by Teri Wilson
Of course.
In the epic dogs versus cats question, the older gentleman was firmly on the side of the felines. Since he’d retired and doubled down on his volunteer hours at the shelter, he’d become a virtual hero every kitten season when the shelter was always bursting with frail, furry bodies that needed to be bottle-fed round the clock.
“Who’ve you got there?” she asked, nodding toward the little ginger tabby napping on Hans’s khakis.
“This here’s Lucille Ball.” He grinned and rubbed the tip of his pointer finger along the kitten’s tiny cheek.
“Lucille Ball? Cute. Let me guess—Birdie and Bunny let you name her.” Hans was nothing if not nostalgic for times gone by. He was the president of the Spring Forest Historical Society and had a thorough knowledge of the area’s involvement in the Underground Railroad back during the Civil War. Amanda couldn’t help having a soft spot for him.
“They did. As I’m sure you can tell, they’ve got their hands pretty full at the moment.” He cast a knowing glance at the ceiling.
Amanda followed his gaze and shook her head. “This is bad. Has the insurance company sent anyone out to take a look?”
Hans shrugged. “Not yet.”
That seemed strange. Seven days was a long time. Then again, the storm damage spread to Raleigh and beyond. The area insurance adjusters were probably working overtime. “Let’s hope they get someone out here soon. The shelter can’t go on like this indefinitely. Speaking of which, how’s Tucker? Have you seen him?”
“I have, and he’s as cantankerous as ever.” The older man rolled his eyes, then reached for the phone when it started to ring.
Amanda mouthed see you later as he launched into a conversation with someone who sounded like a potential pet parent. She breathed a little easier as she headed down the long hallway leading toward the kennel area. If Tucker was cranky, he was more than likely fine. If he’d become cuddly overnight, she’d really have something to worry about.
A few more carefully arranged buckets caught dripping water in the kennel area even though it wasn’t even raining outside, which didn’t bode well for whatever was going on in the attic. But Amanda couldn’t help but smile as all but one of the dogs darted to the front of their enclosures to greet her with yips and wagging tails.
“Hi, guys.” She greeted each pup by name until she reached the last kennel on the left, where the one holdout was tucked into a ball in the corner with his eyes closed and his head resting on his paws.
“Hello to you too, Grumpy.” She unlatched the door to Tucker’s enclosure, walked inside and crouched down in front of the stubborn little dog. “You’re not fooling me. I know you’re not asleep. Your paws always twitch when you nap for real.”
As if on cue, Tucker opened one disinterested eye.
Amanda reached into her pocket and pulled out a few crumbles of goat cheese—leftovers from her experimental puff pastry. She held them out in an open palm and whispered, “I brought you a present, but don’t tell the others.”
Tucker’s tiny nose twitched, then his other eye sprang open and he lifted his head. But in true grumpy form, he picked gently at the cheese instead of gulping it down like a normal stray dog would, as if he was doing her a favor by eating it.
“Why you’re my favorite is a mystery I’ll never understand,” Amanda muttered.
Then, much to her irritation, Ryan Carter’s perfectly irritable, perfectly handsome face popped into her consciousness. She sighed. Damn him, and damn his chiseled bone structure.
“You know what they say about women who are attracted to dark and brooding characters, don’t you?” a familiar voice behind her asked.
Amanda scooped Tucker into her arms and turned around to find Birdie Whitaker smiling blithely at her from the other side of the chain-link gate. “Hi, Birdie. And no, I don’t know that they say. But I have a feeling you’re about to tell me.”
Of course she was. Birdie never hesitated to speak her mind. “Scientists say it indicates a primal desire to find a strong, virile man who can give you lots of healthy babies.”
Amanda could feel tiny beads of sweat forming on her brow.
“That’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard.” Beyond crazy. She didn’t have time for even one baby, much less a lot of them. “Besides, Tucker is a dog. Not a man.”
