Better Than People

  Simon Burke has always preferred animals to people. When the countdown to adopting his own dog is unexpectedly put on hold, Simon turns to the PetShare app to find the fluffy TLC he’s been missing. Meeting a grumpy children’s book illustrator who needs a dog walker isn’t easy for the man whose persistent anxiety has colored his whole life, but Jack Matheson’s menagerie is just what Simon needs.

  Four dogs, three cats and counting. Jack’s pack of rescue pets is the only company he needs. But when a bad fall leaves him with a broken leg, Jack is forced to admit he needs help. That the help comes in the form of the most beautiful man he’s ever seen is a complicated, glorious surprise.

  Being with Jack—talking, walking, making out—is a game changer for Simon. And Simon’s company certainly…eases the pain of recovery for Jack. But making a real relationship work once Jack’s cast comes off will mean compromise, understanding and lots of love.

  Also available from Roan Parrish

  The Middle of Somewhere series:

  In the Middle of Somewhere

  Out of Nowhere

  Where We Left Off

  The Small Change series:

  Small Change

  Invitation to the Blues

  The Riven series:

  Riven

  Rend

  Raze

  Stand-alones:

  The Remaking of Corbin Wale

  Natural Enemies

  Heart of the Steal

  Thrall

  Better Than People

  Roan Parrish

  For our beloved companions, past, present and future.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Excerpt from Hairpin Curves by Elia Winters

  Chapter One

  Jack

  If you had told Jack Matheson when he woke up this morning that he’d end the day at the bottom of a ditch, he wouldn’t have been terribly surprised. After all, his whole life felt like it was spent at the bottoms of ditches these days—what was one more literal one?

  The nightly walk had begun as they usually did. As soon as he finished dinner and placed his plate and fork in the sink, the dogs had clustered around him, eyes hopeful and tongues out, ready to prowl. Bernard butted his huge head against Jack’s thighs in encouragement while Puddles hung back, waiting to follow the group out. Dandelion pawed at the ground excitedly, and Rat vibrated in place, tiny body taut with anticipation.

  The cats cleaned themselves or snoozed on various surfaces, watching with disinterest, except for Pirate. Pirate twined her way through the forest of legs and paws and tails, back arched, sleek and ready.

  “Let’s head out,” Jack said, clipping on leashes and straightening harnesses as he shoved his feet into worn boots and plastic bags in his back pocket.

  Pirate led the way, trotting light-footed ahead of them, then doubling back like a scout. Huge, snuggly Bernard—a St. Bernard who’d been with him the longest—took turns walking next to each of the others, nipping and licking at his friends enthusiastically, and drawing back when he accidentally shoved them off their feet. Bernard didn’t know his own strength.

  Dandelion pranced along, happy as always to snap at the breeze or a puff of dust, or simply to be outside.

  Puddles walked carefully, his soft golden face swinging back and forth, alert for danger, and he jumped at every sound. Twice, Jack had to scoop him up and carry him over the puddles he refused to step in or walk around.

  Rat took the lead, just behind Pirate, her tiny legs going hummingbird fast to keep ahead of the others. She kept her nose to the ground, and if she scented a threat, she’d be the first to take it on.

  Their leashes crisscrossed throughout the walk, and Jack untangled them absently as he kept one eye on the animals and the other on the sky.

  Summer had settled into autumn, and the leaves of Garnet Run, Wyoming, were tipped with red and gold. The air held the first promises of winter, and Jack found himself sighing deeply. Winter was beautiful here. His little cottage was cozy, his fireplace warm, and the woods peaceful.

  But this year, for the first time in nearly a decade, he wouldn’t have work to occupy him as the snow fell outside.

  Jack growled and clenched his fists against the fury that roared in his ears as he anticipated yet another night without a notebook in his hand.

  Bernard snuffled against his thigh and Puddles whined. This—this right here was why animals beat people, paws down.

  They were sensitive. They cared. They wanted to be loved and they gave love back. Animals never betrayed you the way people did. They were loyal.

  “It’s okay,” Jack murmured. He scratched Bernard’s massive head and ran gentle fingers over Puddles’ tense ears. “I’ll be okay.”

  Bernard gave his elbow an enthusiastic lick.

  “I’ll be okay,” Jack repeated firmly, to himself this time, as a squirrel’s over-enthusiastic labors dislodged an acorn from an overhanging branch. The acorn rustled through the leaves and fell directly onto the soft fur between Puddles’ ears, where Jack’s fingers had stroked a moment before.

  Puddles, skittish at the best of times, reared into the air, fur bristling, and took off into the trees, his leash slipping through Jack’s fingers.

  “Dammit, Puddles, no!”

  Jack tried to follow, but Bernard had plopped down on the soft grass at the tree line and was currently rolling himself in evening smells. It was useless to attempt to move Bernard once he was on the ground, even for a man of Jack’s size.

