by Unknown
“They’re burnt,” she explained, but Jabba only snorted as though he thought they were at the perfect state of cookedness, and that he was more than willing to take one for the team and be the official taste tester. “Sorry, buddy, but you already ate an entire plate of cream cheese and cucumber finger sandwiches when I wasn’t looking.” Which were far from dog friendly. “The last thing you need is to add a lump of coal to the mix.”
Jabba gave it one more hopeful minute, wishing beyond wishes that Shay would reconsider, then waddled over to the doggie bed in the corner of the spa’s lunchroom and lay all the way down with a huff, his bow tie shifting in the process.
Shay knew how he felt. Today was the monthly Paws and Claws High Tea at the spa—and she couldn’t afford any mistakes. News that she was running a puppy mill had gone viral, racking up two hundred comments on Nora’s Facebook page alone. Peggy, concerned about Shay making her thirty-day time line, had offered to let Shay bring all of her adult fosters to the event.
“What better place to find them a family than around a bunch of dog lovers who know other dog lovers?” Peggy had said. Only her boss forgot to mention that this month’s tea had been sold out for weeks, leaving Shay with twenty-five animal attendees—and only food and seating for twenty.
And with Foxy Cleopatra taking the number one spot on the VIP list, today had to go perfectly.
Shay had spent the past two days molding her dogs into well-behaved and respectful hosts, hoping that seeing a new-and-improved side to them might be enough to persuade Estella to reconsider her stance. Not on the citation, that was out of her hands the second Jonah filed the report, but the pet-peddling ban. Shay thought that if Estella saw the best in her fosters, then maybe she’d have a change of heart. She’d almost changed it once—then Shay’s thoughtless statement had ruined it.
Today was her chance to fix her mistakes, mend fences so to speak, and get her dogs re-invited to Bark in the Park. She wasn’t going to let her impulsive nature, or severe lack of cooking skills, screw up this opportunity. Which was why when she looked up from her mutt-loaf squares to find three smiling Booty Patrol members dressed like they were going to the Kentucky Derby in flowered bonnets and pearl catch gloves, carrying foil-covered plates, Shay nearly cried.
“Thank God you’re here,” Shay said as Clovis, Ida, and Peggy set their plates of finger sandwiches and dog bones on the prep table, then walked around to get a better look at Shay’s contribution.
Clovis leaned way in, gave the black pucks a few pokes, and grimaced, her cane clicking against the cabinet.
Jabba zeroed in on the wooden stick, tail twitching, breathing nonexistent, while he patiently waited for her to drop the stick in the horizontal “game on” position. Shay shot him a single look and, when that didn’t deter him, tapped her foot.
Jabba reluctantly disengaged with the stick and called off the attack, but he wasn’t happy about it.
“How did you know I’d need help?” she asked, peeking inside of one of the plates to find peanut butter-dipped bones.
“Smelled the first batch you put in.” Ida poked at one of the biscuits. It gave a little sizzle, then burst, sending bits of burnt dough onto the floor—and Jabba skidding across the tile to do his part of the cleanup.
“At the second smoke signal we packed up and headed out,” Clovis said, pulling an apron from her bag and tying it around her waist. She tossed one to each of the other ladies, and Shay’s chest warmed when she saw the St. Paws logo on the pocket.
“Where did you get those?” she asked, running a finger over the pink paw print.
“Ordered them from my guy yesterday,” Clovis said. “Told him we needed a rush order and he dropped these off this morning.”
Shay didn’t know why Clovis had a guy or what her guy did exactly, but she did know that this was one of the sweetest things someone had done for her in a long time. It was just the thing she needed to get her back on track after the standoff with Estella and her hit squad—a heartfelt reminder that not all people sucked.
“Figured if you were going to show that Estella and her yap dog a good time, then you needed backup,” Ida said. “Banning you from her event is one thing, but calling the fuzz? Now that is about as un-neighborly as one can get.”
