by Debbie Burns
“He’s hot,” several girls exclaimed as the video played.
Olivia clamped her teeth over her bottom lip to keep from agreeing. She didn’t need to give these rowdy and hormonal teens any fuel with which to tease her. Even though she kept quiet, the girls knew what they were talking about.
Gabe was hot. And caring and kind. And it seemed that he wanted her.
And we’re having dinner in a little over three hours.
Heat rushed to her cheeks at the thought of sitting at a booth or table across from him and having the freedom to stare straight into those hazel-green eyes or savor the slow curl of his smile when she said something to please him. And maybe afterward…
Attempting to curtail her thoughts, she smacked a hand down onto her desk a little too hard. Things had gotten heated in his truck. In that crazy, wild way she’d never felt before. But everything that day had seemed to be a bit of a fairy tale. Now they were back in the real world. If something was actually blossoming between them, they needed to get to know each other. Sleeping with him wasn’t the answer. Not tonight, at least. Maybe she wouldn’t wait the better part of a year like she had with Trevor. She was an adult now, and if she kept her head on straight, she’d know when it was right.
Being committed to abstinence hadn’t kept her from making sure she was freshly shaved and wearing her sexiest matching bra and panties under her jeans and Westbury Middle School long-sleeved T-shirt. After all, there was the off chance they’d fool around. Okay, hopefully there was the off chance they’d fool around.
She rolled her neck to keep her thoughts from trailing down the road of desire.
As the video ended, the entire class began begging for a field trip to the shelter to see the dog in person, and a few kids were tossing around the idea of a service project.
“We could do a towel drive,” Addison said. “Shelters always need towels. And blankets.”
“And cat litter.”
“What about dog food? My mom works at the pet boutique. They donate the food that’s about to expire to places all the time.”
“Guys,” Olivia called when she caught a glimpse of the principal craning her neck to look inside as she walked past the room. There was no denying that the overzealous eighth graders’ excited murmurs had swelled into an overly loud buzz. “These are awesome ideas,” she said once most of them were listening to her again. “Truly. But just a heads-up. I’m not entirely sure I’ve got the clout here to propose a field trip. Especially one that’s not tied into algebra.”
When her declaration was met with a chorus of groans, she added, “I’ll tell you what. If you stay serious about it, we’ll come up with a proposal, and I’ll give it a shot. And maybe we can figure out a way to tie it to algebra.”
A few kids groaned. “Or we could just go there and not do math,” one of the boys suggested with a grin.
“It’s all a matter of perspective. Working math into a service project is better than, I don’t know, a pop quiz on Monday, isn’t it?”
Amid a new chorus of groans, Olivia began to pack up for the day. Her heart skittered as she closed the shelter’s website and turned off the computer. Hardly any teachers stayed late to plan lessons on Friday, and Olivia felt justified in putting her lesson planning off until Sunday. For the first time in months, she had something to do on a Friday night. The thought brought a happy smile to her face.
Last fall, she’d felt trapped in rapidly thickening cement, and it had seemed as if there’d been no way out. But now, six months later, her life was starting to flow again. With any luck, things were only going to get better.
Her teaching contract at Westbury Middle had only been for one semester—she was filling in for a teacher who’d taken a spill and broken a kneecap and needed corrective surgery. With any luck, another position would open up. Fully contracted teachers had one week left to notify the school if they weren’t returning next year, and there were rumors milling around the staff lunchroom that one of the other math teachers was in a second round of interviews at a private school. If he left, as a current teacher, Olivia could have a first-round shot at an interview. Even though she’d sent off applications to half-a-dozen open positions elsewhere, some even closer to her hometown, her real hope was to return here next year.
Westbury Middle had a great vibe, and she’d felt included from the get-go. The kids were passionate and determined—for the most part—and so much more worldly than she’d been in her small, rural middle school. One of her favorite things about Westbury Middle was that it had a book club tailored to kids who were dyslexic, and Olivia had gone to all the meetings since she was hired. She loved bonding with the kids and being able to be sympathetic to struggles she knew so well.
If she was lucky enough to get a year-long contract from the school, she’d be comfortable getting an apartment lease of her own, maybe even something around here in the historic Soulard area just south of downtown. She loved the character in the quaint and historic redbrick homes and buildings around the school.
She could almost taste the relief of what it would be like to know for certain that the life she was building here in St. Louis could turn into something permanent. Not just be a Band-Aid to get her through until something opened up in southern Missouri, which she’d called home for so long. To live here where not only Ava and Aunt Becky were, but also Gabe.
It was premature, she knew, to assume he’d be in her life long enough to worry about her permanency in St. Louis affecting their relationship. But it would also be a lie to deny that what had passed between them last weekend had been something not quite ordinary.
When the bell rang, she headed for the door and gave high fives to any of the kids who wanted them, which ended up being most. A few, like Brody, were too cool and just gave a curt nod.
“Remember to see what service projects they need,” Addison reminded her as she left.
