Page 19 of A Furever Home (Gaynor Beach Animal Rescue #8)

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I’d thought Cheyenne might be awake when I returned, but her door was still shut. I let Arthur’s three out of the back kennels and into the house.

Eb loped over to an abandoned Kong and started nosing it—undoubtedly hoping for peanut butter. He was out of luck as I’d cleaned it thoroughly yesterday.

Twain headed for Arthur’s bedroom. Fancifully, I believed he was checking on Xandra.

Realistically, he probably wanted more rest on Arthur’s comfortable bed that smelled like him.

Hell, I wanted to bask in that scent as well.

The way soap and clean skin had blended at the back of his neck had intoxicated me.

At once fresh and soothing. Like a warm towel out of the drier.

Unexpectedly, Chili followed me around like a shadow. I might’ve thought she wanted food, but she just seemed to enjoy my company. I pushed down a little ego trip about being the difficult dog’s favorite person.

About ten minutes after I returned to my house, Poppy and her owner showed up at the door. The woman handed over the leash and beat a retreat to her car. She was working a daybreak shift and was grateful I was willing to take her pooch so early.

Poppy’s tongue lolled as she gave me slurpy kisses. Far be it for me to turn down affection. The young goldendoodle had the greatest personality.

Chili nosed her before they trotted together toward the kitchen.

Arthur had cleaned up, of course, so no crumbs were to be found anywhere. Still, the pooches lived in hope.

“Why don’t you head out to the backyard? Jett’s coming, so you can run off some of your energy.” Poppy vibrated with excitement as I checked my watch. “Okay, we’ve got some time. Let’s play ball.”

The goldendoodle bolted for the back room while Chili followed me at a more sedate pace. Ball was sometimes fun for her, but her happy place seemed to be by my side.

I wouldn’t point this out to Arthur, as I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. Maybe it was a sign of doggie dementia, since no logical dog would pick me over Arthur.

Eb abandoned the Kong toy as I opened the patio door, shoving past me hard enough to jolt me on my heels as he followed Poppy out into the early morning cool.

Ordinarily, I’d work on door manners, but seeing the two wrestling as they dashed into the bigger play area made me laugh and I let it go.

When they got tired of trying to knock each other over, Poppy and Eb tore across the grass as I threw ball after ball.

We weren’t working on retrieving skills today—although they got tons of praise if they brought the ball back.

Jett arrived and we continued with vigorous exercise.

Then, eventually, Hiro showed up. He struggled to run on his stubby little legs with his big belly, so we played a game where I coaxed him into chasing me around the yard. Fear of missing out was real, so Eb and Poppy joined in.

Chili sat on the back deck, lazing in the sun, and watched us as if we were all a little loopy.

Xandra came and peered out at us through the glass, then yawned and wandered off to her hard job of napping on the window ledge.

Still no Cheyenne. Do I go and wake her? Let her sleep? Is she going to bolt again? How can I keep her safe? And while we’re on the topic…why the fuck is she here?

After a solid hour of exercise and some recall training, my troop was pooped.

We trudged into the kitchen, where I doled out one small sliver of freeze-dried salmon each in exchange for a nice calm sit.

Well, for Xandra that was in exchange for not jumping on the counter.

Nobody looked satisfied with my paltry offerings, but when I herded us back into the family room, everyone followed.

Twain even deigned to join us—having shown up just in time for his treat.

I plopped onto the floor, then lay on my back so everyone who wanted to could lick, cuddle, and get close.

Chili was first in there, tucking herself under one of my arms.

Poppy, not to be outdone, licked my cheek before nuzzling my hair.

I giggled as Hiro tried to flop on my chest. “Uh, squishing me there, buddy.” I eased him to the side opposite Chili and scritched his ears.

The cat retreated to her high perch, eyeing our messy dogpile with sleepy blue eyes.

Eb chose not to partake and, instead, found a flavored plastic bone to gnaw on.

Jett, not to be outdone, chose one for himself.

I had ten so there were plenty to go around, but I kept my eye on Arthur’s dogs in case someone was toy-possessive.

Sometimes two dogs wanted the same one, and we might get some snarling that would be a warning all toys had to be picked up.

Eb seemed chill, though, and the other two weren’t interested.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so happy.” Cheyenne spoke quietly.

Chili lost her shit.

I petted her. “Oh hush, baby girl. You met my sister yesterday.” I almost called her Chey again—my nickname for her when she’d been a baby. Well, she wasn’t a baby anymore.

Eb loped over to Cheyenne for scritches, and Twain nudged her leg.

