by Rachel Lacey
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To my own rescue boxer, Lacy.
You are one in a million.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Huge thanks to my family for being so amazingly supportive. To my husband for always believing in me, and to my son, who proudly tells people that his mom writes books.
To my sister, Juliana, for being generally awesome, the best sister in the world, a wealth of knowledge on dog training and western riding, and also my most valuable beta reader. I can’t imagine doing this without you.
To my agent, Sarah Younger, thank you for everything you do. You always have an answer to even the craziest question, and I am so happy to be a part of #TeamSarah. In short: you rock!
To my editor, Alex Logan, I am endlessly thankful for your help and guidance. And you get full credit for the title of this book, which I love! Many thanks to everyone else at Grand Central Publishing who lent their expertise and helped this book be the best it could be.
To my teacher and mentor, Lori Wilde, I can’t put into words how much I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. You are an amazing teacher, author, and person, and I am so grateful to know you.
Thank you to my “critters,” Annie Rains, Nancy LaPonzina, and Eleanor Tatum. Annie, when we put our heads together, magic happens! Thanks for helping me bring Merry and T.J. to life and for your invaluable critiques along the way.
Thank you to my #girlswritenight crew, Sidney Halston, Violet Henry, Tif Johnson, and Annie Rains. My writing nights are so much more fun, and productive, when you guys are around. Thank you for keeping me sane and giving me that extra push when I need it—love you guys!
Thank you to Will Goodwin and Violet Henry for answering my many medical questions, and to Violet for beta reading this manuscript for me. And thank you to Jennifer Oshnock for answering my questions about DSS and the process to become a foster parent.
Thank you to all the friends who’ve supported me along the way, and a special shout-out to the lovely ladies from Book Club aka “My book club can drink more than your book club.” You ladies are the best!
And to my readers: thank you for taking a chance on me. I hope you enjoy reading my books as much as I love writing them. I am so grateful to you all!
CHAPTER ONE
Merry Atwater was about to do something she hadn’t done in almost a decade. She closed her eyes, clasped her hands together, and prayed. As in, to God. She had little faith the Big Guy was listening, but she was desperate.
When she opened her eyes, the numbers on the screen hadn’t changed. Not that she expected God to alter Triangle Boxer Rescue’s account balance, but He did perform miracles from time to time, didn’t He? The truth was, the animal rescue she had poured her heart and soul into for the last six years was flat broke.
“What am I going to do?” She steepled her fingers and pressed them to her mouth.
Ralph, her six-year-old boxer, scooted closer on the couch. He plopped his head into her lap and gazed up at her with adoring brown eyes. Behind him, her foster puppies Chip and Salsa lay piled on top of each other. Collectively, they took up nearly the whole couch, but Merry didn’t mind. She enjoyed having a couch full of happy dogs, especially knowing she had saved each one from an uncertain future at the shelter, guaranteeing them a happy ending through Triangle Boxer Rescue.
She’d founded TBR as a twenty-two-year-old fresh out of nursing school, eager to do more to help the dogs she’d come to love and depend on. Since then, she’d devoted as much of her time and hard-earned money as she could spare to saving abandoned and abused boxers in and around the small town of Dogwood, North Carolina.
She’d been successful too, at least at first. Several years ago, she’d begun receiving an anonymous donation of one thousand dollars a month from an unknown benefactor. She’d tried and failed to find out who was behind the mysterious donations, but at some point, she’d come to depend on them. Then six months ago, the donations had stopped. Now the rescue’s bank account was drained, and she’d nearly maxed out her personal credit card trying to cover the difference.
She traced her fingers over the zigzag pattern on her pajama pants. It was nearly nine o’clock, and she was ready to call it a night. She had a twelve-hour shift ahead of her tomorrow and needed a good night’s sleep.
A quiet knock sounded at her front door. Ralph lifted his head and let out a sleepy bark, while Chip and Salsa tumbled onto the floor in a tangle of puppy legs.
Merry sucked in a breath. Had God heard her prayer after all? Had someone arrived to miraculously bail Triangle Boxer Rescue out of financial ruin?
Not likely, but she’d always considered herself a glass-half-full kind of girl.
“Just a minute,” she called as she herded the puppies behind the gate in the kitchen, then walked to the front door with Ralph at her side. She pressed her eye to the peephole, hesitant to open the door to an unexpected guest while in her pajamas.
A woman stood outside, dressed in a pink tank top and jean shorts. Wet tendrils of brown hair stuck to the sides of her face from the rain pouring beyond the safe shelter of Merry’s porch. She looked vaguely familiar. A neighbor, maybe?
Merry pulled the door open. Ralph let out a powerful bark, eyes fixed on the bedraggled dog at the woman’s side. It appeared to be some sort of Lab mix, with soggy amber fur and the kind of glazed eyes that Merry had seen too many times.
She gave Ralph a quick hand signal to keep him from greeting the unknown dog. He sat, tail wiggling against the hardwood floor.
“Hi,” the woman said, extending a rain-drenched hand. “I’m Kelly Pointer. I live down the street.” Kelly looked to the left, toward the cul-de-sac at the other end of the road.