Olivia promised she would. Once the class emptied, she packed up and headed out for the weekend. To stave off the afternoon munchies and get her through till dinner, she choked down the last of the Triscuits in her lunch bag and rationed out the last of the water in her Contigo water bottle.
Without traffic, it was just over a twenty-minute drive to the shelter, and the closer she got, the more excited she became. She wasn’t usually so quick to make decisions, but just the same as with Gabe, something about volunteering at the shelter had felt right during the impromptu tour Megan, the director, had given her after she and Patrick had gotten the pointer settled Wednesday morning.
As soon as she walked through the entrance of the shelter for the second time that week, Olivia was swept away with the feeling that she was right where she was supposed to be. A senior-aged, stout-looking dog—a cairn terrier, she thought—sauntered over from where he’d been lapping up water from a stainless-steel bowl. Olivia knelt, letting him sniff her hands and jeans, and his tail wagged back and forth like a metronome.
He had tan, wiry hair and cloudy gray eyes, cloudy enough that she wondered if he had a hard time seeing.
Tess, one of the staff members that Olivia had met last time, wandered over. She seemed to be about Olivia’s age, had long, dark-brown hair, and from what Olivia had seen last time, somehow radiated the perfect amount of peppiness without being over-the-top. “Hey, Olivia, welcome back! Did you get to meet Chance last time?”
“No, I didn’t. He’s a cutie though.”
“He’s one of our permanent residents. It’s just him and Trina, a cat, who are intentional lifers here.” She craned to look over by the kenneled cats at the back of the room. “I bet she’s napping in back on top of the fridge in the break room. She’s either there or sprawled out in front of the cats, flaunting her freedom.”
Olivia laughed. “I was wondering why this guy was walking around freely like this.”
“Chance gets full roam of the place during the day,
but he’s typically kenneled at night. He almost always hangs out in the front room, and he tells us when he wants to go outside. He’s ten now and sleeps in later than he used to.”
“That explains why I didn’t meet him last time.”
Chance clambered up, bracing his front paws on her knee, and stretched to sniff her face. Olivia tipped forward to give him easier access. “What a sweetie.”
“You’ve definitely passed the Chance test. We think maybe it has something to do with him being blind, but he’s great at reading people’s energy. Maybe it just comes down to him being able to tell a dog lover, or he interprets the smells people carry, or both, but we take his responses to potential adopters seriously. When someone really sets him off, which is rarely, we almost always set up a home visit.”
“Huh. That’s cool. Like a doggie lie-detector, I guess.”
Apparently finished with his greeting, Chance plopped his front paws heavily back to the floor and sauntered around one of the adoption desks and over to a cushy bed near the gift shop.
“He’s totally blind?” Olivia asked as she stood up.
“He may be able to see some shadows, but he’s memorized where everything is.”
“That’s impressive.”
“Yeah, it definitely is. So,” Tess said, “Kelsey, our volunteer coordinator, is out of town this weekend. But we’ve got a name tag ready, and you get to pick out a shirt. There’re a few forms to sign as well. And I know you want some time with the pointer, but Megan said you’d be open to doing other things too.”
“Absolutely.”
“Dogs or cats?”
Olivia shrugged as she followed Tess over to the main counter. “I’m a bit more partial to dogs, but cats are great. Just put me where help is needed most.”
Tess fished through a stack of folders until she found the one she was looking for. Inside were Olivia’s application and a handful of additional forms. “Sorry, but we can’t escape getting your signature enough times to give you a hand cramp. Legalese and all.”
“Not a problem.”
Tess gave her a rundown on where to sign and summarized the volunteer work that was most needed as Olivia signed the papers.
“The shelter’s one of those places where the work is never completely done, but you get used to it. We have a list of big, special projects, monthly projects, weekly projects, and daily ones. Most of our focus goes to what needs to be accomplished every day. And we’re building a good list of volunteers who like to help with special projects like construction and stuff, but the truth is, the dogs can never get enough attention or training. The more they have, the better they act, and the easier it is to get them adopted. Sometimes they come in with a mess of bad manners and a lack of training. You said you grew up on a farm? I’m guessing you’re pretty good with dogs then?”
Suddenly it occurred to Olivia how not well versed with dogs she actually was. “You know, I’ve been around dogs my whole life and have never really thought about it before, but it was my grandparents’ land. The dogs had free roam of the farm, so they didn’t need leashes, and my grandpa has always been the one to do all their training, so honestly, a bit less than you might think. I’m a quick learner, though, and I’m comfortable around dogs of all sizes and breeds.”
Tess nodded encouragingly. “If you’re comfortable around dogs, then the rest will fall into place. We have a basic-training-and-care video series on our website. It may be helpful to check that out if you have time. Until then, one of the staff will show you what we ask of the dogs while working with them.”
“That sounds great.”
Olivia finished signing the last few papers, and when she was done, Tess did a two-handed, double-gun point in her direction. “Now for the fun part. You get to pick a shirt from the gift shop, then we’ll head to the dogs. Because so many volunteers are coming and going every day, we ask everyone to wear name tags, but most end up wearing shelter T-shirts too.”
