Shelter Me

by Allyson Charles

  He wrinkled his brow. “And you tried to clean it up?”

  “No.” She took a step toward the cash register. Splashes of red stained her cheeks. “I happened to be in the stall with the female at the time. She was aggressive and snapping at me so I couldn’t step back and before I could get the door open, I, well…”

  He bit back a smile. “Got caught in the crossfire.”

  “I washed up there as best I could, and I changed into the workout clothes I keep in my car.” Her shoulders slumped. “But it’s like the smell is burned into my skin.”

  Handing her bag of treats to the cashier, he cocked a hip against the counter. “You should have gone home for a shower.”

  “Thanks for the advice,” she bit out, and swiped her card through the reader. It didn’t process, and she ran it through again, slower. “I forgot to get food for my cats. I didn’t want to go home empty-handed.” She plucked up the strap to her tank top and sniffed. “Do I really smell that bad?”

  “Yes. It’s horrible.”

  She clenched her fist. “Well, if you’re so disgusted by the way I smell, you can stop talking to me and take a couple steps back.”

  Snatching her receipt from the cashier, she pulled the bag to her stomach and stomped out the door.

  “Dude.” The teenager behind the counter scanned his bag of dog food. “Even I know you don’t tell a chick she smells.”

  James threw some cash at the kid, took his bag, and hurried from the store. He spotted her shoving the dog treats in the back of a dented hatchback.

  He leaned against the side of her car. “You’re upset.” He frowned. He didn’t understand why people reacted that way to him. Yes, he didn’t tolerate bullshit and had been told more than once he should get a filter, but basically he was a decent guy. “I only spoke the truth.”

  She narrowed her eyes.

  “Look, I’m sorry if I offended you.” He dropped his bag of dog food at his feet. “Let me make it up to you. Dinner this week.”

  “No thanks.” Sweeping her hand to the side, she tried to wave him out of her path.

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “I’ll take you wherever you want to go.”

  “I want to go to my car.” She nodded at the driver’s side door pointedly.

  He ignored that. His time in Shelter Bay had been filled with frozen dinners and awkward silences with his dad. After playing nursemaid for so long, he deserved some adult time. A nice dinner with a pretty woman. Something told him there wouldn’t be any awkward silences with Sarah, but even if there were, at least he’d be staring at something nicer than a TV screen while he ate.

  He tried another tack. “What were you doing at the shelter? Don’t they have their own vets?”

  “They do.”

  Hmm. He was good at getting information, and he’d always enjoyed the hunt. He rested his arm on top of her car, making it look like he had all the time in the world. Some people thought accountancy was boring, but James loved finding the patterns in the numbers. Delving deep into P&Ls and balance sheets to uncover the wellbeing of a business. Discovering the bottom line when companies tried to bury it in a twenty-page financial statement.

  He could find out about one Sarah Martineau from Shelter Bay if he put his mind to it. His shoulders sagged. It was sad that this was now the biggest excitement in his life. But long nights, constant stress, and arguments with a father who didn’t seem to appreciate that his son had given up his life to take care of him had taken its toll. Especially when that father had failed to do the same for his son.

  Anger was burning a hole in his gut. Making time with Dr. Martineau was the first thing that hadn’t pissed him off in over three months.

  Sagging against her car, Sarah ran a hand down her braid and pulled it over one shoulder. James’s fingers itched to trace the herringbone pattern, see if her hair felt as soft as it looked. “The director of the shelter was nice enough to give me some advice on my new project in exchange for me helping out on occasion,” she said. “I’m going to open up a feral cat rescue operation.”

  “In addition to your veterinarian practice?” he asked. Sarah nodded. “Are you forming a non-profit?”

  “Of course.” Tipping up her chin, she tried to look down her nose at him, and failed. “The feral cats aren’t going to pay me.”

  Smartass. He liked that. “Are you going to incorporate? Have you filed with the Attorney General yet? The IRS or the Secretary of State?”

  Her attitude evaporated, and she rubbed her forehead. “No. And what do you know about starting a non-profit?”