“And here in St. Helena we pride ourselves on being good neighbors,” Peggy added.
Deeply moved in so many ways, Shay found it hard to speak but managed a shaky, “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank us yet, this act of neighborliness comes with strings,” Ida said, and there went all of Shay’s warm fuzzies.
“I’m not big on strings,” Shay admitted.
In her experience, strings were a lot like expectations, tying people together, and when not reached the connection was forever severed, sometimes even destroying lives. Something Shay had experienced firsthand at the unexpected death of her mother and then again when her father was a big fat no-show. And from what life had shown her so far, Shay understood that connections came at too high a price for her heart to handle.
The grannies didn’t seem to feel the same, since they smiled and scooted a little closer, slipping an apron over Shay’s head. It had a picture of a giant umbrella sheltering dozens of pets.
“You need a place where your entire menagerie can have a safe place to live until they go to their forever homes,” Ida said, fastening the back of Shay’s apron. “And we think you should open up a real rescue.”
“I already run a real rescue.” Every bit of the love and heartache was real to her. Real to the animals who passed through her life. And real to the families who were lucky enough to find their perfect pals.
“No, dear,” Clovis clarified, her voice soft with apology. “What Ida meant to say was we think you should lease a shop in town so folks like Estella can’t call the sheriff every time they get their bloomers in a snit.”
“A shop? Here in St. Helena?” As in permanently?
“Why not?” Peggy said, obviously surprised at how horrified Shay seemed at the suggestion. “You’ve got to make a home someplace. Why not here?”
Because even though St. Helena had begun to feel like more than a brief stopover in Shay’s ever-changing life, she wasn’t sure if it had “home” potential. Sure, she’d made friends, and loved her house and her job, but she’d also made a few enemies and a million mistakes—not that that part was new. Only this time her mistake had put her at odds with one of the most powerful women in town.
Then there was Jonah—and that smoking-hot kiss, followed by an official citation and the silent treatment. Well, that might be a bit harsh. Hard to give her the silent treatment when he’d spent the past two days avoiding Shay completely. Yet she couldn’t help thinking maybe it was for the best. If he’d reacted that way over a few extra kittens, what would he do when he found out about her past?
Shay sucked in a calming breath, hating how her stomach pinched with nerves. A brick-and-mortar St. Paws was something she had spent a lifetime dreaming about. It would allow her to board up to forty pets, provide a central location that would put her fosters in daily contact with people, and help her save lives without bending laws.
To her, leasing a storefront sounded a lot like forever, and forever was a serious step. She knew this, not having taken it herself, but by the bonds she helped form with the animals and their forever families.
“Even if I could find a place”—storefronts in town were hard to come by—“where would I find that kind of money?” And the support? And the courage to take that step? Because a storefront meant Shay and her pets wouldn’t sleep under the same roof.
“The calendars,” Peggy said, clasping her hands in front of her face. “You can use the money from the sales to help lease the space.”
“Mr. Russell has a vacant sign hanging in the old barbershop next to my place,” Clovis said, her giddy smile taking a decade off her face.
“That sign has been there since I moved to town,” Shay explained, surprised to
realize that it was nearly eighteen months ago that she’d packed up her car and headed north to start her new job at the Paws and Claws. She hadn’t even unpacked her car and she’d already fallen in love with the place. It wasn’t just the quaint downtown, picturesque mountains, or miles of grapevines that had drawn her in. It was how happy everyone was. How they always seemed to have a ready smile to share, and a friendly word for their neighbors—her current standoff with Estella excluded.
“Yup, but the old coot has a huge balloon payment coming due at the end of next year. We all do,” Ida explained. “At this point, some money is better than no money, which tells me I could persuade him to cut you some kind of deal.”
Shay wasn’t so sure. Mr. Russell was a class-A tightwad who would rather be right than profitable. He’d bought two of the historic Victorian storefronts on the north end of Main Street a few years back for twice what they were worth, and rather than lease them out for the going rate, he’d priced the spaces based on his elevated mortgage. Which was why they were still vacant.