Ryan was a man, though. And whether she wanted to admit it or not, she was definitely attracted to him. But Birdie didn’t need to know that. No one did.
The older woman shrugged. “True, but you’re the only one who seems to appreciate his less-than-sparkling personality. Are you saying you wouldn’t like him if he were a human being?”
She held Tucker a little closer to her heart. “That’s not what I’m saying at all. But he’s not. He’s a dog, and I’m not ready for any children. Or a husband. So something about your scientific study must be flawed.”
“You’re probably right. What do they know? They’re just scientists.” Birdie bit back a smile. “Like Einstein and his ilk.”
Amanda rolled her eyes.
What had gotten into everyone? There hadn’t been this much interest in her nonexistent love life in...well...ever. “People are acting strange. I’m beginning to wonder if the storm blew in more than just the tornado.”
“The tornado was plenty. I think the storm might have rattled everyone.” Birdie looked around and sighed. “It sure rattled this old building.”
It had to be heartbreaking for Birdie to see the shelter in such bad shape. Neither she nor her sister had ever married. Bunny had been engaged once, years ago, but Birdie never talked about her past relationships. Every time the subject came up, she said her heart belonged to the animals at Furever Paws.
Amanda carried Tucker out of the kennel, shut the gate behind her and gave Birdie a hug with her free arm. “It’s going to be okay. As soon as the insurance money comes in, you can get someone out here to do repairs and everything will be as good as new.”
Ever stoic, Birdie nodded. “You’re right. This shelter has been here almost twenty years, and we’ve saved hundreds of animals, from dogs and cats to llamas and goats. It’s going to take more than a tornado to stop us.”
“Exactly.” Amanda nodded. “You and Bunny know I’ll help in any way I can, right?”
“Of course we do, dear.” Birdie’s gaze shifted to the dog in Amanda’s arms. “Are you going to walk that prickly little beast, or do you want to hear more about that scientific study I mentioned?”
“Nice try.” Amanda laughed. “But there’s a patch of grass with Tucker’s name on it outside.”
“See you later, sugar,” Birdie said in her Carolina drawl that Amanda knew so well, but when she smiled it didn’t quite reach her eyes.
Amanda carried Tucker out back and didn’t set him down on the ground until they’d crossed the gravel lot and reached the sprawling emerald lawn that led to the old Victorian farmhouse where the Whitaker sisters had lived all their lives. Tucker didn’t like walking on gravel. Or dirt. Or pretty much anything other than soft grass. Amanda didn’t feel like playing tug-of-war with him on his leash today, so she indulged the dog once she’d put him down and let him drag her around the yard with his nose to the ground while she took in more damage from the storm.
There were a few more downed trees closer to Birdie and Bunny’s house, and the portable storage sheds behind the shelter had taken a beating. One of them was lying on its side, which probably meant that the dog food it housed had been ruined.
What a mess.
“It’ll be fine, though,” she said to Tucker. “No one got hurt. That’s the most important thing, right?”
It was like talking to a brick wall. The little dog completely ignored her, because of course he did.
Birdie was crazy if she thought that’s the kind of man Amanda wanted to end up with someday. It was one thin
g to willingly hang out with a standoffish dog, but marrying an actual person who acted in such a way would be insane. Take Ryan Carter, for instance. Just when he’d finally acknowledged her existence and complimented her coffee, he upped and switched back into his indifferent self and bolted. He’d practically sprinted away from her, right there on Main Street. It would have been mortifying, if she cared about how he treated her.
Which she absolutely did not.
Tucker cocked his head at her, and she must have been imagining things because she could have sworn he had a mocking little gleam in his eyes, as if he knew exactly what—or whom—she was thinking about.
She glared at him. “Don’t start.”
She needed to get him back to his kennel anyway, or else she wouldn’t have time to walk any of the other dogs before she had to return to the Grille for the dinner rush. So she scooped him into her arms and made her way back to the kennel area.
