by Unknown
Except for Shay.
He didn’t know what to make of the fact that she was still there. She had been sitting under a tree on a park bench for the better part of the morning. He’d first seen her when he’d stopped by the hardware store earlier that morning, only she’d been sitting with her three-legged mutt—waiting. For what he didn’t know, but she had looked eagerly expectant.
It was now lunchtime and she was still there in the same denim skirt and summery top that tied around her neck and floated around her curves, but the smile was gone—so was the dog.
In its place was a half-eaten bag of minidoughnuts.
“I know it’s not raining,” Jonah said, extending her a paper cup, “but I believe I owe you one of these.”
Shay looked up at the cup and eyed it skeptically, then eyed him skeptically, as if waiting to see what the catch was. Oddly enough, today Jonah didn’t have any ulterior motives. He’d seen her sitting alone, remembered that he’d promised her coffee, and acted. Not his usual MO.
The suspicious way she was glaring only had him rethinking things more.
“Mind if I have a seat or do I need to stand to enjoy my cup?”
“By all means.” Shay picked up what was left of her bag of doughnuts, dusted a few crumbs off the wood, and patted the bench in welcome. “But I’m not sharing my doughnuts, Sheriff.”
“Never expected you to, Trouble,” he said, not bothering to correct her that he wasn’t sheriff yet, then sat before she changed her mind, and placed her cup between them.
She picked it up and took a tentative sniff, watching him over the rim of the cup the entire time. “Salted caramel?”
“As promised.”
Her expression went from surprise to sheer bafflement, but for a brief moment he’d caught a flash of something that was raw and vulnerable and—
Oh, crap. Say it wasn’t so.
Beneath the bite-me attitude, those big brown eyes of hers were red-rimmed and vulnerable and a little too misty for his liking.
“I can always go back and trade in that cavity-inducing syrup concoction you seem to be so fond for drip crap if it would make you feel better,” he said, going for light.
She didn’t even crack a smile, instead looking more confused and, okay, back to being suspicious again.
“It’s just a cup of coffee, Shay,” he said because the way she was acting, one would think he’d just offered her an active grenade.
“I know.” But her gaze went from the cup to him, carefully assessing—and not in an appreciative way. Not that he blamed her. Jonah was sweaty, covered in sawdust, and in desperate need of a shower. “More home improvements?”
He didn’t want her to know that it wasn’t his home he was improving. If she heard he was building a dog fence for Domino, she might ask why. A question he wasn’t sure how to answer anymore, especially after Adam had ripped him a new one over it the other night.
It also wasn’t something he wanted to examine too closely, so he said, “Something like that.”
His answer triggered her BS meter, he could tell, but she forced a small smile to her lips. “Thank you. I needed this.”
“Rough day?”
“Tripod went to his family this morning, which is awesome,” she said in a tone that didn’t sound like it had been all that awesome for her.
She took a sip of her latte and went back to staring out at the park. She didn’t elaborate, didn’t ask him to leave, didn’t offer him a doughnut, but after a few minutes quietly admitted, “It sucked.”
A strange tenderness washed through Jonah at her honesty. Usually she worked hard at keeping things surface level with him, so the admission was surprising and endearing.
Two of the worst reactions he could have to a woman he wasn’t interested in.
“It’s obvious you want them as your pets, so why don’t you keep them?”
“They’re not mine to keep,” she said as though completely confused by his question. “I am lucky enough to be a part of their journey, and to help them find their families.”
All the struggle and hard work to make families complete yet she goes home alone. Not unlike his own situation. “And that’s enough for you?”
Her face softened with resignation and pride. “For now it is.”
“How long have you been doing this?”
“Since I was twelve.” She picked a doughnut out of her bag and popped it into her mouth. A clear sign that the conversation was over.
Jonah didn’t want it to be over, he wanted to know more, so he sat patiently waiting for her to continue. When she plucked out another doughnut, he leaned back, put his arms across the top of the park bench, and stretched out. The I’ve got all day was implied.