  “Stay!” Jack commanded. Bernard woofed, Dandelion flopped down beside him, Rat clawed at the ground, teeth bared. “Pirate, watch them,” he called to the cat, even though Pirate had never given him any indication that she understood orders, much less took them.

  Jack took off after Puddles. The thought of the dog afraid made Jack’s heart pound and he ran full-out.

  Puddles had been a trembling mess when Jack found him by the side of the road two years before, and it had taken a month before the Lab would even eat the food Jack offered from his hand. Slowly, painstakingly, he had gained Puddles’ trust, and the dog had joined the rest of his pack.

  “Puddles!” Jack called into the twilight. He heard a whine ahead and sped up, muscles burning, glad for his afternoon runs. Leaves crunched up ahead to his left and Jack zagged. “Puddles?”

  Dark was closing in on the woods and Jack narrowed his eyes, hoping to avoid running smack into a tree. When he heard Puddles’ soft bark from up ahead he threw himself forward again.

  “I’m here!” he shouted, and was answered with another bark. Then, the sound of crackling branches split the quiet and a whine and thud stopped Jack’s heart. He barreled forward to see what had happened, and heard the sound again as his legs broke through what he’d thought was underbrush, and found no solid ground on the other side.


  His legs windmilled and his hands caught at the air for a second that seemed like forever. Then he landed hard and rolled down an embankment, stones and branches pummeling him on the way down.

  Jack came to a sudden stop with a head-rattling lurch and a gut-churning snap. For a single heavenly moment, there was no pain, just the relief of stillness. Then the world righted itself, and with clarity came agony.

  “Oh, fuck,” Jack gasped. “Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck.”

  He bit his lip and lifted his swimming head just enough to peer down at his right leg, where the pain ripped into him with steely teeth. Nausea flooded him as he saw the unnatural angle of his leg and he wrenched his gaze away.

  For three breaths, Jack did nothing but try not to puke. Then a wet, trembling nose nudged his hand, and he opened his eyes to Puddles’ warm brown gaze.

  “Thank god.” Jack sucked in a breath and lifted a shaky hand to the dog’s side. “You okay, bud?”

  Puddles sat down beside him and rested his chin on Jack’s shoulder, a loyal sentinel.

  For some reason, it brought tears to Jack’s eyes.

  * * *

  “I’m fine, Charlie. Jesus, back off.” Jack growled at his older brother, who was hovering over him, one large, rough hand nervously stroking his beard, the other catching on the over-starched hospital sheets as he tucked them around Jack.

  After hours of pain, insurance forms, and answering the same questions for every nurse and doctor that came along, Jack’s habitual brusqueness had morphed into exhausted annoyance.

  “Yeah. When I got the phone call to meet you at the hospital after you’d been found crumpled at the bottom of a hill with your bones sticking out I definitely thought, ‘He’s totally fine,’” Charlie said flatly.

  They looked alike—the same reddish-blond hair and hazel eyes; the same large, solid builds, though Charlie was bigger, muscles honed from his constant physical labor—and despite his brother’s droll reply, Jack could see a familiar fear in his expression, and in the way he stood close, as if he wanted to be able to touch Jack and check that he was all right.

  Charlie had looked after him his whole life, worried about him his whole life. It would be useless to expect him to stop now. Not that Jack really wanted him to.

  “Sorry.” Jack fisted his hands at his sides and closed his eyes.

  Charlie eased his bulk down onto the side of the bed.

  “I know I’ve been saying I wanted to see you more,” Charlie said, making his voice lighter. “But this isn’t exactly what I meant.”

  Jack snorted and punched his brother a glancing blow to the shoulder. He hadn’t actually meant for it to be glancing, but it seemed his strength had left him.

  On the table next to his bed something familiar had appeared: his sketchbook and three pens. His gut clenched.

  “Where did those come from?”

  “I brought them from your place. Boring in here.”

  “I don’t want ’em.”

  Charlie’s sincere and puzzled expression deepened.

  “What? You’ve never gone a day without drawing in your life. I thought especially in here you’d want—”

  “Well, I don’t,” Jack bit off. He closed his eyes. He hadn’t told his brother that he hadn’t drawn in eight months. Not since Davis...

  Clearly confused, Charlie picked up the sketchbook and pens, huge hand dwarfing them.

  Jack swallowed down his rage and fear and disappointment. He felt like every shitty moment of the last eight months had somehow been leading up to this: concussion, broken leg, cracked ribs, lying in a cramped hospital bed, with absolutely nothing to look forward to.

  Darkness swallowed him as he realized that now the one thing he’d taken pleasure in since his life went to shit—walking with the animals—was off the table for the foreseeable future.

  “Fuck.” Jack sighed, and he felt it in his whole body. Charlie leaned closer. “What’m I gonna do?”

  * * *

  The app was called PetShare and one of the nurses had recommended it after a failed attempt to have Charlie smuggle the dogs into Jack’s hospital room had led the nurse to enquire about Jack’s situation. She’d taken his phone from his hand, downloaded it for him, then returned the phone and said sternly, “No dogs in a hospital. Obviously.”

