Page 10 of A Furever Home (Gaynor Beach Animal Rescue #8)
I was still humiliatingly glad when the friendly driver, Carlos, hurried to open my door and helped me to my feet with a hand under my elbow. He waved off my thanks. “I know who you are. The shelter’s a good thing for Gaynor Beach. You heal up quick, now.”
Kind words were welcome right then, and I made sure my tip was generous.
Once the taxi had pulled away, I hobbled up Brooklyn’s front path and rang the doorbell. A whole bunch of barking answered me, including a warbling howl I recognized as Twain’s.
“Coming!” Brooklyn opened the door, grinning, and I was struck like a two-by-four to the brain with how attractive he was.
Not model-pretty, but totally boy-next-door, his hazel eyes warm, smiling lips framed by his neatly cropped beard, a deep dimple carved in his right cheek and a shallow one in his left.
He was taller than me even when I wasn’t leaning on a crutch, and lanky with legs that went on forever in snug-fitting denim.
He had competent-looking long-fingered hands and big feet in black sneakers?—
I dragged my thoughts back to why I was standing here on his front step, leaning to one side like a drunken clown. “Hey, Neil thought a half day was long enough for me to work.”
“Neil?”
“My funding-and-volunteers coordinator, and my left hand at the shelter.”
One tidy eyebrow arched. “Left?”
“With Shane as my right.” I sighed. “Can I come in before I fall down?”
“Of course!” Brooklyn pulled the door open and stood back, a hand out in an offer of assistance.
“Thanks.” I tried to put sincerity into that.
I didn’t have to be a jerk, and I had a feeling that sometime during the ten hours since he brought me home, fed me, helped me clean up, got me into sweats to sleep in, gave me a bed, and then did the same in reverse in the morning, and drove me to work, I’d probably been rude to this kind man. Maybe more than once.
When he’d shut the door, I said, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but if I’m irritable or short with you, I don’t mean it.” My face flushed but I made myself admit, “It’s not about you. I yelled at a seventy-year-old volunteer today.”
“Ouch.” Brooklyn’s expression showed only compassion.
“I feel like crap.”
“You know what will make you feel better? A cup of tea, your pups and kitty, and some furry tail wagging. Come on.”
He led the way toward the back of the house.
I’d only seen the kitchen, bathroom, and my bedroom so far, but when we reached the rear, I could see why he’d bought this place.
What had maybe been a family room was now a wide-open space across the back half of the house.
Patio doors opened to a shady backyard with three spreading trees, two fenced areas, and a row of big, covered kennels along the side.
Inside the house, four smaller dog pens lined one wall of the main room. The floor was some kind of rubbery tile, and a solid baby gate blocked the doorway. Brooklyn let us in, then made sure the gate was double latched.
I spotted Chili in the farthest pen amid a collection of toys and two beds. I called, “Hey, Chili baby.” She was chewing on some rubber Kong toy and barely lifted her head to glance at me before going back to her gnawing.
In the open indoor area, two other small dogs lay sprawled on big stuffed beds. The Japanese chin wagged his tail at me without getting up but the rat terrier with a graying muzzle came over to greet me, rising stiffly to put his front paws on my knee. Luckily the good knee.
“George, sit,” Brooklyn called. When the terrier dropped his butt to the floor, removing his paws from my leg, Brooklyn said, “Good job,” and tossed the elderly dog a treat.
That got the chin out of his bed in a flash, and he was willing to run through his tricks, his rounded little body wriggling in eagerness for the tiny bite Brooklyn gave him.
“Come on out and see your other babies,” Brooklyn told me. “I let the bigger and more active dogs play outside unless the weather’s too hot or too wet.”
I crutched over and greeted Chili. I always made sure she knew she was my special girl, even if I wasn’t sure she cared. Then I followed Brooklyn into the yard.
He urged me to sit in a sturdy chair, then hauled over a patio table. Behind the inner play-area fence, Eb and Twain leaped and barked alongside two unfamiliar dogs who’d caught the excitement. Brooklyn set the table in place overlapping my chair. “Protection for that leg, you think?”
I watched Ebony bouncing his fool head off and said, “You’re a smart man.”
“Brace yourself.” Brooklyn opened the gate a crack and with the ease of long practice, let my two squeeze through and shut the gate on the disappointed golden and black duo.
Before I could suggest they come for pats too, Brooklyn reached into a tub of toys by the gate and began throwing them across the exercise yard.
The two dogs yelped in glee and gave chase. Even Eb paused, looking wistfully over his shoulder at the flying rubber, before finishing his charge my way.
I said, “Sit,” before he could do me any damage and pulled his head into my lap, rubbing his silky ears and cheeks.
Twain danced, clearly thinking about jumping up.
I didn’t want twenty pounds of beagle to hit my aching lap so I said, “Sit pretty.” The begging position put his head in reach and I fondled his even silkier ears as he braced his feet on the side of the chair.
Nothing soothed a man’s soul better than petting a fur-baby. I murmured to these two how special they were, how pretty, such good boys, such sweet boys, while I rubbed their heads and soaked in the love. After a long time, when my head hurt less and my body felt settled, I looked up.
Brooklyn was gazing at us with a soft expression on his face. Well, everyone loved these two dogs, of course. Our eyes met and I smiled for what felt like the first time since I saw that gun in Frank’s hand.
“Thank you,” I said, meaning it. “For having me and my menagerie in your space. For taking care of us.”
“My pleasure.” He gestured at the other two dogs playing tug-of-war with a rope toy, their ears up and their body language playful. “The more the merrier.”
I leaned back in my chair, raised my face to the sky, and patted Eb and Twain.
The pain was still there, but the ibuprofen I’d taken at Safe Haven was beginning to kick in.
The bouts of vertigo were scary, but with my last concussion, any dizziness had gone away fast. I was alive, Brooklyn was alive, Kevin was fine.
The dog… “Did Kevin find that lost dog?” I asked without taking my gaze from the blue overhead.
I expected Brooklyn to tell me he didn’t know, but he said, “Yep. His dads told James who told Colin who told me that they caught her yesterday—apparently by luring her with their dog—and took her to the vet. She had a microchip, and now she’s back with her owner who’s building a taller fence.”
“Oh, good. Then everything worked out. Now I just need to quit spinning.” I could feel a bit of the vertigo hovering. If I ignored it, no doubt it would go away.
“Spinning?”
I was surprised to hear myself admit, “Still a little dizzy.” Usually I tried not to burden other people with my weaknesses, but somehow Brooklyn disarmed me.
I held my breath, waiting for him to make a fuss or ask intrusive questions, but the only one he asked was, “Have you had lunch?”
“Not yet.”
“Some of the dizziness might be low blood sugar. You think you can keep something down?”
I turned my attention inward, but patting Ebony apparently was good for stomachs too. “If it’s simple.”
“Grilled cheese?” Brooklyn said. “Would that work?”
Some of the flutter in my stomach turned into a grumble of yes, please . “Perfect. You’re amazing.”
Brooklyn’s loud huff of breath made me drop my gaze to check his reaction. He looked surprised, but maybe pleased too. “You keep on petting,” he told me. “That’s your job for now. Eb told me so. Two grilled cheese lunches coming up.”
I watched him head back into the house, heard him speak to the small dogs as he passed through to the kitchen.
I sat with my dogs at my side and the two boarders now chasing each other around the yard, and something in me settled for the first time in…
I don’t know. Years? This little house with the retrofitted dog spaces felt like my old place that I’d sold months ago, but somehow, even better. Homier. Warmer.
I pretended not to know that it was the presence of Brooklyn, someone I already liked and trusted, that made the difference.