Right. Merry had seen her before when she was out walking her dogs. She took Kelly’s hand and shook. “Sure. Hi, Kelly. What can I do for you?”
“Well, I heard you rescue dogs.” Kelly gestured to the dog at her feet. It stood, hunched, looking pathetic and miserable, and a heavy feeling settled in Merry’s gut.
God hadn’t sent an answer to her prayers. Instead, He’d added to her burden.
“Yes,” she answered carefully. “I’m the director of Triangle Boxer Rescue.”
She glanced pointedly at Ralph, still sitting politely at her side. He cocked his chestnut head, gazing up at their visitor with warm chocolate eyes that had melted many a heart.
“Well,” Kelly said, “I found this stray. She’s been wandering the neighborhood, and I was afraid she’d get hit by a car. I was hoping you could take her.”
Merry looked at the stray. The rain-soaked Lab mix avoided her gaze, looking like she’d dart off into the watery darkness if given half a chance. “Have you called the Dogwood Shelter to see if anyone’s looking for her?”
“Uh, no, I just brought her to you. I was hoping you could take her.” Her neighbor extended a thin piece of white rope that had been fashioned into a makeshift collar and leash.
“Well, I don’t exactly—” Merry gripped the rope, looking down at the pathetic dog on her front porch. This wasn’t the first time someone had brought her a random dog, expecting her to take it because she worked in animal rescue, and it wouldn’t be the last.
She’d always felt it a bit rude and presumptuous. It wasn’t as if Kelly didn’t have a home of her own where the dog could stay, warm and dry. Merry would have been happy to help her find the stray a home. But nope, she was apparently the designated receptacle for all unwanted dogs in the area, like it or not.
“Good luck with her. She seems sweet.” Kelly tucked her hands into her pockets and turned to go.
“Thanks, but I’ll probably have to bring her to the shelter in the morning.”
Kelly’s eyes rounded. “What? I thought maybe you could keep her, or something.”
“I run a rescue, for boxers. This is not a boxer. I already have two fosters and a dog of my own. I really can’t keep her.” Merry said the words. She meant them too. Then she glanced down at the dog huddled on her front porch, and she knew she’d never follow through.
Kelly shrugged. “Well, that sucks. I hope she finds a home.”
And with that, she walked off into the rainy night.
Merry looked at the dog who, for tonight at least, was hers. “So you’re spending the night with us, huh?” The soggy Lab mix stared at the floor of Merry’s porch, tail tucked between her legs. She reeked like wet, dirty dog.
Merry tied the rope around the railing. “Just a minute. I’ll be right back, okay?”
She stepped inside and put Ralph behind the gate in the kitchen with her two nosy foster puppies. She couldn’t introduce the new dog tonight, knowing nothing about her, and besides, she wasn’t keeping her long enough for it to matter.
She’d have her scanned for a microchip, call the local shelters, and if all else failed, she’d look for another rescue to take her, because Merry couldn’t keep her. She never kept more than three.
And in case God had forgotten, Merry was broke. She’d learned a long time ago that she couldn’t save them all. It was a bitter lesson to swallow, but true, and important to remember, lest she drown in guilt over the ones who couldn’t be saved.
She returned to the porch with a towel and gently rubbed as much rainwater as she could from the soggy stray. “Ready to come inside?”
The dog planted her feet, unwilling to enter the house. Merry shrugged, unfazed. She sat on the top step, staring out into the rainy June night, still warm and muggy despite the hour.
“Life’s been pretty crappy to you lately, huh?” she said softly. “I know what that feels like. It’s going to get better though. At least you have a dry bed waiting for you tonight, right?”
She kept talking, watching the rain fall beyond the protection of her front porch. Finally, the stray took a hesitant step toward her.
Merry reached out and stroked her chest, telling her what a good girl she was, patiently earning her trust. After a while, she stood and gave the rope a gentle tug. The dog followed her into the house.
The boxers in the kitchen barked and pranced, eager to make acquaintance with their visitor. Not yet. The dog at her side was tense, defensive. Terrified.
Merry sat with her while she adjusted to being in the house. She gave her food and water and took her outside to potty. Then she led the still-frightened stray to the crate she kept in the den for new dogs just getting settled.
It would do. For tonight.
* * *
T. J. Jameson leaned a hip against the counter and watched the pretty brunette’s frown deepen. From the looks of it, his buddy David Johnson had just declined her credit card. David owned Dogwood Animal Hospital. T.J., on his way home after checking on a colicky horse out in Creedmoor, had stopped by to see if his friend might have a recommendation to replace the dog trainer who’d just bailed on him.
The brunette tossed back a curly lock of hair and rummaged inside her purse. She was dressed for suburbia in fitted jean shorts, a purple blouse, and sparkly flip-flops, with a brown dog at her feet. T.J. pictured her in Wranglers and cowboy boots, and he liked that image a whole lot better. Dressed like that, he’d really have a hard time taking his eyes off her.
She glanced over, and their eyes met. Hers were a bottomless hazel that sparkled with trouble.
She turned back to David. “Try this one,” she said, handing over a blue credit card.
David swiped it through his card reader. “You’ve been paying for a lot of foster dogs with your personal card lately.”