  “I’ve incorporated a few.” At her raised eyebrows, he shrugged. “I work for Carson Lang and Associates, an accounting firm in San Francisco. I know regulations.”

  “Oh.” She chewed on her bottom lip, and James waited. Everyone wanted free advice. Usually it annoyed him and he directed people to call him at his office for a paid consultation. For Sarah, he’d make an exception.

  She straightened. “Well, I guess I’ll look up a local accountant. Doing my own taxes is a pain anyway. So”—she sidled around him—“I’ll see you around.”

  He turned with her. As she brushed past him, he stopped his nose from wrinkling. Barely. The fresh air had cleared his sinuses, and the stench of dog piss struck him anew. He powered through it. “I’m on family leave, probably for a couple more weeks. I could help you.”

  “Why would you want to?”

  Another cynic. James smiled. He liked her more and more. “Why wouldn’t I? I’ll buy you dinner and we’ll discuss what all goes into incorporating.”

  “I don’t think—”

  “You’re right.” He crossed his arms. “I’m helping you out, you should buy me dinner.”

  Sarah fought a smile, and he knew he had her. He rocked onto the balls of his feet. “I’ll call you to set up a time when we can meet.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “I didn’t say yes.”

  “You will.” His phone vibrated in his back pocket, and he pulled it out. “Give me a second. I have to get this.” He took a step back. “Hi, Taina. What’d my dad do now?”

  He listened to the home health aide, and his body went cold.

  “Walk the neighborhood. I’ll be right there.”

  He hung up. Leaning down, he scooped up the bag of dog food and hefted it on to one shoulder. “I’ve got to go. I’ll call you about our meeting.”

  She took a step closer and placed her hand on his arm. “Is anything wrong? Did Ginger get out?”

  James ground his jaw. Even the soft heat of her hand on his bare skin wasn’t enough to soothe him. “Nope. Not the dog. My dad’s gone missing.”

  Chapter Five

  The little white hand hovered over the Send button. Her finger tensed, and Sarah pulled back, staring at her computer like it was an undetonated bomb. Jeez. Sometimes her indecisiveness disgusted even herself. Just push the dang button. With a deep breath, and a quick prayer, she hit send.

  Her message to her bio dad disappeared into the interwebs.

  She chewed on her thumbnail. After a couple days emailing back and forth, one awkward phone conversation, she’d finally sucked up her nerve and done it. She’d asked her dad if they could meet.

  Groaning, she placed her forehead on her kitchen table. Brad was going to kill her. Or kill their bio dad. She was going to have to keep those two apart. Her brother could never know their father was in town. Not until he warmed to the idea of meeting the man.

  So, basically never.

  A knock at the door snapped her head up. Glancing at the clock above the stove, she stood, closed her laptop, and headed to the door. She hopped over the clever trap her cat, Clementine, had set by stretching his orange body halfway in the kitchen and halfway in the living room, bent to scratch Huckleberry behind his ear, before pulling open the door.

  “Hi, Cass. Right on time.” Leaning forward, she grabbed one of the two boxes her friend carried. Pl
astic bags of Chinese take-out hung from her fingers.

  Stepping through the door, Cass lowered her box to the entry table and rolled her shoulders. “Thanks for doing this. You know those kids I hired last time did a crap job. I caught one sticking the mailing labels to the envelopes upside down.”

  “Of course.” Grabbing the bags of food, Sarah headed for the kitchen. She had plenty of her own work to do, and hours of research on her new organization, but when her friend had asked her for help with her mailings, Sarah couldn’t say no. Cass was always ready to lend a helping hand; Sarah could do no less.

  Examining her fridge, Sarah asked, “Beer, diet soda, or water?”

  “Beer.”

  Sarah pulled out two IPAs and sat down to the feast Cassie laid out. “I still don’t understand why you don’t advertise online. I think you’re living in the wrong century.”

