how wild. She knew how important dreams were. Hers were so simple, but elusive. She wanted a place where she and Dylan could stay and put down roots—probably a first for a Hale, she thought with a smile as she recalled her parents’ wanderlust.
Tail wagging, Sunny came crashing out of the shrubs with a black plastic trash bag clamped in her mouth. She dragged it across the yard and dumped it at Rachel’s feet.
Obviously expecting praise, the dog sat back on her haunches and grinned. Oh well, at least it wasn’t a dead skunk this time. “All right, girl.”
The plastic bag moved.
Dylan stared at it. “That looks too small for an alligator.” He grinned at Rachel. “Maybe it’s a snake.”
Rachel hated snakes. With a shudder, she gingerly reached for the bag, then opened it. The inside was black, except for a couple of spots of white. Opening the bag wider, she exposed the contents.
Dylan looked over her shoulder.
“Puppies!” he breathed in shocked delight.
Rachel shared his shock. Someone had discarded an unwanted litter. She resisted the urge to cry at the careless cruelty. Weak and half-starved, the puppies were tiny, about the size of tennis balls, matted into smooth balls of fur. Their tiny claws had poked holes in the plastic bag to breathe.
When one shivered, she said, “Let’s get them inside.”
Dylan followed her into the house and watched as she fetched a wicker basket. “Are they going to be okay?”
Rachel lined the basket with a towel. “I hope so.” She hoped this wouldn’t lead to another disappointment for him. When she transferred the puppies to the basket, she noted how frail they were. One just lay there, its breathing shallow. If it didn’t survive, Dylan would be heartbroken.
Dylan still looked expectant. “Can we keep them?”
“Honey, they’re very young. We need to take them to the animal shelter. They’re going to need special care.”
The telephone book failed to yield an animal shelter, but there was an animal clinic. Rachel needed directions.
“We’re located about five miles out of town,” she was told by the woman who answered the phone. “Take a left at the end of Main Street, then a right, another left.” This was getting more complicated by the minute.
Although confusing on paper, the directions were easy to follow. Getting lost in Henderson was probably impossible, Rachel thought as she negotiated the one thoroughfare.
Until recently, she’d lived in Stillwater fifty miles away, not far in terms of miles, but each town had its own character. Henderson was isolated and rural, a farming and logging town. Stillwater catered to tourists; the population swelled each summer when families occupied the lakeside cottages. Sportsmen came the remainder of the year.
While Rachel drove, Dylan kept up a running commentary about the puppies. “They sure are small. What if no one else wants to take them?”
Rachel answered firmly, “I’m sure they have a list of people waiting for puppies.” She hoped.
The animal clinic was a surprisingly long drive out of town—uphill all the way. By the time Rachel got there, her small car was choking a bit, with that insistent knock in the four-cylinder engine that had her losing sleep at night. She could have used Drew’s car, but pride prevented her from accepting any form of charity, however well-intentioned.
Stones End, the signpost read.
Very apt, Rachel thought as she turned at the sign. Stone fences lined both sides of the farm road, then rambled into the fields, framing straight lush cultivated rows of deep-green potato plants stretching into the far distance. One nearby field had gone to seed, adrift in a gaudy sea of wildflowers, as if someone had thrown caution to the wind and let nature take over.
While admiring the view, Rachel almost missed the animal clinic, which blended into the scenery. She parked the car, and they got out. Dylan carried the basket of puppies as if they were breakable. They climbed the porch steps.
Obviously new, the scent of cedar shakes clung to the building—a long low structure set against the shelter of tall flaring pine trees. In the distance, a collection of farm buildings topped the hill. The place was oddly silent, peaceful. The stillness was broken by a baby’s cry.
The human sound startled Rachel. She opened the screen door and entered a reception area.
A bell stood on the receptionist’s desk. One ring brought someone rushing into the room. With a baby thrown over her shoulder, the young woman smiled. “Hello, I believe we spoke on the phone.”
“Yes, that’s right.” At the sound of Rachel’s voice, the baby turned to look, and grinned a toothless smile.
His mother chuckled. “This is Nathaniel. He’s not usually cranky, but he’s teething.”
“He’s lovely,” Rachel said. And he was—robust and rosy-cheeked, with dark hair. His mother had fair hair; but the infant had her soft rainwater-gray eyes.
The woman smiled. “We like him.” She transferred his weight to her hip. “I’m Jessie Harding by the way. You’re new in town. Welcome to Henderson. I hope you’ll be happy here. Where are you from?”
Liking the woman’s directness, Rachel introduced herself and Dylan. “My aunt and uncle ran the Stillwater Inn until they retired recently.”
“I know the place. Isn’t it closed for repairs?”
“Yes, indefinitely.” Rachel didn’t add any details about her move. Explanations were awkward.
When Jessie laid the baby down in a playpen, he fussed for a minute until she gave him a rattle. “You said you found puppies along the road? I don’t know how anyone could throw them away, do you?”
“Well, no.” Now Rachel felt guilty because she didn’t want them either.
“If you’ll come with me, I’m sure the doctor will see you right away.” Jessie turned toward a closed door, knocked once, then opened it, pushing it wide.
Rachel was still struggling to explain, “I thought I could just drop them—” Stopping in midsentence, she stared at the man’s identity, frowning at his fair hair. Several days had passed and he hadn’t had it cut.
Openly familiar, Jessie teased, “Are we interrupting anything important?”
With an uneasy feeling that didn’t make sense, Rachel wondered at their relationship. Was he married to Jessie, the father of her child?
Caught in the act of aiming a dart at a gameboard on the opposite wall, he grinned. “Not at all.”
However, at the sight of Rachel, his smile fled. When his gaze wandered over her before finally leveling on her face, the corn flakes topped with strawberries and cream she’d eaten for breakfast curdled in her stomach. Conscious of her less-than-flattering attire—denim cutoffs and a blue cotton T-shirt—she tugged at the ragged edge of her shorts.
When a plump owl on
