Shelter Me (22 page)

She couldn’t lose anything more in her life.

Lacey turned into the parking lot, driving as close as possible to a side entrance with at least a half dozen cars parked. The shelter was closed to the public on Sundays, but the animals still needed feeding and tending. Even at a skeletal staff, the place hummed with activity.

One truck in particular caught her eye, one with a series of funny bumper stickers with paws. Her favorite?
My windows aren’t dirty. That’s dog nose art.

Why was Ray here? And why did she care?

The side door opened, and shelter director Dahlia Taylor stood in the opening to wave her into the building. Pushing aside distracting thoughts, Lacey turned off her SUV and double-checked the blankets lining her seats, along with two wire crates in the back. It would be full and noisy soon enough.

She hitched her canvas sack full of paperwork, her wallet and her camera. “Thanks for meeting me on a day off.”

Dahlia managed to pull off chic even up to her neck in floating animal dander. Her fitted pink dress, wide black belt and leather riding boots showed she hadn’t taken time to change clothes before rushing over here after lunch. “We don’t take days off in rescue.”

“True, very true.” Lacey angled past and inside to a din of barking, meowing, voices and a radio playing.

Usually she just walked back on her own to the kennel runs, familiar with the space and cleared by the staff, but Dahlia stayed with her today rather than ducking into her office to plow through paperwork. But then Dahlia had made a special point of being here, so she must have some special cases to point out.

And where was Ray? She found herself searching as she walked past through the waiting area.

Volunteers were snapping photos of animals for Internet and publicity campaigns. Two of them glanced through the doorway and caught sight of her. She smiled and waved, grateful they were here, but also knowing each volunteer and each worker would have a favorite they wanted her to rescue. There just wasn’t room in her car or her budget. Still her heart squeezed. God, this work was not for the faint of heart. There were always more homeless animals than there were homes or spaces in shelters and rescues.

Kennel techs hosed down runs on the inside, while dogs stayed in the outside section of each run. Then they would reverse. The cleaning never ended, a constant battle to keep down airborne illnesses. Animals with suppressed immune systems due to anything from prior neglect to the stress of losing their homes were all the more vulnerable to germs.

Shelter work was thankless—but if people like Dahlia weren’t here for the animals, they would be vulnerable to abusive owners or roaming busy highways . . . the list went on and on.

As the techs let dogs back inside, she walked down the kennel runs, knowing she should only pick four today, six if they were all healthy—which never happened. People who dumped their animals or let them wander off without bothering to look for them usually didn’t take care of them. So the number she could afford today was four. She needed to be realistic and keep the upcoming council meeting in mind. Dahlia’s boot heels clicked behind her, even though she stayed silent.

Cards hung on the kennel run gates. A yellow card meant the animal had finished the stray hold time and would be made adoption available. A red card meant the dog had been slated for euthanasia for some reason. It could have a dangerous temperament or a potentially fatal illness. Or it could be for the tragic reality of lack of space—the reason that broke her heart the most.

She saw a schnoodle with overgrown fur that had lapsed into doggie dreadlocks, and stepped into the kennel run to evaluate the temperament. The pooch needed a good dental, but seemed otherwise friendly, no food aggression, and the matted fur would be easily fixed with a trip to the groomer. She had a waiting list of people wanting a poodle-schnauzer mix reputed to be easier on allergy sufferers.

Lacey scratched the little guy’s ears, reaching through the dreadlocks as best she could. She angled back to look at Dahlia. “I’ll take Bob Marley here.”

Dahlia tugged the kennel card from the gate, passing it over to a tech to pull the dog from the run and clear the paperwork. “Done and thank you.” She started to turn away, then pivoted back, tapping her chin. “Oh, and did I mention we just got a mama Siamese with four kittens, three weeks old. We already called every cat rescue on the planet and they’re all full.”

Ah, the reason Dahlia had followed her. Cats were tougher to place lately, and a whole litter? “And the family doesn’t want to keep mama after they wean?”

“Already tried asking,” Dahlia said. “I even offered a free spay for mama cat and homes for the kitties later if they would just keep the little family until they weaned, but nope. They weren’t interested,” she said through tight lips. “The couple has a new baby, no time for pets.”