  Cassie sucked noodles into her mouth and dug into the carton of lo mein with her chopsticks for more. “No matter how paperless we want to be as a society, you still can’t beat direct mailings.” She pushed the broccoli beef carton toward Sarah. “It’s not that much. I’m only sending them out to businesses in our county this time.”

  Sarah’s phone vibrated next to her plate. She drew her eyebrows together at the unfamiliar number. “Hello?”

  “Is this Sarah Martineau?” a semi-familiar woman’s voice asked.

  “It is. How can I help you?”

  Who is it? Cassie mouthed.

  Sarah shrugged.

  “This is a concerned citizen. Is it true you’re planning on starting a feral cat foundation?”

  “Uh, yes it is.” How did someone know about her non-profit? She hadn’t told anyone about it. Except James. And Cassie. And her family. And maybe a couple of clients.

  “I see.” The woman went quiet.

  “Did you want to volunteer?” Sarah asked.

  The woman huffed. “Not hardly. I’m merely gathering information.”

  “Oookay. Is there something in particular you’d like to know?” Like how to donate to it? Fundraising was going to be her biggest issue.

  “Oh, I think I’ve got your number. You’ll be hearing from me.” The woman hung up.

  Sarah stared at her screen. “That was weird.”

  Her phone rang again. She dropped it like it was hot.

  “Who’s it now?” Cassie asked.

  She let it ring until voicemail picked up. “It’s my dad. We haven’t talked since his party.”

  Cassie leaned across the small table and rubbed her shoulder. Then tugged her braid.

  Sarah smiled. Her friend had been tugging her braid ever since she could remember. When Sarah had received her first and only C. When she’d been dumped by her junior prom date. And when Brad had first deployed. Whole conversations could be communicated with that tug.

  “Are you going to return the boat?” Cassie asked.

  “I guess I have to if my dad doesn’t want it.” The back of her throat burned at the reminder of how much her dad didn’t want her gift. “I don’t suppose you’re in the market for a fifteen-foot super sport with a four-stroke engine that only takes five seconds to plane?”

  Cassie laughed. “I don’t even know what you just said. Besides, me and water do not mix.” Dipping a shrimp into sauce, she asked, “What about one of your dad’s colleagues? He’s still working part-time at the merchant marine academy. Someone there must want a boat.”

  “Maybe.” But Sarah would never find out. Trying to hock her dad’s gift to people he knew would be too humiliating. One desperate attempt at approval for sale. Used. Only six thousand dollars.

  She rubbed at the ache behind her breastbone. She could see after the fact that the gift had been too much. She could always see that after the fact. Book smart, but not street smart, as her brother Joe, the cop, liked to point out. How could she not see that her gift would make her dad uncomfortable?

  But he’d done so much for her and Brad after their mother passed. And he’d never held it against her that she—

  Her throat went thick. Thinking about the night her mom died was pointless.

  Her phone buzzed again. Sarah stared at the ceiling. She knew she couldn’t put the moment off forever, but she didn’t want to have this talk with her dad tonight. She’d let it ring and hope he didn’t decide to come over in person.

  Cassie leaned forward and swiped her phone.

  Rats. “Do NOT answer that.” Sarah lunged, but her friend stood and held the phone out of range.

  “I’m doing this for your own good. You need to talk to him.” Eyes fixed firmly on Sarah, Cassie swiped the screen and put the phone to her ear. “Hello! Oh…yes. No. This isn’t Sarah. I’ll get her.”

  Cassie shrugged and handed her the phone. “It’s not your dad. Some guy named James.” She sat back down and broke open a fortune cookie, casually crossing one leg over the other. Sarah wasn’t fooled. Cassie might not be looking at her, but she was paying attention. An unknown man calling her friend’s phone would prick her interest as much as a wounded gazelle would a lion’s.

  “Hi James.” Sarah circled around the table and headed for the living room. Cassie scooted her chair back and kicked her legs up on the door jam, blocking her way. She gave Sarah a smile full of sass and triumph.

  Sarah glared back.

  “Sorry it took a day to return your call.” He sounded weary. Defeated. Unlike the pushy man she’d met in person. “It’s been crazy. But I appreciate your message asking about my dad. He’s fine.”

