a turkey sandwich. Chips.” EW shuffled his feet awkwardly on the yellowed linoleum. “Door was open.”
“Good. I’m starving.” Cole cleared his throat. “These papers are nice, but...” He shook his head.
EW didn’t answer, just held out a plastic bag with sandwiches wrapped in napkins. “One paper? You givin’ up after one paper?”
Cole shoved half a sandwich in his mouth. Snapping in anger or whining after all EW’s help would never do. “Nope.” He grabbed the Holly Heights newspaper and flipped to the two-page classified spread. “Used car. House for rent.” He shoved the other half of the sandwich in his mouth. Talking and chewing would have gotten him a smack on the hand if his Mimi were still here.
In the last column, he found it. A job listing for an assistant manager at an animal shelter. “Paws for Love.” He glanced over at EW. “Know anything about it?”
EW wadded his empty napkin. “Down the road a piece, maybe two miles. Pet project for the new millionaires.”
Cole waited for EW to either acknowledge his pun or explain the “millionaires” comment.
EW stretched lazily and shuffled through the papers to slide one out. On the front page, a full-color photo showing four beautiful women grinning with absolute joy caught Cole’s eye. A surge of jealous bitterness shot through him, turning the sandwich into a hard lump in his stomach. “Local lottery winners Rebecca Lincoln, Stephanie Yates and Jen Neil celebrate the open house at Paws for Love.” As he read the headline, Cole had a vague memory of them at Holly Heights High School, but they were a year or two ahead of him and they’d moved in different crowds. “And Sarah Hillman. Looks like some things don’t change. Hillmans are still running this town.”
He scanned the story about the shelter’s reopening with new funding provided by the foundation set up by Rebecca, Jen and Stephanie. Sarah Hillman was listed as the organization’s director and the day-to-day manager. That would be a problem. He expected a Hillman would set low priority to hiring people like him.
“Two miles...” He pointed toward Holly Heights.
EW shook his head and pointed the opposite direction. “Down the highway.”
Cole tapped a finger nervously on the coffee table. He could walk two miles easy. It was only part-time, but it was a place to start and he had the skills listed. Flexibility. Experience working with animals. He could lift fifty pounds no problem.
“Good character.” That might be the sticking point. Not that he didn’t have it, but that he had no way to prove it.
“Take the truck.” EW stretched in the seat. “Go in the morning. Won’t know until you try.”
“You’ll have to come with me. Can’t drive. No license.” Maybe if he had a personal witness, they would listen.
“Might be better to take your chances without me.” EW raised an eyebrow, and Cole understood exactly what he meant. Mimi had bragged on EW’s skills with motors. The rest of Holly Heights viewed EW as the town drunk.
But Cole would enjoy having a partner, a little bit of backup, someone who believed when he wasn’t so sure himself.
Relying too much on what other people thought was how he’d gotten mixed up with the gang that convinced him taking what he needed was the only answer. Not anymore. Going alone was the only way to stay out of trouble.
“I’ll walk it. I can do it.” The distance was nothing. Convincing Sarah Hillman to give him a shot would be the challenge. Finding a job was the key to everything. If he spent too much time sitting around this trailer with nothing to do but list his mistakes and fight the temptation to drown his problems, he’d be back inside Travis before the year was out. He didn’t believe in fate or destiny, but this felt right. All he had to do was seize his chance.
REBECCA LINCOLN PUT the car in Park and checked the clock on her car radio. “Fifteen minutes early, right on time.” The only other cars in the parking lot belonged to Sarah and Shelly, Sarah’s right hand and the most important volunteer at the shelter. They’d both been at Paws for Love since sunrise, no doubt.
As she reached over to grab the floral tote she used to organize all the paperwork for the shelter, Rebecca hit the buttons to lower the windows a crack. Otherwise, the Texas sun would turn her car into an oven. She loved ovens but had no desire to sit in one on the drive home.
Whistling might be over-the-top, but it was a beautiful morning. On sunny Saturdays like this one, the bedraggled flower beds and dusty gravel lot in front of the building seemed twice as sad, but Sarah was slowly and surely changing every piece of Paws for Love for the better. With enough time, she’d hire someone to replace the peeling paint and plant bright flowers, and the outside of the building would reflect all the joyful work done at the shelter.
Time. That was all this place needed now. Smug certainty and a touch of pride at what her money had accomplished added up to a song in her heart. If Jen was there, Rebecca might hum a happy tune, to annoy her.
Before she could open the car door, Sarah stepped out of the building. “Good. You’re here early. Can you cover the phone and desk for me? I need to call Will before Jen gets here.”
“Sure. I’ve got the desk. This time next week, we’ll have some real help for you.” Rebecca was perfectly happy to spend some time behind the counter at the shelter. Sarah was ruthlessly organized, so it was easy to find the log of volunteers. Rebecca ran a finger down the list of names and hours. The kids she’d sent over from the high school where she worked as a guidance counselor had plugged right in. The satisfaction of correctly identifying and connecting kids with opportunities was nice. Every single one of them would have great extracurriculars for college applications.
That job satisfaction made it impossible to consider quitting her job, even after hitting the lottery.
Her phone chirped to notify her that a text had come in. Every time she heard it, she pictured a bluebird of happiness.
Booked the flight into Austin. It’ll be good to see my kids in person. Her mother had taken to texting instead of calling, probably because she was too busy for long conversations. After a lifetime of charity work in Holly Heights, Rebecca’s parents had moved to Florida, where they played golf. Lots and lots of golf.
Already planning the menu. Rack of lamb. I’ve always wanted to try it. Can’t wait to see you. The farewell dinner for Daniel and Stephanie was going to be her inaugural dinner party with the new kitchen. Saying goodbye to her brother and her friend would hurt, but she was anxious to demonstrate what a smart investment the large check she’d write to the contractor would be.
Starving children, Rebecca Lincoln. Refugees. Go for chicken, something reasonable. We aren’t fancy, you know that.
Her mother’s reply shouldn’t have surprised her, because she’d heard similar responses her whole life. But it did shave off a sliver of the good mood she’d begun the day with. Trying something new would have been fun.
While she waited for one of the shelter’s volunteers to come up to the desk, Rebecca wandered over to the bulletin board to check out the photos Sarah had posted of all