She shrugged. “This one’s not technically a foster. I’m just keeping her for a day or two, to see if anyone shows up to claim her.”
Behind him, the door chimed. T.J. glanced over his shoulder to see a teenager in baggy jeans and a T-shirt emblazoned with “#AWESOME” enter the waiting room, busily texting on his cell phone. A brown and white dog walked at his side, some kind of mixed breed. It lunged toward the one the brunette held, barking and snarling, straining against the end of its leash.
“Knock it off,” the teenager said, pulling the dog toward the other end of the waiting room.
T.J.’s skin prickled. Clearly, that animal was not a suitable pet. It was only a matter of time before it bit someone. He ran a hand over his throat, feeling for the scars that had long faded.
He looked back at the brunette. She’d moved her dog out of sight behind the reception desk and was signing her receipt.
“Thanks, Dr. Johnson. I’ll see you next week for the puppies’ next round of vaccinations.” She started for the door with the brown dog at her heels.
The teenager’s mutt lunged again, and this time its leash pulled free. It bounded across the lobby toward the brunette and her dog.
Vicious barking shattered the air, setting T.J.’s adrenaline pumping. The brunette froze, and the dog behind her cowered against her legs. Easy bait.
His stomach soured at the thought of her at the dog’s mercy, her blood staining that pretty purple blouse as she tried to defend herself. No. No way.
“Hey!” T.J. lunged in front of the runaway dog.
It stopped and snarled at him, teeth bared. T.J. felt the hair on his arms stand on end. He raised his arms as if he were corralling a wayward calf and took a step toward the animal.
The dog pinned its ears and growled.
“Brutus, no!” The teenager grabbed the end of the leash and hauled the dog, still growling, into an open exam room.
T.J.’s heart thumped against his ribs. The scars on his neck stung, a vicious memory of the night he’d almost gotten his throat ripped out. He still heard the snarling barks, felt the teeth crushing his throat, and his own warm blood flowing over his skin.
“Holy shit.”
He turned his head to see the brunette staring at him, her hazel eyes wide. His hand was on her shoulder before he knew what he was doing. “Are you okay?”
She nodded. “You are so lucky you didn’t get bit just now.”
Yeah, he knew that, knew it better than most. He pulled back, tucking his thumbs through his belt loops. “Better me than you.”
“He wasn’t really after me, he was after my dog, but I was ready for him.” She opened her right hand to reveal a small, black spray canister.
T.J.’s eyebrows lifted. “Mace?”
“Citronella spray. It’s kind of like mace for dogs, except it doesn’t hurt them.” She slid the can into her purse. “FYI, next time you might not want to wave your arms around in an aggressive dog’s face. It’s asking for trouble, but… thanks. Most people wouldn’t bother to try. You’re our hero.”
She gave him a sweet smile, then strode out the front door, brown dog trotting along at her side.
T.J. stared, then snapped his mouth shut, feeling more confused than heroic. He turned to David, who still stood behind the reception desk, flipping through paperwork. “Who was that?”
David waggled his bushy eyebrows with a smile. “Merry Atwater. She’s a nurse, so at least she could have patched you up if you’d needed it.”
T.J. grunted. Good to know. “That kid with the vicious dog is a client of yours?”
“His father is, but he’s out of town. Brutus isn’t all bad, but the family refuses to have him neutere
d, and he gets a little territorial around other dogs.”
“Brutus? The dog’s name is Brutus? That should be a warning right there.” T.J. had never had a dog, never planned on getting one, but if he did, he’d find a reputable breeder and choose a dog with champion bloodlines and a solid temperament. He’d never understood why people took in dogs like that one, dogs of unknown heritage, with obvious behavioral problems.
He’d seen what happened when dogs like that got loose. He’d seen livestock attacked by packs of prowling dogs. Hell, he’d come within an inch of losing his own life to a couple of stray mutts. Dogs like Brutus were a serious problem.
“Brutus might need to be muzzled in the lobby area,” David said. “I’ll have a talk with them about it. So what brings you out my way?”
“Hoping you might be able to help me out.”
David headed for the back room, motioning for T.J. to follow. “Oh yeah, how’s that?”
“That dog trainer I hired for the summer camp bailed on me.” He was seriously pissed about it too. He’d spent months getting everything in place, and now, with only a week to go, he was back at square one.
“So let the kids spend more time working with the horses,” his friend said with a shrug.
“I could, but dogs are an important part of the camp, for Noah especially.” And the whole point of the camp was to help his nephew. Noah had been diagnosed a few years ago as a child with high-functioning autism. He was a smart kid, bright as a hundred-watt bulb, but he struggled to communicate with his peers, which had led to problems at school.
T.J.’s sister Amy was a single mom fighting to make ends meet. She wouldn’t accept money from him, no matter how hard he tried to help. Instead, this year he’d decided to establish a summer camp on his farm to help kids like his nephew, using his horses for equine therapy and incorporating a local dog trainer who’d bring several trained therapy dogs to work with the kids.
Noah communicated with dogs on a level he struggled to achieve with members of his own species. The camp absolutely couldn’t happen without dogs.