Rescue Me (7 page)

“Actually, no. She stayed outside the whole time logging in the animals, and left straightaway after delivering the crates the shelter.” Which wasn't like Lacey at all. She was usually the last to leave. But then even the most seasoned rescuers could be shaken.

“Sounds as if she really does need my support tonight. You and I can talk more tomorrow.” Sierra hugged her hard again. “I really have missed you, Mary Hannah.”

“I really have missed you, too.” And she meant it. She just wished she was able to talk as easily as she could listen. “Be careful on your way back to the house.”

“I look more awkward than I actually feel.” She paused at the door, tucking her feet back in her boots. “Merry Christmas.”

“You, too, my friend.”

The door closed behind Sierra, leaving Mary Hannah alone for the first time since she'd headed out this morning expecting to liberate hoarded animals. Her own pain was never far from the surface, but today had torn away all her defenses on so many levels.

Her work with the rescue usually brought her comfort, knowing she'd helped the animals and the people whose lives they would touch. Today, though, it was tougher to imagine how things would end happily for all the dogs they'd seized.

She'd seen such hopelessness in Mama's expression as she thrashed against the restraints. And if she was beyond rehabilitation?

Squeezing her eyes shut, Mary Hannah sagged onto the fat sofa, exhausted. Heart tired. One day at a time, she reminded herself. Get through the moment and control what she could. And above all, no self-pity.

Her head lolled back, and exhaustion tugged at her until she slumped to the side, a throw pillow under her neck. She swung her legs up on the sofa. Just a quick catnap and she would get back to the cookies.

In the late-night quiet her thoughts grew louder, memories swelling to fill the corners of her brain. Five months ago she'd been driving home after meeting with a new client, a soldier who'd lost an arm and leg overseas. He'd been out of it, but his wife and son had been with him, supporting. That frail family unit had tugged at her heart, shredding her professional objectivity all the more given it was her anniversary. Or rather it would have been except she was divorced.

Recognizing she was in no shape to drive, she'd pulled into a truck-stop bar/restaurant for food and time to recover her composure. Only to have that composure shattered all over again by a lean, sexy man with compelling blue eyes sitting at the bar with chili cheese fries and a beer.

She'd been drenched from a summer storm and ditched the professional suit jacket she'd worn over her silky sundress. The heat of his gaze had almost steamed the clinging fabric dry. His jet-black hair, a little long in a bad-boy way, had curled at the ends, damp from the rain. Without thinking, she walked past the private corner booth and parked herself on a barstool, leaving only one empty space between them.

Even now, her skin tingled and heat gathered between her legs. So much. Making her want to relive every second of that night until she found an echo of release.

Her fists clenched, and she sat up sharply.

No. She was done living in the past. She didn't know what the future held for any of them, but at least she had an idea how to make tomorrow a little more bearable for the animals at the shelter. She got off the sofa and arranged the salt and pepper shakers so they lined up again, then grabbed her iPad off the counter where it had been recharging. She tapped the app for dog-treat recipes. She wouldn't be sleeping in tomorrow after all.

Her Christmas morning would be spent at the shelter.

Who would have thought
Top Chef
would send their winner to visit me at the shelter?

—FEMALE BOXER, FOUR YEARS OLD, SHELTER #S75230

A
FTER THE PEPPERMINT
lady left, I didn't think I would ever see her again.

When I felt that van lurch while I was in the cage, I forgot all about peppermint smells. Sure, the crate was cleaner, but the stink of fear fills up the smell sensors fast, taking over everything else. I was scared of so much in those days. Even the bath they gave me, not that I remember much of it since once I started thrashing around under the water, they jabbed me with another needle and then I got loopy. I woke up later in a long concrete tunnel—a kennel run. There was an inside and outside with a swinging door. I got to choose when I went inside or outside.

Strange how even the thought of having choices terrified me in those days. I held myself in tight, curled in a corner, only relieving myself when the pain of holding it in was too much to bear. I could see dogs in another kennel across from me, a couple of chows that had gotten out when their family was having a cocktail party. They were scared, too, but not like me. Plus they had each other. They also had hope their people would come looking for them. That didn't scare them the way the thought of my owner coming to take me back to the cabin still frightened me. She had friends and customers, too, and in my fear, there were moments I thought I saw a couple of those people.

But then I wondered if the drugs were making me hallucinate.

I listened to the other dogs around me howl and bark out their fears and stories. So much information piled on top of me, it was too much to process.

Then morning came. And with it, peppermint.

She came back.

The lady who'd smelled so sweet showed up at the shelter with food for me. Not scraps, either. But things I'd only ever seen on television. Treats.

Better yet, homemade dog treats.

The peppermint lady—Mary Hannah—sat on the concrete floor by my kennel, talking softly. The injections from the day before had worn off, so I was clearheaded, more than I could ever remember feeling, in fact. Every breath of that bleachy clean air swept out the residue of the meth fumes.

But without all those meds, my true feelings—and fears—filled every corner of me. I was too scared to crawl up to the gate, but I liked the sound of her talking. I stayed in my corner and listened. Her voice was every bit as sweet as the scent of her.

