by Unknown
Her eyes became a sea of confusion and hope—he could see the hope hiding way in the back. “What does that even mean?”
“That what I told you last night hasn’t changed.” He brushed her lips and definitely tasted strawberries. And maybe a little chocolate, and a whole lot of trouble. “I want you.”
Then, being a man of action rather than words, he decided to show her just how much.
By the following Tuesday, the old barbershop was beginning to look like an actual shelter. The debris had been carted away, the walls of the meet-and-greet room were now a welcoming terra-cotta, and there was a friendly turquoise throw rug and matching pillows Shay had picked up for half price at St. Helena Hardware and Refurbish Rescue to add a pop of playful. The open-air kennels Ida and Clovis had donated had arrived yesterday and were the perfect solution to containment without the downside of confinement.
The shop was ready for the construction crew to come in next week and build out the rest.
And the good news kept coming. Harper had collected nearly one hundred checks from people who had preregistered for the charity walk. At thirty bucks a head, Shay was three thousand dollars closer to St. Paws being a legit shelter. All that was left was to pick up the official permit from town hall. Shay was just waiting on the call.
“Good thing since we only have twelve days until animal control rolls up and starts asking for papers,” Shay said to the two wet black eyes blinking back at her.
With Boss now settled happily in his forever home and Jabba already outfitted in his Saints baseball uniform, complete with a bat to keep his mouth busy for the charity walk, Shay needed to make sure Socks looked—and felt—her best for the big day.
A white ball of fur with barely-there legs and haunting doe eyes, Socks was tiny, too cute for words, and terrified of just about anything that made sound. She was also the biggest love bug on the planet and would make someone a wonderful companion, as long as they whispered.
Socks was one of those dogs that, because of a rough start, was sensitive to loud noises. And Saturday she was going to be walking up Main Street in a jungle of shoes and paws clicking the asphalt, with hundreds of mouths moving. Not the best situation for a dog who jumped every time Shay so much as hiccupped.
Shay gave a little clip at the fur around her ears so they would lie flatter. Satisfied, she reached into her apron pocket and pulled out a knitted onesie and held it up for Socks to see.
“Here is what I was thinking,” Shay said in her best quiet-time voice. “Saturday, you go as a sock monkey.”
It turned out June Whitney didn’t just crochet oven mitts on her YouTube channel—she also did specialty items on commission. And Shay had commissioned her to make Socks a couture sock monkey costume with a headpiece specifically designed to block the noise.
“It will muffle all the sound. And . . .” She pulled out the rest of the costume. “It comes with matching little booties, so you don’t have to hear your paws click on the asphalt.”
Nose twitching with conviction, Socks craned her neck and took a tentative sniff. When she was acquainted with her new outfit, Shay scooped her up and put the little booties on her feet. Once back on the ground, Socks picked up one foot, then another, trying unsuccessfully to shake off the offensive trappings.
“You have to get used to them,” Shay said, getting down on her knees. Carefully she slipped the onesie over Socks’ head and body, making sure her booties didn’t come off as she slid her munchkin legs through the leg holes.
“You make the most adorable sock monkey.”
Socks wasn’t sold. Not even close.
“I promise. Go look in the mirror.” She set Socks on the ground. Socks took one step and fell sideways. Flat as a board, boom, right to the floor. Then lay there. Unmoving. Like roadkill, her little feet sticking straight out to the side.
“It isn’t that bad.”
It was actually awful. A herd of rabid dogs could have blown through the shop and Socks wouldn’t have budged in protest. The door opened and Socks’s eyes went wide. People! People I don’t know. Making sounds . . .
“Yeah, yeah.” Shay picked her up and took off the onesie. “But you have to give the booties a try.”
Socks hightailed it to the back of the shop, her feet moving so high she was like a dwarfed Clydesdale.