  Now, home and settled on the couch with a pillow and blanket after basically being tucked in by Charlie and promising he’d call if he needed anything, Jack fumbled out his phone and made a profile.

  Username? He hated usernames.

  JackOfAllDogs, he typed. Then, with a guilty glance at the cats, he changed it to JackOfAllPets. Then he decided that looked too much like Jack off and changed it to JMatheson.

  At the app’s prompting he uploaded a photo of Bernard for his profile picture. Then on to the questions. He hated answering questions. When he got to the final box, which asked him to explain what he was looking for, he grumbled to himself as he thumbed too-small keys, wishing he could draw instead of type. He’d always been better with images than with words anyway. Somehow, people always took his words the wrong way.

  That’s why it had felt so fortuitous when he’d met Davis, who seemed to pluck the words he intended from his drawings and put them on the page. A perfect partnership. Or so he’d thought.

  He banished all thoughts of Davis from his mind and mashed the Submit Profile button, then shoved his phone back into his pocket.

  PetShare matched pet owners with animal enthusiasts who didn’t have pets of their own. Some of the users were people like Jack who needed help with animal care. Others were just willing to let animal lovers spend time with their pets. But with four dogs (and a cat) who needed twice-daily walks, Jack wasn’t optimistic about his chances of being matched with someone, no matter how enthusiastic they were. He imagined he might need three or four interested parties to meet his animals’ needs.

  Charlie had volunteered to walk them until he found someone, and he didn’t want to burden his brother any longer than he had to. Charlie had the hardware store to run, and he spent long hours there and on construction sites.

  Jack flicked on the television. He’d never watched much TV before the Davis debacle. The worlds he dreamt up in his head and the world outside his door had always been preferable to any he’d found on the screen. But over the past eight months he’d learned the numbing power of flickering lights and voices that required no response.

  Wanting something mindless and distracting, Jack selected Secaucus Psychic. Maybe seeing people who’d lost family members to actual death would put a broken leg in perspective.

  Hell, who was he kidding. He didn’t want perspective. He wanted to sink into the couch and into his bad mood and sulk for just a little longer.

  He’d banned Bernard from the couch because, though fully grown, the St. Bernard behaved like a puppy, flopping on top of Jack despite weighing nearly as much as him, and with a leg held together with pins and casting, and ribs and head aching, Jack didn’t think he could take a careless flop. So instead, Bernard had piled himself on the floor in front of the couch, as close to Jack as he could get, and lolled his massive head back every few minutes to check if he was allowed on the couch yet.

  Pirate curled delicately in the crook of his elbow, though, and he stroked her back, making her rumble.

  An unfamiliar ding from his pocket startled both Jack and Pirate. It was the notification sound for PetShare. Jack thumbed the app open and saw that he’d matched. Someone whose username was SimpleSimon and lived 6.78 miles away from him had checked the I’d love to! option next to Jack’s description of what he was looking for.

  “I’ll be damned,” Jack said to the animals. “Either this dude is a saint or he’s got no life at all.”

  Pirate yawned and stretched out a paw to lazily dig her claws into his shoulder.

  “Fine, jee
z, I know. I don’t have one either,” Jack grumbled, and resentfully clicked Accept.

  * * *

  It was a horrible night. One of Jack’s worst.

  Because of his concussion, he couldn’t take a strong enough painkiller to touch the ache in his ribs and the screaming in his leg. He tossed and turned, and finally gave up on sleep, searching the darkness for the familiar reflective eyes watching him. After a moment, he lurched upright. The sudden movement shot pain through his head and chest and leg and left him gasping and nauseated, clutching the edge of the mattress until the worst of it passed.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck.

  Finally, having learned his lesson, Jack gingerly pushed himself off the bed and shoved the crutches under his arms. The pull of the muscles across his chest as he used his arms to propel him forward left his ribs in agony. By the time he got to the bathroom, usually just ten quick steps away, he was sweating and swearing, teeth clenched hard.

  Then, the drama of lowering his pants.

  “Can’t even take a damn piss without fucking something up,” Jack muttered. At least, that’s what he’d intended to mutter before the pain and exhaustion stole the luxury of indulging in self-deprecating commentary.

  Humbled and infuriated in equal measure, Jack gave up on sleep entirely. Coffee. That’s what he needed. Coffee was the opposite of sleep. Coffee was a choice he could make when apparently he couldn’t control a single other goddamn thing in his pathetic, broken life.

  The trip to the kitchen was suddenly rife with unexpected hazards. A squeaky dog toy sent him lurching to one side, groaning at his wrenched ribs and the shock of pain that shot through his leg. When he could move again, his crutch clipped the edge of a pile of unopened mail that had sat for weeks, which cascaded across the floorboards like a croupier’s expert spread of cards.

  Naturally, that got the attention of several animals and Jack stood very still while the envelopes were swatted at, swept by tails, and finally, in the case of the largest envelope, flopped upon by Pickles, the smallest of his cats.