“Merry Christmas,” she said, pushing a cookie through until it fell onto my kennel-run floor.

She pulled her hand away. Good thing, because I really wanted that cookie, but I wouldn't be so quick to trust her again. Not after the way she'd looped that choker around my neck and helped drag me outside with a pole. I didn't dare move. I wasn't sure if it was a trick. The woman who'd kept me all my life would do that. Lure me in, then kick me for doing what she'd asked.

Mary Hannah looked off in the distance now, rather than at me, so I inched forward warily, picked up the cookie and scampered back to my corner to eat that treat.

Peanut butter and pumpkin flavored.

Might as well have been pure ambrosia.

Christmas had finally happened for me.

Up until that day, my only understanding of Christmas came from the television. I liked all the music that played behind shows during the holiday season. But quite frankly,
It's a Wonderful Life
seemed like fantasy fiction.

Little did I know that in the years to come I would discover all the smells that went with holidays.

Now the bleachy air in my kennel run held a hint of peppermint. I still didn't trust her, even with the cookies, but I liked the way she smelled as much as I enjoyed her voice. So if she maintained her distance and kept pushing cookies into my kennel, I wouldn't bolt through the dog door to hide in the outside portion of my kennel run.

Footsteps approached, and fear kicked into high gear. I trembled so hard the last bite of cookie fell out of my mouth.

“Shhh . . . Shhh . . . Shhh . . .” Mary Hannah chanted softly. “It's okay, Mama. It's going to be okay.”

A shelter worker knelt beside her, a big strong guy, the one who'd put the second loop around my neck to haul me out of the cabin. “What are you doing here, Ms. Gallo? It's Christmas. No pulling animals for the rescue today.”

“I brought you all cookies—and some for the animals, too. The director okayed it. I have her text.” She glanced up. “What are you doing working today? You're not on cleaning or feeding patrol.”

“Got a call to pick up a stray hound dog wandering in the cold. No microchip or collar. So he's spending Christmas with us.”

“I'm sorry to hear that.” The sadness in her voice made me want to inch out of my corner. “I promise to finish up here soon so the staff can leave to have lunch with their families.”

“Take your time. Second Chance is welcome here any day. But the director's going to be pissed she missed your cookies. Which cookies are the human kind?”

“The ones in the break room.” She pulled out another peanut butter pumpkin treat. “I also wanted to check on the dogs from yesterday.

“Last update, the male boxer was still hanging on. The puppies are all warm and snug, healthy so far. The mamas are a little freaked out over being shaved.” He backed away. “Just don't open any kennels.”

“I promise to stick to the rules. Girl Scout's honor.” Smiling, she pulled out another cookie. “Here, Mama. I thought pumpkin would be fun, plus pumpkin settles your tummy, and I thought you might be stressed.”

I inched one paw forward, slow like. Maybe I could just nudge the cookie over to me since she was on the other side of a fence. Maybe. I stretched my leg farther, farther still—

Ding.

The sound jarred me, and I snapped my leg back. Fast. Pushing my body flatter against the wall, praying I could just disappear.

“Damn it,” Mary Hannah said softly, pulling out her cell phone. She thumbed along the screen, her eyes tracking as she read whatever had popped up on the screen.

I knew how cell phones worked thanks to commercials. The few people who came to the cabin also had them. Apparently all humans came equipped with one from birth.

Knowing the phone was a normal item, though, didn't help unlock the fear again. Not even when a huge smile spread over her face.

“Mama, good news. That was my friend Lacey. She heard from the police department that you and your animal friends have been released to go to a rescue if you pass your temperament test. You can't be adopted just yet, but we can get you out of the kennel run. If you come to the ranch, you'll get time in the play yard and lots of walks since there aren't as many animals there. If you get a foster home, you'll be living in a house all the time.”

She rambled on in that soothing voice, and something inside me said
trust her
, but I couldn't make myself move out of the far corner of the run to take the treat out of her hand even though the smell had me salivating.

Or maybe I was drooling out of abject terror. It was tough to tell.

“It's okay, Mama. You don't have to trust me if you don't want to. You can still have another cookie. Eat up so your tummy will be full and happy for your temperament test tomorrow.” She pushed the treat through the gate. Then pushed three more after it. They fell onto the concrete floor. “You can enjoy those after I go.”

She still didn't leave then. Not right away. She sat on the cement outside my kennel run, humming along with the Christmas music on the sound system. It was almost like she didn't have anywhere to be on Christmas Day, which didn't make sense. Everyone on those TV shows had somewhere to go with tables full of enough food that I would never go hungry again.

The burly guy came back again and knelt beside her. “We've finished the morning shift. We're headed home for turkey time. You can come back when we do our evening cleanup and feeding if you want.”

“I won't disrupt your schedule anymore. Thank you.” She pushed another treat through my gate. “Be a
good
girl for your test, Mama. Please.”

Something about the way she said that last word made me look at her just for a second. An instant was all I dared, but it was enough to see. She was every bit as scared as I was.