  Sarah hadn’t known if she should call, but she couldn’t stand the thought of a sweet man with memory problems wandering around town on his own. So she’d looked James’s contact information up at her office and taken a chance.

  “I’m glad to hear that.” The crackle of another fortune cookie cracking open had Sarah turning her back on her friend and huddling by the refrigerator. “And how’s Ginger doing? Are her symptoms going away?”

  “Fine and yes. The antibiotics seem to be working.” He cleared his throat. “Listen, since I have you on the phone, why don’t we set a date for dinner? Tomorrow? Seven o’clock?”

  Nerves bubbled in her stomach. Which was silly. James wasn’t her type. Her type was more misunderstood poet, with sad, puppy-dog eyes. In her family, she was surrounded by testosterone. She didn’t need more of it.

  Still, he was offering to help her out. There had to be more to him than brashness and presumption. And he was giving her advice at a price she could afford: free.

  “I’ll take your silence as assent. Give me your address and I’ll be at your place at seven.”

  And obnoxious James was back.

  “First of all, silence is never consent. Secondly, I don’t think—”

  “Great.” He called out to someone else, his words muffled, like he was covering the phone, before coming back on the line. “I’ll pick you up at your office. See you then.”

  “What? I never…,” she began, but it was too late. He’d already hung up. She glared at the phone. “Of all the nerve.”

  “Who was that?” Cassie swung her legs down to the floor with a thud.

  “James Marshall. I treated his dad’s dog the other day.” Stacking the plates in the sink, she tried to shrug off her irritation.

  “And?” Clearing the table, Cassie bumped her shoulder as she walked by.

  “And he offered to help me set up my nonprofit.” She frowned. “He’s a CPA. From San Francisco.” Where he lived shouldn’t be a strike against him, but she took it as one.

  Pulling out her phone, Cassie started typing. She whistled. “He works for Carson Lang. They’re supposed to be really good. And expensive.” She scrolled through some more pages. Her eyes widened. “Damn. I’m looking at his profile on the company website. He’s hot.”

  “He’s an obnoxious son of a beehive.” Sarah remembered her first impression of him. Yes, he’d been hot enough to burn. But when h
e opened his mouth his appeal diminished exponentially.

  “Who cares? A CPA from a top firm has offered you free help.”

  “But—”

  Cassie made a slashing motion with her hand. “No buts.” She looked back at her phone. “I can’t tell from the photo. Is he tall?”

  “About Brad’s height. Too tall for me.” She didn’t need another man towering over her and telling her what to do. Four Martineaus was enough. Grabbing a rag, Sarah wiped the table. “He’s really more your type than mine.”

  “I notice you didn’t say he was a creep.” Cassie strode to the living room, and came back carrying her boxes. She laid them on the table. “You know that seems to be my type.”

  “My impression is he’s a domineering jerk, not a creep. You like those better than I do.”

  Cassie snorted. “True enough,” she muttered. “But I don’t do men with issues. Not anymore. And living in San Francisco is a big issue.”

  Sarah handed her friend another beer. Cassie had been hurt badly by a man she’d been ready to settle down with. His depression had led to drug use, lies, and stealing. It not only had wrecked his relationship with Cassie, but also ended his life. Guilt ate at her friend. Guilt Cassie hadn’t earned but couldn’t seem to shake. It had made her gun-shy when it came to dating.

  Sarah sat across from her and pulled a box of advertisements to her. She knew all about guilt. What she didn’t know was how to get rid of it. Or if she even deserved to.

  She folded a flyer and slid it in an envelope. “So it’s agreed. James isn’t right for either of us. I’ll ply him with wine and food, soak up his knowledge, and then toss him aside,” she said lightly.

  Cassie brought his picture up on her phone again. “Honey, you need to do a lot more than ‘soak up his knowledge.’ Make him really earn his dinner. Have some fun with that.” Pumpkin rubbed against Cassie’s leg, and she bent to pick him up, placing him on her lap.