Shay turned around and found Emerson in the doorway, her food cart parked at the curb. She was apparently headed for work—which, based on the red rubber nose and rainbow afro, was a kid’s birthday party. “If a single Bozo or Ronald McDonald comment leaves your mouth, I will punch you. In the throat. Understood?”
Shay bit her lip to keep it from curling up and nodded.
“Have you checked Facebook lately?” Emerson asked.
“No, why?” But Shay was already reaching for her phone. From Emerson’s tone, she suspected it was a much bigger deal than it being her turn in Words With Friends.
Shay went to the St. Helena page and felt everything inside of her catch and tighten. That terrifying sense of change, one she’d felt too many times to count, pressed in until it was hard to breathe. Because the top post, with over two hundred comments and likes, was a link to an article Shay had hoped never to see again.
GROOMER TO THE ELITE CHARGED WITH THEFT. FORCED TO PAY BACK THOUSANDS IN STOLEN MONEY TO CLIENT.
Beside the headline was a photo of Shay from two years ago. A photo that brought back every awful memory she had worked so hard to overcome. Every fear and insecurity that Lance had drilled into her, that her childhood had confirmed, and that she’d refused to ever give in to again.
Shay pushed past the lump in her chest that was threatening to crush her whole and looked up, sure to hold her head high.
“It’s not what it looks like,” she said to Emerson, needing desperately for her friend to believe her. Because if not Emerson, then Shay had no hope of convincing anyone.
“I went to chichi culinary school in Paris and now live in one of the foodie meccas of the world. Yet I peddle a food cart around town and am forced to humiliate myself daily for tips. Nothing is ever what it seems.”
“You believe me?”
Emerson shrugged. “Sure. Animals love you and so does Harper. That means you’re good people.”
“Thank you.”
That small offering of faith was huge.
When the whole ordeal had gone down, not a single friend had remained by Shay’s side. None had even been willing to hear her out, Lance had made sure of it. She hadn’t only lost the man she’d thought of as her family, she’d had to let go of every dream that came along with making Monterey hers.
She wasn’t about to let that happen here. Not when she was so close to finding home.
It was nearly five. The St. Helena Sentinel was about to go to press any minute, and Shay found herself staring up at Estella’s front door. It looked just like all of the other doors Shay had faced down in her childhood—a big, unbreachable barrier that stood between her and what she wanted so desperately.
Acceptance.
“You’ve got this,” she whispered, lifting her hand to ring the bell.
She stopped before making contact because she so didn’t have this. She was nowhere close to having this. And Estella would take one look at her and know.
Shay drew in a deep breath, threw her shoulders back, and adopted her best come out swinging stance. But it didn’t help.
All of that take-charge attitude she’d channeled on her way over here evaporated the second she saw that door. Two minutes ago, she had been ready to be the bigger person and extend that olive branch. She’d been ready to take the leap. One look at the door and every memory of just how small she was, how what she had to offer might not be enough came rushing back and she started looking for the net.
And just like when she’d been a scared kid, there wasn’t one.
Shay wasn’t naive enough to think that leasing a shop meant the town would suddenly embrace her wholeheartedly. She finally u
nderstood that if she wanted a home, a real place where she belonged, here in St. Helena, she had to stop waiting for someone to invite her in and just go for it.
Conviction harnessed, she rang the bell. Twice to be sure she was heard.
Nails skidding across a hard surface sounded, followed by snarling, yapping, and Foxy Cleopatra throwing herself against the door—which only made Shay smile. No matter how big the bark, there was only so much a five-pound Pomeranian could do.
Shay decided to take that to heart.
Estella opened the door, but not the screen. She was dressed for dinner with the queen, with designer shoes on her feet and Foxy in her arms. Both dog and owner shared the same bitter expression. “If you’re here to ask about Bark in the Park, the answer is still no.”
“Actually, I came here as a fellow dog lover to ask you to pull the article in the Sentinel,” Shay stated.
If the woman was surprised Shay knew, she didn’t show it. “I have no control over what the paper prints, as you well know.”
