll fix you a smoothie.”
    An appalled expression crossed his face before he quickly blanked it and said, “No, thanks, I’m really not hungry.”
    â€œI didn’t ask if you were hungry.” Her tone was curt. “If you don’t have something, you’ll just get weaker. It’s common sense. If you aren’t up to solid food, I can throw together a smoothie with some peanut butter, milk, banana—things like that. That way you’ll at least have something nourishing.”
    â€œHow about just some milk?”
    â€œFine with me, as long as it has peanut butter and a banana in it.”
    He muttered something under his breath, but her own expression must have said he’d drink it or wear it, so he finally said, “I don’t care, make what you want.”
    She intended to. She turned and went to the kitchen, which meant the middle section of the wide-open bottom floor plan. She lived in a barn—a real, honest-to-God barn, one that she herself had overseen the design and renovation of, though it hadn’t been for herself because she’d never wanted to live in a barn. She’d done it for a client who had then backed out on her, leaving her saddled with debt and a barn dwelling she didn’t want in a location she hadn’t picked for herself.
    But it had worked out. She couldn’t say it hadn’t. The barn had become hers, and she had made a life for herself here in this little corner of West Virginia, with the mountains and rivers and plenty of space for Tricks. She had friends, she had a job—two of them—and damn if she wasn’t content with it all.
    The kitchen was a brightly lit square, framed by posts that set it off, and the flooring was slate while the rest of the first floor was plank hardwood. It was so open that she could keep an eye on both Tricks and Yancy while she threw things into the blender: milk, yogurt, peanut butter, a banana, vanilla flavoring. She kept the portions small, because she didn’t think he’d be able to down very much. That was guessing on her part because she’d never been seriously ill or injured, but she imagined his appetite would be slow to return. The trick was to keep enough nutrients in him that he’d get better. The deal was to give him a safe place to recuperate, right? Once he had recuperated and could take care of himself, he’d be gone; therefore, the better care she took of him now, even if she had to bully him to eat, the better the deal for her.
    Besides, she liked the idea of bullying him. He’d not only tried to choke her, but he didn’t like Tricks. She found the second charge the most damning. Okay, so a lot of people weren’t animal lovers, but considering his position in her house he’d been damned rude about it. He wasn’t even allergic because he hadn’t started sneezing or anything evenwhen he was lying on the sofa, where Tricks liked to lounge. Some people were just butts, with no other explanation needed for their behavior.
    She added ice to the blender and turned it on, running it until the contents were smooth. Then she poured it into a glass, stuck a straw in it, and took it to the sofa. “Here,” she said, setting the glass on the end table. “Cheers.”
    Reluctantly he picked up the smoothie and sipped at it. It must not have been as bad as he’d anticipated, because he took a few more sips, then sighed and set it down. “Thanks,” he said, and though the word was grudging at least he said it.
    â€œYou’re welcome. I need to take her for a walk—” At the word “walk,” Tricks grabbed her tennis