And in that moment I knew. I would do anything to make her happy again.

*   *   *

A BLINDING LIGHT
sliced through AJ's dream. A damn good dream of peeling a wet silky dress off Mary Hannah's body . . . except she'd been Francesca and he'd been an even bigger mess that night than he was now. He'd still been reeling from too much time undercover, from Sheila's betrayal. And wondering if moving to this place would make a difference or just sink him right back into hell.

So that night he hadn't questioned the instant attraction. He'd taken the moment. Taken her.

And God, she'd taken him right back. The feel of her against his skin was so warm and soft that he didn't want to wake up to a morning where that night didn't exist anymore.

He hauled his pillow over his head to block the morning sun streaking through his window, except he could swear he'd pulled the curtains shut before bed. He'd gotten home late from the station last night, staying as long as he reasonably could so he would fall straight into an exhausted sleep. And those curtains, he was damn sure he'd closed them so he wouldn't have to see Mary Hannah's loft apartment through the forest branches.

His plan hadn't taken into account the fact that Mary Hannah would haunt his dreams.

He peeked from under his pillow and found his cousin standing by the window, heavy drapes pulled wide and blinds opened. Groaning, AJ buried his head again.

“Cousin? AJ?” Wyatt called, his voice unmistakable even through the pillow. “Ho, ho, ho, wake up for Santa Claus.”

“Seriously?” AJ tossed the pillow at his cousin and sat up, covers pooling around his waist. “How the hell did you get in here?”

“How did you not hear me breaking in?”

A disconcerting question, for sure. “Fair enough. You've made your point. Close the blinds when you leave.”

“It's almost noon.” Wyatt pulled a pair of jeans off the back of a rocking chair and tossed them at AJ as he got out of bed. “We're going to be late for Christmas lunch at Lacey's.”

He caught the jeans against his chest and stepped over a pile of laundry on the floor. “I told you already. I'm going fishing.”

“For an undercover cop, you're a crappy liar. Now hurry up.” Wyatt backed out of the bedroom into the hall. “I'll make coffee while you get dressed—
to go to Lacey's
, not fishing.”

AJ tugged on the jeans and padded barefoot out of his bedroom into the great room. The place had come furnished. Simple. Functional. Rustic. A little messy. It worked for him. “You're not going to let up, are you?”

Wyatt pulled ground coffee out of the cabinet. “I'm worried about you.”

“Domestic life is making you soft.” He joined his cousin at the stone counter and opened a box of Pop-Tarts, taking one and tossing the rest back on the counter beside a pile of mail. “Pass me the peanut butter there beside you.”

Wyatt handed it over with an ill-disguised grimace. “That's not much of a Christmas breakfast. Lacey's son-in-law made the most freaking awesome sticky buns from scratch. The food over there is crazy good.”

“I remember a time not too long ago when you considered blueberry Pop-Tarts with peanut butter to be a delicacy.” He bit off a corner while Wyatt finished prepping the coffeemaker.

Once the pot started gurgling java, Wyatt turned to lean against the counter. “Higher-ups at the station are concerned about you—hell, I'm concerned about you. The captain wants you to talk to the in-house doc.”

“The shrink?” He bit off another quarter of the Pop-Tart and chewed while choosing his words carefully. He thought he'd left behind this crap in Atlanta and salvaged a life here for himself. At least he'd thought that until yesterday. “I'm doing the work. No slacking. Am I being sent to ride desk duty?”

“No, not at all. We need you. You're a damn good cop. Everyone here knows that.”

“Then why are you all busting my chops? And why the hell was our boss discussing it with you?”

“We know the signs of burnout.” Concern creased Wyatt's forehead. “He asked for my opinion as your partner and your relative.”

The last thing AJ wanted was a pity party behind his back. “Hey, if I'm causing you trouble, I'll quit. You called in favors to line up the job interview here. I owe you.”

“You don't owe me jack shit.” Wyatt pulled two mismatched mugs out of the cabinet. “We're family. That's why I want to give you the heads-up.”

“Heads-up about what?” He pushed the pause button on the coffeemaker and filled both mugs.

“The captain has a plan to reassure himself your head's on straight. And when the doc or the captain mentions it, you are going to say yes.” Wyatt lifted an eyebrow and his mug in a toast.

AJ blew into his mug of steaming java. He wasn't going to win this argument with his cousin or the department, and it hadn't escaped his notice that Wyatt didn't answer his question. Bottom line, he didn't want to put anyone at risk if he was screwed up. So whatever it was that Wyatt thought would make him run from this plan, he would just get over it.

Drinking his coffee, AJ eyed his cousin over the mug. “Sure, fine, of course I'll go see the shrink. You got me the job and I don't want to cause friction for you at work.”

“Don't do this for me. Do it for yourself. And to be clear, you got the job based on your merits. We don't have a force big enough to give away positions.”

His merits had only bought him burnout. He was weary with the job, the devastation, the sense that no matter how many criminals he brought down, he'd scraped only the first layer of scum off a bottomless pit. And apparently Cooksburg wasn't much different from Atlanta when it came to the meth business.