Shay resisted rolling her eyes, barely. “No, but you are one of the most powerful women in town and I know you are the one pressuring them to print the article.”
“The people have a right to know what kind of person they are entrusting their money to.”
It wasn’t an admission but it was enough. “That article you found only tells part of the story.” A very one-sided part.
“Did you steal that man’s money?”
“According to the law, yes.” Shay wasn’t going to apologize or make excuses for it either. It had been her money to take. Just because Lance had put it in his account didn’t change that. “But I’m not a bad person. It was just a bad situation.”
“Huh,” the older woman said, crossing her arms and not making this any easier.
“This charity walk is going to help a lot of dogs find homes,” Shay said softly. “It will also allow me to move the pets I do have to a location where their barking won’t bother you. I don’t understand why you wouldn’t want that to happen. This is a win for everyone.”
“Well, it’s sure a win for you. Either you walk away with a stack of money or you walk away as the new dog lady.”
And suddenly, everything made sense. She had been so busy trying to figure out why Estella didn’t think Shay measured up. When in reality, Estella was lonely and scared and she relied on her animals for the same reasons Shay did, to feel love and belonging.
Shay coming in with her blog and calendar threatened the only outlet Estella had to the town as president of the Companion Brigade. It took away her usefulness. And people who had no purpose had no way to connect with others.
“I never meant to make you feel unappreciated for all of your efforts on behalf of dogs in this community,” Shay said. “You are one of the leading dog experts around, and I can see now how not asking you to be on my blog or a part of the fund-raiser could have hurt your feelings. That wasn’t my intent.”
Shay dug into her bag and pulled out her judges’ packet. “But intent doesn’t matter if feelings get overlooked.” She handed the papers to Estella.
“What’s this? A signup sheet for the walk-a-thon? Because Foxy and I are not interested.”
Of course they were. Estella wouldn’t be able to pass up the chance to parade her champion down Main Street.
“No, it’s the judges’ packet for the Prance for Paws Charity Pet Walk.” Harper had put together a list of criteria and guidelines so judges would be on the same page. “This walk is about celebrating pets and their owners, and I can’t imagine a better celebrity judge than the president of the Companion Brigade and her seven-time blue-ribbon champion.”
“You just want to make sure Foxy doesn’t enter because she’d win that crown,” Estella said, her eyes glued to the envelope.
“I imagine that she would, but I thought you weren’t entering?”
“I’m not. Already told you that.”
“Perfect. That means you will be free to judge.” Shay extended the packet again.
Estella took it and glanced down at the first page. Her eyes sparkled with excitement that she quickly masked before offering the packet back. “Judging this doesn’t mean I will retract that article or that I will lift the ban for Bark in the Park.”
“I didn’t imagine it would,” Shay admitted, although she’d been secretly wishing it would be so easy. “Just like that article won’t stop this walk from happening, and it won’t stop me from opening my rescue.”
And that was the truth.
“I didn’t imagine it would,” Estella said, then closed the door, but she had the judges’ packet and that was all that mattered.
Wednesday morning a loud pinging yanked Jonah from an amazing dream starring Shay, in nothing but skin and cuffs, screaming his name.
He looked at the nightstand to find his phone blinking, then gave himself a second to let his eyes adjust and to take stock. It was eight o’clock and the warm body curled into his chest was not a woman.
It was an annoyed cat, who, grumpy over the disturbance in his world, stalked off to find a new sleeping spot, sure to use his nails in the process. Settling on Jonah’s pillow, he gave a big stretch, then curled up, one eye peeled in disgust.
Right, don’t disturb the sleep-disturber’s sleep. Got it.
Jonah grabbed his cell off the nightstand, sitting up when he recognized Sheriff Bryant’s home number. Given the fact that Jonah had ended his shift two hours ago and it was his day off, his best guess was it had to be some kind of emergency.
“Please tell me Giles isn’t missing again, because if so, you have my permission to arrest him.”