Sighing, Lacey stepped into the next kennel run, her feet promptly trampled by a wirehaired Jack Russell, a beagle, and a . . . medium-sized brindle mystery breed. “I’ll take the mama. Debbie’s foster dog got adopted at the festival, and she’s open to cats, too. We’ll make it work.”

“Sometimes I think we should just have a multiple choice form for the people who surrender their animals. Just a list of lame-ass excuses, one, two, or three. Check the box.”

Lacey looked up, still stroking the three dogs so hungry for affection. “You’re sounding weary and jaded today. Are you okay?”

“It’s been a really rough few days.” She smiled weakly. “Seeing you walk through the door is all that’s getting me through right now. Have you heard about the new mama sheltie mix and her babies? Four beautiful puppies and all our foster homes are full. She’ll get sick here. Her pups—”

Lacey held up her hand, already sold on taking them in. No wonder Dahlia had followed her. She had more than one plea to make today. And it just so happened Lacey had underestimated her personal rawness of emotions today after the talk with her daughter. She couldn’t deny it. She was feeling an intense need to save animals as if to somehow do something right on a day she felt like a failure for letting her daughter down.

Her husband, too?

“I’ll take them.” And that put her way past her limit for keeping things low-key to survive this month’s scrutiny—and she hadn’t even walked the length of the kennel runs. “Do you mind getting them ready to go while I post some appeals to my foster family network on Facebook?”

“Already on it.” Dahlia’s heels clicked fast on her way across the sterilized floors back to the front of the building.

Sighing, Lacey looked toward her feet, at three pairs of eyes staring back up with such hope and joy over a simple scratch behind the ears. She couldn’t take all three. She shouldn’t even take one of them because there wouldn’t be a foster home available. She would be adding to her “zoo” of a home.

She tried to be analytical, but God, it was all but impossible. Logic told her the beagle and wirehaired Jack Russell would be easier for her to adopt out . . . and the brindle mutt that looked like a mini Lab with tiger stripes, only eighteen months old at the most and still hyper, would almost certainly fade into the shadows. No one would pick her here.

Logic had many faces. Her heart was already ten damn steps ahead of her brain. She scooped up the brindle mutt, heavier than she looked, probably closer to forty pounds. The pup rested her head on Lacey’s shoulder with a shudder-sigh.

“I’ll take her, too,” Lacey said before she could talk herself out of it. She would put in a call to a beagle rescue in Kentucky and beg for a driver to transport. It was so damn hard to walk away. She didn’t know how Dahlia held on in a job where walking away wasn’t even an option.

The mutt—already named Pixel, Pixie for short—glued herself to Lacey as she made her way back to find Dahlia. Her car was full and she had animals to vet . . . which she could conveniently take care of now.

Or was she just making excuses to see Ray? She wouldn’t wish the dark numbness of her earliest grief on anyone, and yet the confusing punch of guilt she felt now made her consider running back to that desensitized blankness.

Go. Forward.

She tapped her foot against Dahlia’s office door. “I saw Doc Vega’s car out front.”

Dahlia stepped around her desk, a kitten riding her shoulder. “He’s in the quarantine room picking up a six-month-old Lab puppy that got hit by a car, will probably need surgery. Fund-raiser time.” She waved jazz hands, rolling her eyes. “Thank you, by the way.”

“We’re both just doing our part.”

Dahlia leaned her butt back against her desk, reaching up to stroke the gray tabby kitty. “I appreciate that you’re real, beyond the damn politics about everything related to dog rescue. It isn’t about winning or who gets the most kudos.”

“We all love the animals.” The bad guys were the ones beating a dog on the head or torturing a cat for some ritual. Even the ones dumping a family pet that peed on the carpet because no one trained the puppy. Speaking of puppies . . . “Did you say Ray’s still here?”

Dahlia’s eyes flickered with—something?—then she blinked and she was her chic, collected self all over again. “He’s right down the hall, in the clinic. You know the way.”

It wasn’t wise.

Especially not on a day her emotions were so raw.

But she hefted up Pixie and walked to the clinic.

