Page 23 of A Furever Home (Gaynor Beach Animal Rescue #8)

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“He didn’t have to go.” Cheyenne eyed me as we sat at the dinner table. She’d eaten about half the tuna casserole on her plate.

I’d managed to push mine around a lot but, despite having spent the entire day with six dogs, I wasn’t hungry. “He did have to go.” I sighed and put my fork at the five o’clock position. “You…” Made it impossible to stay? Were horrible? Gave him no choice? I didn’t finish the sentence.

“You didn’t tell me that he had a headache. Or that the last tuna was for his cat. If you don’t talk to me, then how am I supposed to know things?” She pouted.

“Cheyenne…” At least I remembered to use her full name. Breaking myself of the habit of using the nickname I gave her when she was little was proving tougher than I thought.

“Brooklyn…” She arched an eyebrow. Then relented by wincing. “I’m cockblocking you, aren’t I?”

“Where did you learn that word?”

“Oh God. Just because I lived with Mom and Dad doesn’t mean I never went to school. Or encountered books.”

“Books in the library?” Because the Piperston library commission had, at least when I’d been there, been run by some Baptists who took exception to every book that wasn’t about the resurrection, Armageddon, or maybe cookbooks, woodcraft, similar shit.

No fiction that wasn’t squeaky fluffy, no real history, definitely no current affairs.

Not all the families were religious—but none of them wanted their kids contaminated by woke global world views.

Once I’d been booted and had moved into the outside world, I’d discovered how very warped my family’s perspective had been.

I might’ve been curious as a teen, but perhaps a bit wary, before I’d encountered real life outside the community.

After? I knew I’d never go back. Never espouse those views again.

She rolled her eyes. “No, you dumb fuck. Not in the library.”

I glared. “Look, I get that you’ve never been allowed to swear before?—”

“And yet, I did anyway.”

“—but you’re not welcome to come into my house and drop curse words whenever you feel like it. Especially when we’ve got company.”

“Arthur.”

“Or anyone else. Classy is important?—”

“You swear.”

I ground my teeth. Because she was right, of course. She was usually more right than wrong. “Whether I do or not isn’t the point. This is my house. These are my rules. I never swear around clients, for example. Or anyone I don’t know.”

She harumphed.

Breathe. She’s been through a horrible ?—

My phone buzzed with an incoming call. Arthur? Maybe he wants to let me know that he’s settled and is doing okay. That he wants to alleviate my fears. Because he’s kind and considerate like that.

I checked the screen.

New York. Unknown number.

That meant it was more likely spam than a business call, but I couldn’t neglect a potential customer. “Brooklyn’s Doggie Daycare,” I answered. “Can I help you?”

I was braced for a sales pitch about insurance or new windows, but there was just silence on the other end, followed by dead air as they ended the call.

“Wrong number I guess.” I hoped. I couldn’t rule out someone from back home, trying to find me, but surely then they’d have asked about Cheyenne. Must’ve been coincidence. “Where was I?”

“Telling me how the dinner I cooked was so amazing that you couldn’t eat any.” She started to rise.

“Cheyenne!”

She plopped back down on her butt.

“I’ve let it go so far, but we need to talk.”

She pretended to check a wristwatch that she didn’t have. “It’s been less than twelve hours since our last heart-to-heart.”

Shit. “That’s true. But I still don’t have a grasp on why you’re here. What was so urgent that you couldn’t wait. I need more.”

“You said we could talk about it with Arthur.”

I barked out a laugh. “First you drive him away with your antics, and now you want?—”

“What antics?”

“You slammed your door, threw a shoe at the wall and made a dent, Cheyenne.”

She crossed her arms in clear defiance.

“You’re not four anymore. You’ve got your words, and I’d appreciate if you would use them. So, if you could just?—”

“I’m supposed to marry Harvey Jefferson. On my eighteenth birthday.”

My jaw dropped. “What the fuck?”

“Yeah, exactly. So, like, that wasn’t going to happen. But they weren’t giving up.”