With a sigh, she continued. “The summer after my mom passed I found a cat that had been hit by a car. He was still alive and a bit scuffed. I wasn’t allowed to have a cat in the house, so I hid him in the garage.”
“Your dad wouldn’t let you have a cat?” Jonah didn’t know the first thing about raising kids, but for a girl who had just lost her mom, giving her something to care for and connect with seemed like a no-brainer.
“Not my dad, my foster parents,” she said as if it was no biggie, but Jonah bet that at the time it was the biggest thing in her little world. “I was placed with a couple who wanted a baby, so they didn’t feel comfortable letting me keep a pet when they knew I’d be moved. But my teacher had just lost her cat, so I got Commissioner Gordon—”
“Commissioner Gordon?”
“What? I was twelve and a big Batman fan. Do you want to hear the rest of the story, or would you like to keep smirking at me?”
“Sorry.” He ran a hand over his mouth. “There, smirk gone. But at some point we are going to talk about how you named a cat after a police commissioner.”
She rolled her eyes. “Anyway, I got him healthy and then snuck him to school in my backpack. Mrs. Halliday took one look at Commissioner Gordon and I knew.” She lifted one shoulder slightly. “That was my first adoption.”
“How many homes were you in?”
“A few,” she said, and at his silence admitted, “Okay, a lot.”
He’d bet she’d been terrified and scared, because no matter how hard she wished, her world would never be the same.
He had lost his mom at a young age too, then his dad in high school, but Jonah had always had family around, and friends and a town to lean on.
Shay had no one. He got the feeling that over the years that hadn’t changed much.
“That’s a hard pill to swallow gracefully at any age, let alone twelve,” he said.
“I believe the words you’re searching for are temperamental and difficult,” she said in a voice mimicking someone who he assumed was a foster parent or social worker.
“And I bet the word temperamental didn’t help in your file.”
She shrugged it off, but he could tell the words still hurt.
“It was true then and sometimes still is now,” she admitted without apology, which intrigued him.
Shay was a caretaker, that was obvious, yet she lived her life loud and made no apology for it. Jonah was starting to understand that there was so much more to her that she kept hidden.
And if there was one thing that got Jonah going, it was a good mystery.
Shay arrived for her shift at the Paws and Claws Day Spa a few minutes early. She had to put out the water dishes, make sure she had enough peanut butter pupcakes on hand, and still have time to post her flyers announcing the upcoming signings in the window before the customers started pouring in.
Even though it had been raining when she’d left the house, a freak midsummer storm, Shay had walked to work because her oldest rescue, Jabba, needed to burn off the economy-sized box of pudding cups he’d found in the pantry. Today was his day to find a home, Shay just knew it, and since Jabba was a dump truck of a dog who waddled when he walked and made more gastrointestinal noises than a tent full of Boy Scouts, she was determined
not to let a little gas ruin his chances.
What better place to meet his future family than at a crowded pet day spa full of dog lovers?
Okay, so she’d also risked frizzy hair because Wednesday was her neighbor’s day off. Not Estella. Her other neighbor. The one with the amazing tail who kept threatening to cuff her. Only to turn around and bring her a coffee.
Last spring, Jonah had purchased the run-down Craftsman across the street and liked to spend his day off doing manly improvements outside, like digging fence posts, lifting heavy things, and working on the roof. And if Shay timed her departure right, which she always did, she’d catch him just as he was starting to get a little hot and a whole lot sweaty.
She’d smile and say good morning, he’d tip his hat begrudgingly, then pretend he wasn’t checking out her butt when she walked to work, and she’d pretend she always had that swish to her stride. It was their thing. And she looked forward to it.
Only this morning he’d been a no-show, and for some reason that bothered her. Especially after last week in the park. She’d wanted to tell him how sweet it was that he had remembered how she took her coffee—how she hadn’t felt so alone after losing Tripod, but she hadn’t seen Jonah since.
It’s just a cup of coffee, Shay. And she’d do best to remember that.