“It would have to be a good deal.” She’d made good money on her calendar fund-raiser, but nowhere near what Mr. Russell was asking. It also would have to be the perfect environment, otherwise Shay wouldn’t be able to leave her pets alone at night.
Actually, Shay would never want to leave her pets alone at night. Or maybe it was that Shay didn’t want to be alone at night.
“He’ll see reason,” Ida said.
“All we have to do is tell Mr. Russell you’re bringing your cuties and he’ll see that in a few months he’d be able to lease out his other space for what he’s asking,” Clovis said, breathless with excitement. “Nothing attracts customers like hot men.”
“Hot men?” What kind of shelter did they think she wanted to open? Then all three women nodded in earnest, gray crops bouncing as they pulled out their Cuties with Booties calendars, and Shay got it.
“If we help you get the place, then you have to promise us you’ll host a signing every week with one of your cuties from the calendar.” Ida’s birdlike hands fluttered like hummingbird wings. “My favorite is Mr. July.”
Although Adam was lovely to look at in nothing but his fire pants and hat, he didn’t hold a candle to Shay’s favorite. Not that her favorite was in there. Nope, the uptight deputy didn’t think it was fitting to pose for a good cause—at least not her good cause. Then again, her favorite was the same guy who was evicting her dogs.
A part of her knew that Jonah was just doing his job, doing his best to uphold the law. But there was another part, the scared girl who had been disappointed too many times to believe in heroes, who wondered if he would have been as eager if the caller had been an average resident rather than the judge’s wife.
Her head said he would have. Her heart wasn’t so sure.
Shay looked over at her brood, who were all looking back with their big, trusting eyes, counting on her to make their world right, and suddenly leasing a shop didn’t sound half as terrifying as letting them down. Even if it meant that Shay would have a quiet house.
“I know it’s a lot to think about.” Peggy placed a hand on Shay’s. “Just promise me you won’t discount it before giving it a chance.”
“Fair enough,” Shay said, because damn it, Peggy had given Shay a chance, even though she hadn’t had a single letter of recommendation.
“Oh, honey,” Clovis said, clapping her hands. “Those hot buns will bring more foot traffic my way than last year’s Fifty Shades display Harper did for my store window. Nothing moves panties like hot men.”
“And nothing says sexy better than wine and chocolate,” Ida pointed out, handing Shay a list, highlighting her extensive supply of aphrodisiac chocolates and spirits as though Shay had already signed on the dotted line. “In fact, Cork’d N Dipped would like to be St. Paws’ first official sponsor and donate one of those pet-friendly crates Peg has at her shop.”
Ida flipped over the pamphlet and there was a picture of the exact kind of kennel Shay had dreamed of getting. They kept the animals confined without making them feel caged. And they cost upward of a grand apiece. “I don’t understand. Why?”
Ida took Shay’s hands in what had to be the first sign of affection Shay had ever seen the woman give another human. “Think of it as an investment, in my shop and in you. I was so lost after my Randal passed, then you brought me Norton. He is the best part of my day and I want to help you help other people like myself.” Ida cleared her throat and Shay felt hers going thick. “Plus, once you get the ladies of St. Helena dreaming about being corked, the first place they’ll come is next door to get dipped.”
“And then they can come over to my place and buy crotchless panties.”
Mad at herself for putting her animals and job in serious jeopardy, Shay grabbed her running shoes. She pounded down her street toward town, vowing not to stop until she was too tired to be angry—or reached the sheriff’s department, whichever came first. Not that either would be far, since the sheriff’s department was at the opposite end of Main Street and Shay hated running.
Almost as much as she hated failing. And today had been an epic failure.
Peggy hadn’t even waited for the tea time to begin before closing shop because the Companion Brigade finally took an official stance on the pet-peddling ban, one that placed them firmly behind their president. The timing made Shay suspect a conspiracy, then their statement was released following a Facebook post displaying a photo of Friday’s “confidential” police report, and Shay knew she’d been set up.