She didn’t mean to overhear Birdie and Bunny’s conversation. She really didn’t. They were speaking in such hushed tones that at first Amanda thought she was alone in the concrete room. But as she rounded the corner toward the row of enclosures where Tucker’s kennel was located, their soft, Southern drawls grew louder. More urgent.
“I don’t understand,” Bunny said. “Twenty thousand dollars? Out of our own pockets? We don’t have that kind of money.”
“We’ll just have get it somehow.” Birdie’s tone was flat. Determined.
She’d always been the more practical sister—a no-nonsense go-getter, while Bunny was more of a dreamer. Sweet as could be, but somewhat naive.
Bunny sighed. “But what about the insurance?”
Amanda cleared her throat. She needed to make her presence known before she heard something she shouldn’t. But the sisters didn’t seem to hear her, too caught up in their intense conversation.
“Oh Bunny, that’s what I’m trying to tell you.” Birdie’s voice cracked, and it was then that Amanda realized it was too late. Too late to interrupt. Too late to pretend she hadn’t just realized the shelter was in serious trouble. “We don’t have any insurance.”
Chapter Three
“We’re out of the pulled pork and hush puppies special,” Amanda poked her head into the dining room and announced.
“That was quick.” Belle glanced at her watch and sighed.
The Grille wasn’t scheduled to close for another two hours, and now they were down to one special—the pot roast. Slow-simmered in beef broth and smothered in onion gravy, it wasn’t bad. But it wasn’t nearly as good as the wine-based recipe Amanda had been experimenting with.
Last week she’d brought her newest creation along to Sunday dinner at her parents’ house and placed it on the table as if it were a foil-wrapped work of art, steeped in pinot noir and slender, woodsy porcini mushrooms. Her sister and brother-in-law had loved it, as had her brother, Josh. Even her nieces and nephews had given it glowing reviews. But she hadn’t been able to convince her parents that it should replace the pot roast recipe the Grille had been using for the past sixty-eight years. They’d gone on and on about tradition and down-home Southern cooking, as if she’d told them she wanted to start feeding the good people of Spring Forest foie gras. It was maddening.
Amanda was trying her best to be patient. Her mom, in particular, had been especially sensitive about changing anything at the Grille since Amanda’s grandmother passed away last year. The restaurant had become a sort of monument.
But it couldn’t stay the same forever, could it? If this was going to be Amanda’s life from here on out, she needed to be able to put her own stamp on it.
But tonight, for once, she hadn’t spent the better part of the dinner rush rewriting the Grille’s menu in her head. While she’d been busy taking tickets from Belle, calling out orders to the kitchen staff and plating one serving of pulled pork after another, her mind had been back at Furever Paws.
How was it possible that Birdie and Bunny didn’t have insurance? It didn’t make sense. Amanda was pretty sure their younger brother, Gator, took care of all the shelter’s business dealings. And Gator was a big shot investment banker or something like that. He lived in a fancy Antebellum-style mansion outside Durham, with huge white columns and a yard full of trees dripping with Spanish moss. The house was so grand it had been pictured in Southern Living a few years ago. With all of his business success, and the many investments he’d made over the years, surely he knew the importance of having property insurance.
Then again, it didn’t really matter why the shelter was uninsured. The most important thing now was finding the money elsewhere to fix the storm damage, and apparently it was going to cost twenty thousand dollars. Minimum.
She wiped her hands on a dish towel and headed to the dining room to correct the specials board with her head in a fog, trying to come up with a way to help that didn’t involve admitting to Birdie and Bunny she’d overheard their private conversation. But again, twenty thousand dollars was a lot of money. An enormous amount. If Amanda had that kind of cash just sitting around, she’d have already launched her dream catering add-on at the Grille. There was no way she could solve their problem on her own, and bringing in other people would mean sharing their secret.
At the moment, she had more pressing problems because no sooner had she climbed the step stool and swiped the eraser across the words pulled pork barbecue sandwich with hush puppies on the chalkboard hanging on the wall just to the right of the pie safe than someone behind her let out a sigh.