Shay dropped her bag in her styling chair, unleashed Jabba, who collapsed on the floor panting as if he’d just hiked the north face of Mount Eiger, and was pulling out her new adoption flyers when Peggy appeared from the back room.
“How many more of those dogs did you adopt out last week?”
“Just Tripod,” Shay said but gave a secret smile because she was pretty sure she’d found the perfect family for her nine-year-old beagle, Yodel. The applicant, Ms. Abernathy, was a widow, lived in a house with an enclosed yard, and didn’t like to use her hearing aids—a bonus since Yodel more than lived up to his name.
Peggy didn’t smile back. Eyes serious and lips grim, she reached under the counter and came up with a cardboard box, which she gingerly set right between a display of cheddar dog biscuits and hanging gem-encrusted cat collars.
“I don’t even know why I’m showing you this—you need another charity case like you need a hole in your head—but this was sitting by the back door and it had your name on it, so, here you go.”
Shay walked over to the box, her resolve already melting at the little mewing sounds emanating from the cardboard. She knew what was inside—the holes punched in the top told her it was bundles of love just waiting for someone to recognize what they had to offer. She reached for the lid.
“Before you open that,” Peggy jumped in, “and your save-the-world attitude takes over, remember that you have four dogs who are already counting on you to save their world. And with Bark in the Park coming up, my kennels are booked with clients.”
“I know.” And she did. Her house was already at capacity, which meant she had no business opening that box, because if Peggy was giving her a warning, there was another option.
“Booked, dear. As in, no matter what is in there, I can’t help because there will be no additional space.” Peggy tried to sound stern but failed miserably. It was then that Shay knew Peggy had already peeked inside the box, and what she’d seen was too cute to say no to.
“I wouldn’t expect you to give up kennel space, Peg. Plus, I think Yodel found his new family. All that’s left is the surprise house inspection.” Something that Shay did for all of her pets before she agreed to the adoption. Doing a walk-through when the applicants expected it gave them time to put on their best faces. Shay wanted to see them when they didn’t think anyone was watching.
“Which leaves you with only one space,” Peggy warned, and Shay’s smile went full-blown. For more than one critter to be in a box that size meant—
“Kitties,” she cooed as she opened the lid and found a plethora of whiskers and wet pink noses, and five sets of the bluest eyes staring up at her.
They were some munchkin–Scottish fold mix, four of them peaches and cream and the smallest one, a male, charcoal gray with a white dot on his muzzle. She picked up Dot—look at that, he already has a name—and cuddled him to her chest, gently inspecting his little body. He was tiny and shivering from the rain, his stomach was so sunken she could see his little ribs poking out, and he was covered in enough filth and neglect that it broke Shay’s heart.
“Oh, Peggy, who would do this?”
“I don’t know, honey, but it sure makes you rethink public shaming, doesn’t it? Time to bring back the stocks.”
It made Shay rethink a lot of things, namely how saving just a few here and there wasn’t enough anymore. There were so many animals that needed a champion in their corner—like Dot with his sad eyes and gentle spirit—and Shay wanted to be that champion. She just didn’t have the space.
“I called the county shelter,” Peggy said quietly. “They can take the kittens this afternoon.”
Shay was already shaking her head. “It is the height of kitten season. We’ll be lucky if any of these guys will find a home, let alone all of them.” Which meant they would never get the chance to know what it felt like to be loved and cherished. “Call them back and tell them you found another shelter.”
Peggy dug her hands into her hips, everything in between giving a jiggle. “You aren’t a shelter, missy, you are a foster mom—who is already at her limit for fosters.”
“Kitten season, Peggy.” Shay narrowed one eye and her boss narrowed back. “Plus with the calendar out, Bark in the Park in a few weeks, and the signings, all that exposure is pretty much a guarantee that Jabba and the others will find their homes by the end of the month. You want me to tell these kittens they don’t get a home because of thirty silly days?”
“Fine, you can keep Mr. Whiskers and his siblings here until the end of the day,” Peggy said, picking up the biggest one. “But they better be gone come dinnertime.”