Estella had had several opportunities over the past year to report Shay to the authorities and hadn’t called them once. And now Estella was using her judge-y connections and her power with the Companion Brigade to teach Shay a lesson—effectively ruining any hope Shay had of fixing this mess.
If anything, her mistakes were expanding to affect the people she cared about, like Peggy, who had never been anything but wonderful and supportive. It was also ruining Shay’s chances of finding her dogs a home. And with the clock now ticking, she was feeling a little desperate. And scared.
The upset stomach and chest pains, Shay convinced herself, were the running’s fault.
Any evidence of last week’s storm was gone, replaced by an intense heat that seemed to press in on her lungs as she turned onto Main Street. Heading north, she admitted that maybe some of the panting was caused by the bag of minidoughnuts she’d inhaled last night, and not for the first time, she considered giving up the addiction.
Not this week, of course, since even thinking about how guests had been nonexistent at the tea—besides Norton, who had looked dashing in a bow tie and top hat—made her tummy feel hollow. Thinking about Yodel’s new mom made her chest follow suit.
Concerned by the news, Ms. Abernathy had called to ask if she could wait until the allegations were cleared before taking custody of Yodel. After losing her husband, and then her son last year, the older woman wasn’t sure she could handle any more.
Shay understood that more than most and promised to provide proof that she wasn’t under investigation for running an illegal puppy mill.
It was item numero uno on her list of grievances, which she intended to share with everybody’s favorite deputy immediately.
Item two was to have him explain how he could kiss her like that, say such sweet things, and then serve her papers in the next breath. Okay, so she’d been the one to kiss him, but he’d more than met her halfway. And it had been his decision to stoke her fire until she’d nearly melted.
Shay wasn’t looking for special treatment from the deputy, but he could have recused himself and sent someone who didn’t know what she brushed her teeth with.
Which brought her to item three—his easy acceptance to pretend it hadn’t happened. Because it had and no amount of pretending was working. And if she wasn’t able to forget about that kiss, even after he’d flashed his badge and screwed up her plans, then he shouldn’t be allowed to either. Especially w
hen it had been two whole days and her lips were still tingling.
Getting involved with Jonah was out of the question, but she’d be damned if he was the one who got to point out how ridiculous the notion was. Even if the mere thought of his mouth on hers was enough to steal her breath and send her nipples into party mode—not good since she was in one of those sports bra tops that hid nothing.
Shay was reconsidering her plan, thinking of starting with that particular grievance, when she heard a loud crash of metal cans, followed by aggressive barking. A silver ball of fur shot out from the alley beside a vacant storefront, cutting Shay off midstride. Its miniature legs pumped so hard they barely touched asphalt as it darted into the street, narrowly avoiding a kissing contest with a speeding wine truck before disappearing into an abandoned lot.
Heart in her throat, Shay took off after the kitten, bypassing the sheriff’s department—Jonah and his superhero complex would have to wait—and turning toward the lot instead. She kept her eyes locked on the gray tail as it zipped under a chain-link fence, its back paw getting caught in the metal momentarily, before cutting through the overgrown brush and right up a big oak that sat at the back of the lot.
The tree was a million years old with enough gnarled branches and crannies to make the perfect hiding spot. It was also surrounded by a chain-link fence and three very visible NO TRESPASSING signs—neither of which would deter Shay.
It had been hot and dry since last week’s storm, she told herself as she crawled through a hole someone had cut in the bottom of the chain links, and for a kitten as young as she suspected this one was, an abandoned construction site was not the ideal home. Not to mention she still wasn’t sure how much damage the fence had done—the kitten had ripped through it so fast she was afraid it had left marks.
Shay brushed the debris off her knees and hands and slowly approached the tree, giving the kitten a good minute to calm down. It took Shay another two to catch her breath, important since the gasping wasn’t helping with her everybody calm down agenda.
