after the storm, so she really shouldn’t have been surprised by the extent of the damage. But hearing about it and seeing it were two entirely different things.
Her hands shook on the steering wheel as the memories of that awful night came back to her—the deafening roar as the twister spun down Main Street, the horrible way her apartment windows had rattled in their frames, the cool press of the bathtub’s porcelain against her cheek as she curled into a ball and did her best to ride out the storm. It was terrifying, and all in all, Spring Forest’s modest downtown area had fared pretty well. She couldn’t imagine how scared the Whitaker sisters must have been, not to mention the poor helpless animals in the shelter.
Her eyes filled with tears just thinking about it.
Get a grip. You’re fine. Everyone is fine.
Still, she’d feel better as soon as she got a glimpse of Tucker, her favorite dog at Furever Paws, and made sure he wasn’t traumatized. Not that she’d be able to tell, exactly. The little Chihuahua/dachshund mix—or chiweenie, as Birdie and Bunny liked to say—was notoriously standoffish. Amanda’s nickname for him was Grumpy. Which, now that she thought about it, would also be a suitable moniker for Ryan Carter.
Was it weird that she seemed to be attracted to cranky men and equally cranky dogs?
Probably. But at least she was consistent.
Consistently ridiculous. She maneuvered the truck into the shelter’s gravel parking lot, and rolled her eyes. So what if her tastes were a bit...odd? As she’d told Belle again and again, she didn’t have time for either a pet or a boyfriend, so it really didn’t matter how cranky the mysterious Mr. Carter could be. The grumpier, the better. If he looked right through her when she handed him his coffee, he’d be easier to ignore.
Except he hadn’t looked right through her on the street earlier. On the contrary, he’d focused on her with such blinding intensity it had made her head spin a little. For a minute, she’d thought he might be flirting with her. He’d even been charming, in a serious, formal sort of way.
I never lie about coffee.
Was she supposed to laugh at that? She had no idea. She only knew that all the butterflies in North Carolina had seemed to gather in her tummy at once, making her feel all fluttery and wonderful.
And then his hint of a smile had flattened into a straight line and he’d left before she could process what was happening. Perfect. Just perfect.
She climbed out of the truck and slammed the door a little harder than necessary. Why was she even thinking about Ryan Carter when Furever Paws was right in front of her looking seriously worse for wear?
The fence surrounding the property was flat on the ground, and the roof of the main shelter building looked as if the entire right side had been pried off with a can opener. The damage definitely looked worse than Birdie and Bunny had let on. Much, much worse. Even with good insurance, how long would it take before everything was fully restored?
As she stood surveying the destruction, she caught a glimpse of a gray flash out of the corner of her eye. She whipped her head around, but no longer saw anything. Just trees swaying in the breeze and branches scattered in every direction. She squinted, peering into the tree line. The other day, she could have sworn she saw a stray gray dog trotting past the window at the Grille. But when she’d gone outside to try to lure it indoors, it had been nowhere to be found. Sometimes she wondered if she was seeing things.
Amanda turned and held her breath, bracing herself as she pushed through the building’s glass double doors. Thankfully, the inside of the shelter seemed to have fared much better than the outside. Other than a few buckets placed strategically around the lobby to catch rainwater, things looked generally the same as they had when she’d shown up for her volunteer shift last week. Just damper, although the industrial-sized fan whirring in the corner seemed to be doing its best to dry things out.
“Afternoon, Amanda.” Hans Bennett, the shelter volunteer manning the front desk, waved and called out to her above the hum of the fan.
“Hi, Hans.” She waved back, and as she approached the counter, she spotted a kitten nestled in Hans’s lap.
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