Not to be outdone, Poppy, Hiro, and Jett all ambled over to the stranger.

Eb, Twain and Hiro viewed every human as someone to manipulate into handing over treats so I reminded her—“No treats for any of them, okay? I have them on a tight schedule.”

Cheyenne plopped onto the floor crosslegged and was immediately set upon by pooches. Protocols of introducing new dogs flitted through my mind, but they were doing well.

If Maisie the mastiff was here, things would be different. Same with George, who, although he loved people, still needed a gentle hello.

Poppy, Jett, and Hiro just loved everyone, and their easygoing nature made them great company.

Chili stayed at my side, but her displeasure subsided.

Watching my sister with the dogs, I admitted, “I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.”

Our gazes locked.

Slowly, she nodded. “Yeah, I can see why.” She waved her hand around the space. “Did the money help with this place?”

“Downpayment and renovations, yes.” I didn’t want to talk about the settlement because that way led to the pain of what I’d been through in order to get that money.

“Better than if they got it.”

They meaning our parents. They’d been convinced, when swooping to my rescue after the crisis, that they could take all my settlement money.

I owed it to them, in their books. They’d been dead wrong, of course.

I recuperated at their home—as much an excuse to see how Cheyenne was doing and to remind her that I loved her as not having other choices—because God only knew if the letters I sent home were reaching her.

She never wrote back and, in the end, my instincts had been right.

She hadn’t been getting the letters I diligently wrote.

“Yeah, I gave them what I owed them for caring for me for a few weeks, and not a penny more. And I’m not sorry.” I’d left their house as soon as I was able.

I stayed with a friend until I got the settlement in my bank account.

After sending five hundred bucks to my folks for their inconvenience in taking care of me, I bought the used SUV, packed up what little stuff I had, picked Gaynor Beach, and drove west. And here I was, with this place and the dogs, and yes, happy at last.

“Did you have breakfast?” I hadn’t seen signs in the kitchen, but she could’ve grabbed something while I’d been in the backyard.

She shook her head. “Not hungry. In fact, a little nauseous.”

My stomach clenched in memory. All the times Mom had been nauseous in the morning. Oh God, is Cheyenne pregnant? What the fuck are we going to do? Will she keep the baby? Will she need help raising it? What about the father ?—

She snorted. “Breathe, Brooklyn. I’m not knocked up.”

“How…?”

“I know pure panic on your face when I see it.”

For all her laissez-faire attitude, she’d also been the most intuitive and empathetic of all my siblings. “Well, you can’t blame me. I have an underage sister show up at my doorstep and I’m not supposed to panic?”

She bit her lower lip—something I’d witnessed her doing a lot when I’d stayed with my family. “Oops, I need to eat.”

“Cheyenne.” I frowned. “You just said you couldn’t eat.”

“Between an interrogation and food? I’ll take food every time.” She rose and headed for the kitchen.

Several pooches made to follow her.

“Close the gate?”

“Am I allowed to keep any of them?” She poked her head around the corner. “I think there are enough to share.”

Well, I couldn’t argue. “Keep Twain—the beagle—he’s been a little quiet this morning and the extra attention won’t hurt. Not a scrap of food, okay? They get fed plenty.”

Twain gave me a baleful look, but followed Cheyenne into the kitchen.

Hiro nearly made it through the crack as she closed the gate, but didn’t manage. He yipped his displeasure at being thwarted.

“You can come cuddle with me.” I used my sing-songy voice. “Ear rubs.”

I had five dogs lining up for their turn until Cheyenne returned with a plate of toast and a cup of coffee.

She sat in a chair, holding the plate up, and eyed her newfound doting audience.

Xandra leaped to a closer shelf but stayed up out of dog-reach.

Twain whined.

Eb drooled.

“Brooklyn says no . He’s the mean one for not letting me share.” She jutted her chin.

I mock glared. Then considered what I could and couldn’t ask. “How’d you find me?”

She snorted “It’s called the internet. There aren’t many Brooklyn West guys out there, and none in a gay friendly town with a doggie daycare business. Plus, your picture’s on your website. You and a pile of grinning dogs.”

Shit. The publicity shoot Anderson Michaels had done for me when I was first setting things up.

Honestly, it had never occurred to me that anyone from my old life would want to find me.

Or maybe you wanted to make certain Cheyenne could if she ever needed to .

That would’ve been a subconscious thought at best. God knew, I hadn’t deliberately left breadcrumbs.

“And you just, what, hitched from Piperston?” That terrified me.