“Looks like I’m too late for the barbecue.”
Amanda turned to find Dr. Richard Jackson looking up at her with his arms crossed and a furrow in his brow.
“Sorry, Doc. We’re clean out.” Amanda stepped down until her feet were once again planted firmly on the Grille’s white-and-black-tiled floor. “You’re here a little later than usual, aren’t you?”
Dr. Jackson had become a regular at the Grille shortly after his wife passed away five years ago. Now he was almost like family and he usually showed up for dinner at six fifteen sharp, right after his veterinary practice closed up shop for the night.
He shrugged and did a little head tilt that made him look even more like Denzel Washington than he normally did. “I was out helping Birdie and Bunny with a sick llama.”
Amanda frowned. “Which one? Drama or Llama Bean?”
“Llama Bean.” He waved a hand. “Don’t worry—she’s going to be fine.”
“That was sweet of you.” Amanda lifted a brow.
Doc J was spending more and more time volunteering his services at Furever Paws, and she couldn’t help but wonder if he was interested in one of the Whitaker sisters. She just couldn’t figure out which one. Then again, maybe the additional volunteering was only because his schedule wasn’t quite as packed as usual since his daughter, Lauren, was set to take over his practice at the end of the year.
But something about the twinkle in his eyes told her he was thinking about more than just a sick llama. “It was nothing, really. Just a mild ear infection.”
“Nonsense. I’m sure Birdie and Bunny really appreciate all you do for them. I was out there earlier today too. We must have just missed each other.”
“I guess we did. Did you see the storm damage? Such a shame.” The older man’s smile dimmed somewhat, but he still looked as handsome as ever. At sixty-seven, he was just a few years older than both Birdie and Bunny, who were ages sixty-four and sixty-three. He’d be a perfect match for either sister.
Not that she should be meddling in the Whitaker sisters’ personal lives, even though Birdie had most definitely taken an interest in Amanda’s.
“The roof needs some major repairs. I’m toying with the idea of throwing them a fundraiser. I’m just trying to get everything figured out before I talk to Birdie and Bunny about it.” She bit her lip. “I wonder how profitable a bake sale cou
ld be.”
Twenty thousand dollars translated into a massive amount of brownies and cupcakes, but so far it was the only thing she’d come up with.
“I’m sure every little bit would help.” Doc J cast a longing glance at the plateful of pulled pork on Belle’s tray as she shuffled past them. “But you might raise more money if you held a barbecue instead.”
He laughed. So did Amanda, until the wheels in her head starting turning.
She knew a lot of pit masters in the area. What if she could get a few of them together, all on the same day? They could make a real event of it. Maybe Birdie and Bunny could set up an adoption booth with some of the dogs and cats from the shelter. And maybe Amanda could ask some of the other local businesses to set up booths. She could organize a whole festival, all centered around a barbecue cook-off.
“I know you’re just kidding, but that might actually work. You’re a genius, Doc.” She beamed at him. “Tonight’s dinner is on me. Okay?”
“I’m not turning down a free dinner. Bring me whatever you recommend.” He winked and slid into a booth facing Main Street.
“One pot roast special, coming right up.” She turned toward the kitchen, mind reeling.
The more she thought about it, the more a barbecue cook-off seemed like the perfect idea for a fundraiser. Now she just needed to make some calls to the pit masters she knew—a few food truck operators in Raleigh, plus some of the college barbecue hangouts in Wilmington. Once she had at least three on board, she’d present the idea to Birdie and Bunny.
“You look awfully happy all of a sudden.” Belle looked up from assembling a to-go order on the sleek stainless steel counter just inside the kitchen’s swinging door. “Has anything in particular put that giddy expression on your face?”
“Maybe.” Amanda bit back a smile. Best not to say anything until she was certain she could pull it off.
“Since you’re in such a chipper mood, can you take these out front while I grab a pitcher of sweet tea?” Belle offered her two white paper bags, all sealed up and ready to go.