Olivia followed Tess over to the gift shop and took in the bright array of colorful shirts. A few had the shelter logo, and others had moving sayings. Two of her favorites read “Adopt” with a dog paw print in place of the O and “Until there are none, rescue one.”
After a bit of debate, she chose a cornflower-blue short-sleeved logo T-shirt and a long-sleeved purple “Adopt” one after sorting through to find her size. “I’m assuming it’s okay if I buy one too?”
“No complaints here. Most of us end up with a closetful of High Grove apparel. And both those will go great with your hair—which is beautiful, by the way. When I was a kid, I was under the impression that with the right combination of lemon juice and sunlight, I’d end up a redhead. It was a bit of a disaster, actually.”
“If it helps,” Olivia said, laughing, “I was once under the delusion that if I suntanned long enough, I’d freckle evenly enough to look really tan.”
Tess shook her head. “That’s usually how it goes, isn’t it?”
For the next half hour, Tess led Olivia around, detailing some of the ins and outs of being a volunteer, like how and where to sign up for special events, where to put her things when she was working, and where the small break room was. Olivia loved the fridge inside the break room that was covered in magnets from places all over the world where the staff and volunteers had traveled, including a few places she’d always dreamed of going, like Rome and the Australian outback.
Trina, the resident cat, was in the room as Tess had guessed, napping in a cozy bed atop the fridge. With a bit of cajoling, the senior-aged cat woke up and joined them for a bit of petting. Olivia was surprised to see how dexterous she was for being a three-legged cat.
“Do you know what happened to her back leg?” Olivia asked, giving the striking cream and silver-gray cat a thorough scratch along the side of her chin and atop her spine when she arched her back.
“No, but it was an accident of some sort when she was a kitten. She was found with her mom and several other kittens floating on debris in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina. She was young enough when it happened that she doesn’t know the difference.”
“Wow, what a story.”
“Kind of like with the dog you brought in, there are lots of incredible stories of animals who’ve come here after being saved from natural disasters. Which reminds me, you’re probably eager to see him.”
Olivia flipped her hands palms up. “Guilty as charged. I guess I’ve always been a sucker for those gangly-legged hunting dogs, but he really stole my heart. I’ve been thinking about him all week.”
“I can see why. He’s a sweetheart. He’s pretty timid, but he doesn’t act as if he was abused. On the other hand, he doesn’t seem all that used to affection either.”
“That fits what we saw and then heard about him. It seemed as if he had a pretty isolated life, most of which was spent alone in a pen.”
“Poor guy. On the bright side, we’re guessing he’s fairly young,” Tess said. “Maybe three or four. At least he’s got a lot of years ahead of him once he’s adopted to have that turned around for him.”
“That’s about how old Gabe thought he was. He said he’d feel better about narrowing it down if the dog wasn’t so underweight.”
“Hopefully he won’t remain that way long. He’s gained nearly a pound since he came in.” Tess paused and clamped her hands over her thighs. “So, Patrick’s out back working in the dog play area. He’s going to take over from here and show you the ropes of taking the dogs in and out of their kennels for walks. The pointer will be out of quarantine tomorrow if his test results come in clean, but until then, quarantined dogs are limited in where they can go when they’re taken outside. But like I said, Patrick’ll show you the ropes. You met him when you brought the dog in, right?”
Olivia nodded. “Yeah, he’s the one who told me about the volunteer program.”
“Good,” Tess said, nod
ding. After a short struggle in which she seemed to be deciding whether or not to say something, she added, “You may have picked up on it, but he’s a bit more direct than the average person. Sometimes new volunteers take it personally, but hopefully you won’t. He’s a great guy, just a little different.”
“Thanks for the heads-up. I, uh, kind of noticed. He remembers every German shorthaired pointer who’s come through the doors since he started here.”
“That doesn’t surprise me. He can’t remember every animal who has passed through our doors anymore, but he’s still pretty spot-on with his favorite breeds. And he’s been here five or six years.”
“That’s impressive. This is my third year teaching if you count my training, and at first I thought I’d never forget a student, but I can see how that’s going to be a challenge the longer I do it.”
Olivia followed Tess outside. There was a small parking lot, then a fifty-foot section of ground that backed to a row of trees and scraggily shrubs. The area had been divided into a few fenced pens and a large gravel island.
“That’s what we call the Island of Many Smells,” Tess said, pointing to the gravel area as they passed it. “Once the pointer is out of quarantine, it’ll probably be his favorite place to scent mark.”
Patrick was outside one of the fenced areas that contained a small agility course and was packing up tools into a toolbox. “This area is our newest addition out here. It’s used for basic training and agility. There’s a one-dog-at-a-time policy for this pen. The other two are the play areas. The big one up front is for adoptable dogs, and the smaller one in back is for quarantined dogs and has a similar one-dog policy.”