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“And I admire your gumption… I really do. But you asking me to foster these poor creatures that you steal from Hellman is asking me to hold stolen property, and I’m not about to get arrested for you or for any dog.”
“Then you don’t love dogs the way you claim to,” I say quietly.
I expect her to rail at me some more, attempt to make me feel guilty for my crusade, but instead she hangs up on me.
“Damn it,” I mutter and toss my phone onto the desk. I angle my head toward the kennel where the golden retriever is sleeping. She’s curled into a ball, wound tightly in a defensive position, and my heart breaks even further.
So… yeah, I didn’t find the dog running loose. I sneaked onto Levi Hellman’s property, a massive fifty-acre complex of three huge, corrugated metal buildings that hold nothing but rows and rows of stacked cages, and within those cages, fertile dogs whose sole purpose is to get pregnant and give birth. More cages hold puppies and even more cages hold the sires that “donate” their sperm. It’s not a good life for them either, because the only time they’re let out is to impregnate a female.
My crusade has turned me into a thief. I only saved the one female dog night before last, but it was at least one life. No matter how much I’ve protested, called legislators, and attempted to educate people to put boots on the ground to close these puppy mills, I’ve not made any real headway. I did get arrested once—apparently, peaceful protesting is called disorderly conduct in this state and carries a hefty fine.
But as I stare at the broken golden dog in the kennel, I’d get arrested a hundred times over just to save one of these sweet creatures.
“Abby.” I jolt and swivel on my chair toward the door where Christy’s head peeks through. “Mr. McCord is here for Bubba.”
“Oh, okay.” I rise from the stool.
Christy steps all the way through the door and lets it shut. Fanning herself, she whispers, “You are not going to believe how hot he looks today.”
I smirk at her. She thought he looked unbelievably hot yesterday when he brought Bubba in.
And she wasn’t wrong about that.
The man is walking sin and temptation all rolled together. Tall, broad shoulders, and muscles. Strong jaw, beautiful blue eyes, and capable hands.
Yes, I noticed his hands and the way they held Bubba’s leash and stroked his fur.
Kellen McCord has scorching sex appeal.
“Why don’t you let him come on back here, and I’ll go over the discharge instructions with him.”
“Sure thing,” Christy says. She turns for the door, takes a deep breath, and smooths her scrub shirt. Tossing her ponytail back, she lets the air out of her lungs and heads into the lobby. I hope to God she doesn’t solicit the man for a date as that would be totally unprofessional and something Dr. Schoen would have a fit about if she heard.
Not that I’d tell, but if she offends Mr. McCord in any way, it could get back to Dr. Schoen.
As I move to Bubba’s cage, I smile at the gorgeous and perfectly mannered Belgian Malinois. I removed his IV about two hours ago, and he’s bright-eyed with good energy.
The swinging door opens, and Bubba’s owner sticks his head through and locks eyes with me. “I was told to come back.”
“Hi, Mr. McCord,” I say as I unlatch Bubba’s kennel door. “Your boy is as good as new.”
“Kellen,” he says with a smile as Bubba flies out toward his dad. I watch with a satisfied smile as the man squats and envelops the dog in a big hug. He glances up at me as Bubba wiggles with excitement. “I take it he’s okay?”
“Oh yeah.” I laugh as I move to them, squatting to pet the dog. “He had a major poop at about six a.m., and I confirmed that, sadly, he murdered what appeared to be a stuffed bunny.”
“Hugo,” Kellen says with a shake of his head. “That was Hugo.”
I burst out laughing. “His stuffed animal had a name?”
“Animals,” he corrects me. “As in plural. He has at least seven.”
“Does he know them all by name?”
“He does,” Kellen says, a proud smile in place. “But now I’m wondering if I need to take them away.”
“I definitely wouldn’t let him have one unsupervised. This could have been a onetime event, or he could have developed a fondness for them in his belly.”
“God, I hope not.”
“It could’ve been the stress of you leaving,” I surmise. “Next trip, you might want to have your sitter pay a little closer attention.”
“She’s not with him all the time. Mostly she stays the nights, and then he’s let out a few times during the day.”
“Maybe you should board him, then. Just to be safe,” I suggest.