“Giles is at home.” The sheriff paused. “As far as I know.”
Relieved, Jonah lay back down, propping the phone against his shoulder. “Then what can I do for you?”
“Sorry about the hour. I considered waiting to call, but the longer this goes on the worse it might get.” Well, that sounded very doom and gloom. “Are you officially heading up the team for the dog walk?”
“Pet walk, and yeah, I got a few guys from the fire station.”
“You might want to reconsider and pull out.”
“Why?” Jonah felt every protective instinct he owned man up.
Shay had busted her pretty butt these last few weeks to make this event possible. If he pulled his team, she wouldn’t be in compliance with the permit and the event would be canceled.
“According to the morning paper, the woman heading it was arrested for theft a few years back in Monterey County,” Sheriff Bryant explained through a yawn.
“Theft?” Shay has a file?
Jonah sat back up and turned on the light. The cat quickly flicked his tail around and burrowed his face beneath it. “What does the article say?”
With Shay, theft could have been as simple as liberating animals from a puppy mill or dog-fighting ring. Theft, yes, but enough to cancel the charity walk?
Jonah stopped. When had he become the guy who quantified just how illegal something was? Illegal was illegal, no matter how sexy the perpetrator was.
“I don’t know the whole story, to be honest—I’m still in my trunks—but according to the paper, she stole money from one of her customers’ bank accounts,” the sheriff went on, and Jonah let him because he was too busy trying to wrap his head around the situation to speak. “And yes, I asked. The reporter clarified the facts with someone from our department.”
“Someone, huh?” Jonah said, because this had Warren written all over it.
“They wouldn’t reveal their source, but if you ask me the timing is weird. Problem is, police records don’t lie, and now we have you tied to her charity event two months before the election. It’s not going to look good.”
Jonah didn’t care how it looked. All he cared about was what this would mean to Shay’s charity walk. He didn’t know a lot about her life before coming to St. Helena, but he knew enough to understand that she’d had it hard. Hosting this event and
leasing that space were huge leaps of faith for her.
It was also a great event for the town. So many people had donated their time. He didn’t want to cancel it before he had the facts. All the facts. And that meant talking to Shay.
“Give me a day to figure this out,” Jonah said, climbing out of bed and heading toward the bathroom.
The sheriff considered that long and hard, giving a heavy exhale. “I can give you until five. But I need your decision by end of the day. I already have Kelly from Civic Services calling to see if she should retract the event permit, and the mayor is breathing down my neck to protect the town from corruption.”
Warren probably fed his dad an earful, and even though the mayor was, for the most part, a decent guy, officiating a charity event that Warren tried to sink might come off as disloyal. Even worse, it might appear as though dear old Dad didn’t think his son had good judgment. Easier for the man to just eliminate the event altogether.
“You’ll hear from me by five,” Jonah agreed. He could work with that. It would give him enough time to talk to Shay, read the report, and figure out what was going on. Making a decision based on hearsay and speculation never ended well.
“Just remember, son. This one is on you. No matter which way it swings, it will all fall to you.”
Which was what Warren had most likely been planning on.
Jonah ended the call and immediately dialed Shay. Sent to voice mail, he strode to the window and looked out. Her car was gone, but the porch light was still on and—
What the hell?
Lining his street, in nearly every yard, were BE THE BOOTY: VOTE WARREN FOR SHERIFF signs. And in case there was any lingering doubt as to exactly who had decorated the neighborhood, on Estella’s lawn stood a larger-than-life cutout of Warren dressed like a smarmy Uncle Sam and pointing. The caption read, WARREN WANTS YOU.
Twenty minutes and sixteen unanswered calls to Shay later, Jonah pulled up to the station. On his way in he grabbed a copy of the Sentinel off his desk and headed straight for the locker room. Warren should have started his shift fifteen minutes ago, but since his cruiser was still in the lot, Jonah figured the mayor’s son was taking his time primping for his adoring public.