“Mr. Whiskers?”
“They came with names.” Peggy held up a piece of binder paper that had Shay’s name scribbled in purple marker and enough fold marks to pass for origami. “And instructions.”
Shay cuddled Dot close to her chest and gave him a little scratch under the chin, while Peggy unfolded the letter. It didn’t take much before a little rumble of contentment escaped from the kitten, although his eyes remained guarded and glued on Shay.
“Dear Saint,” Peggy read, then with a sigh, handed Shay the letter. “Just Saint, isn’t that sweet?”
Sweet and telling. She stared at the rudimentary letters, and the heart over the i in saint gave her a pretty good idea of who had dropped off that box. It looked as though Goldilocks was taking her journey into sainthood seriously.
There wasn’t a signature at the bottom, but a list of names with coordinating drawings. Not that they helped distinguish one from the other. Besides Kitty Fantastic, a solid gray one with curled ears, and Dot, whose given name was Patches, they were all orange and white.
“Mr. Whiskers, Princess, MiMi, Lovekinz, Kitty Fantastic, and Patches,” Shay read aloud while trying, without much luck, to match the drawing to the kittens.
“I got as far as Mr. Whiskers being the biggest and Patches with his spot, but then I was stumped.”
Shay looked from the list to the box, counting three times to make sure she wasn’t mistaken. “Where’s the sixth kitten? There are six names but only five here.”
“I know, I counted several times,” Peggy said gently, giving Mr. Whiskers a kiss on the head. “The closest I could come up with is that Kitty Fantastic didn’t make it.”
Shay gave a single nod and pulled Dot close. “I’d better call Dr. Huntington and see if he has time to check these guys out,” she said, referring to the town’s vet, whose heart was as big as his belly and who always gave discounts for Shay’s fosters. “Do you mind if I get them cleaned up and settled in one of the smaller kennels?”
“Make it fast. We’ve got a full schedule today.”
>
“If Dr. Huntington clears them, I’ll take them home on my lunch break. These guys have had a rough start. The least I can do is get them cozy and settled while I find their families.”
“I imagine with all that cuteness, it won’t take long.”
It was more a sad statement than a question, so Shay stopped fussing with the kittens to look up at her boss doting on Mr. Whiskers. “They will go fast. So if you want to keep Mr. Whiskers—”
“Nope.” Peggy didn’t sound all that confident, but she put Mr. Whiskers back in the box all the same. “When Chaplin passed, I promised myself no more pets. It hurts too much when they go.”
According to Peggy’s friends, Chaplin’s passing came on the heels of losing her husband, so instead of investing her heart into a new companion, she threw herself into turning her small pet food store into a full-functioning pet spa. Not that Shay blamed her. Sometimes it was better to just live without than to risk the heartache that accompanied loss.
“If you’re sure?”
“I’m sure.” Peggy took one last, long look, then closed the lid and handed Shay the box. “Where do you think they came from?”
“I don’t know.” Goldilocks might have dropped off these cats, but Shay knew the kittens weren’t hers. She would never neglect animals this way. “Wherever it was, they wouldn’t survive going back.”
Twenty minutes later, Shay had the little guys bathed, fed, and sleeping in one of the kennels. Dr. Huntington had agreed to drop by on his lunch break, and Shay was cleaning up the kitty tub when a commotion came from the front of the store.
She dried off her hands on her apron and walked out to find her first customer of the morning looking irritated, drip-dried, and spitting mad.
Ida Beamon, owner of Cork’d N Dipped—a wine and chocolate bar—and founding member of the Booty Patrol, was a shotgun of a woman who favored coral lipstick, dime-store jewelry, and offensive sweatshirts. Today’s said QUACK OFF and had a picture of her Norton.
Norton, a tropical whistling duck, had a black belly, brown body, and a bright orange beak. He also walked on a leash, liked playing catch, and believed himself to be a dog. He had been one of Shay’s first fosters when she moved to town.