*   *   *

EVEN WITH HIS
back to the door, Ray knew the moment Lacey walked into the small clinic area. He’d heard her talking when she arrived about a half hour ago, but now he could smell her lavender scent the second she entered the room. He just needed to get through the next fifteen minutes with his self-control intact.

He could have sworn something shifted between them at the adoption event. Some flicker of life in her eyes when he’d brought her coffee that morning . . . but then again, he could be seeing things. He didn’t have a plan for the way he felt about her, other than biding his time. So much could change in a few months. He would know when the timing was right and would make his move then.

For now, he had to be careful not to spook her.

He continued his assessment of the puppy that had been hit by a car. He would have to do a more thorough exam back at his vet clinic, but he’d stabilized the injured front leg. He had hopes the break would be repairable, no amputation needed. The recovery would depend on the pup’s will. He studied the little guy’s eyes, reading cues . . . He saw pain . . . and trust. He also saw hope and gratitude. That didn’t pay his bills, but it sure kept him coming back.

He jotted notes on his patient’s chart, even though he could see Lacey out of the corner of his eyes. “Hey, Lacey. Wanna come meet this guy and give him a name? He doesn’t have one yet.”

She’d clearly come straight from a family morning—church? Lunch out? She wore a flowing skirt with a vest top that had his fingers itching to open the buttons.

And her hair was down. Long and curly, light brown with golden highlights. Damn it. He swallowed hard.

“Sure.” Lacey walked into the room and stopped beside him, a brindle dog in her arms, one of those mystery mutt breeds that seemed to snag Lacey’s heart. “And you get me to name him so I’ll bond with the stinker and take him, too.”

“Ah, you’ve unearthed my devious ways.”

She laughed low and husky. How crazy to be jealous of the homeless mutt with its face buried in her neck.

Ray breathed in the scent of lavender and bleach. “A name?”

“Opie. Let’s name the dog Opie. And yes, I’ll take him once you’ve finished treating him.”

Of course she would.

She tempted the hell out of him on a regular day. But weekends, times when everyone else did family stuff and he just worked nonstop, he felt the loneliness of his life more heavily. “Don’t you want to know how badly he’s injured?”

“If it’s minor, he will be easy to adopt. If it’s bad, I can’t leave him vulnerable in a shelter environment where he will get sick. So knowing the details doesn’t matter to me at this point.”

“That’s my favorite rescuer.” He winked.

“Ah, I bet you say that to all the rescuers who owe you a couple thousand dollars.”

“Just fulfilling my oath to heal.”

His job was important to him. He’d spent the past ten years working his ass off to get through veterinary school, every hour spent studying to prove to the world he deserved his spot and being the son of a prominent senator had nothing to do with his admission. He was past those days now. His own man. Even holding down a regular caseload and helping out homeless animals, his life still had these empty spots he didn’t know how to fill.

Although right now, his mind was spinning with ideas. Scenarios that all involved a wild-haired woman with a crazy sense of style and a heart bigger than the state of Tennessee.

He went back to writing up details on the puppy that had been hit by the car. Even if Opie was not worst-case scenario, he would still need to be transferred to his clinic and prepped for surgery in the morning. The pup was currently curled in the back of an open crate, enjoying the haze of painkillers.

A much less stressful state than the thrashing, terrified animal that Ray had first found when he arrived. He’d narrowly missed being bitten by a dog with no vaccination records.

He skimmed a hand over the brindle dog in her arms, doing a quick mental assessment. “Who’s this? And don’t you ever take a day off, Lacey?”

“I could ask you the same and this is Pixie.” She passed the brindle over to him and turned her attention to Opie.

Lacey soothed her fingers over the puppy, gaining Opie’s trust while peeking in his ears and checking his teeth, touching his uninjured paws . . . all things to assess how well he dealt with strangers and being handled. “Why are you here doing pro bono work when there’s an on-call vet?”

“I don’t have a family at home waiting for me, and the on-call vet for the shelter will cost more than their budget can afford.” And speaking of families . . . he needed to keep that family of
hers
in mind. Big-time. They were grieving, too, and even if Lacey wanted to launch into a relationship so soon after her husband’s death, her relatives would likely have a coronary.