“So you ran?”

“Well, I was planning to, if I could get away. But then Mom tried to bribe me with a fancy wedding dress, not just something Mary-Sue would sew. She was heading to New York to pick up some radiation-counter thing Dad wanted, because he said it was too fragile to ship. So, she offered to take me along, and we’d go round the consignment stores and find a real dress.

While we were in New York City, I gave her the slip and… you know the rest.”

I blinked. “Harvey? Isn’t he already married?” The town didn’t endorse bigamy—that I knew of, anyway.

“Nancy died last month while losing their third child. Like, super tragic. But that’s not enough reason for me to marry a thirty-year-old.”

She said thirty like the word was dirty or something.

I wasn’t going to point out I was thirty. Or that I’d gone to school with Harvey. To someone seventeen, I’m sure we both looked old.

He’d been a nasty bully back then. I’d been surprised, when I’d been home, to hear he’d married Nancy—a sweet-tempered young woman in our sister Nevada’s class.

Cheyenne had brought me up to speed on the insular community and everything that’d happened in the twelve years I’d been gone, while I had nothing to do but lie around and heal.

In some ways, the list had been long. On the other hand, since just about everything was predictable, she managed the recitation in less than an hour.

None of them mattered to me, and Harvey less than any, as long as that cruel bastard was out of my life. “You can’t marry him.”

She rolled her eyes, the duh unspoken. Still, she hunched her shoulders. “You know I wouldn’t have had a choice.”

Even knowing how serious our parents were about the community, it was hard to believe they’d hold her there by force.

I’d gotten out. Except she was a girl, expected to obey, and in fact, I hadn’t escaped.

I’d been expelled. Therein lay the difference.

If Cheyenne thought they’d force her, she was quite possibly right.

I drew a deep breath. “You really don’t want to marry him, right? ”

Her eyes widened, as if she questioned my sanity. “Hard no.”

“I’m relieved to hear that. But I needed you to say it. Because if we’re going to fight to keep you here, you’ll need to be crystal clear with everyone you speak to about this. If you waver?—”

“I won’t.”

No, I didn’t figure she would. With her intuitive nature, she’d likely figured out early on that Harvey wasn’t a man to be crossed.

Just…bad news. He was being groomed to be a leader and had some of the sharpest prepper skills—good with electronics, methodical about rotating his supplies, the most fortified homestead, and a top-notch sharpshooter.

Plus, whatever other resources he’d accumulated that I hadn’t figured out while I’d been home recovering. “Okay. We need to see a lawyer.”

“Why? Can’t I just stay here? They’ll never find me.”

“Cheyenne, you found me. Even if I take my photo off the website, you’re right that my name isn’t all that common. I’ve never tried to hide, and I’m not going to now. To keep you safe, we need to seek some kind of court order that allows you to stay, but in my custody.”

“I want to be an emancipated minor.” She jutted her chin.

“If you were younger, then maybe. Although I’d still try to convince you to let me be responsible for you.

” As much as anyone can be. “I’d guess that by the time we get permission for you to be emancipated, you’ll be eighteen anyway.

I think you need a job and stuff first.” Or at least that was what I assumed.

Once we’d cleaned up from dinner, I was going to pull out my laptop and do a bunch of research.

“Look, one of my clients, Phillip…” I rolled my eyes upward.

“He was worried about custody of his dog if anything happened to him. He was super stressed about it. He said this great local lawyer, Wynn Cavannah, arranged documentation to ensure Wally would go to Phillip’s boyfriend, Jeremy.

I mean, I sure as shit hope nothing happens to Phillip, but life’s unpredictable like that. And, together, they rescued Flora?—”

“Brooklyn?”

“Hmm?”

“You’re rambling. I don’t need to know about Phillip, Wally, Jeremy, and Flora.”

I squinted. “Yeah, probably not. But I’m saying we need a lawyer to make an application to the court for me to be granted custody. Your birthday’s in less than two months, but that’s long enough for Mom and Dad to demand you back.”

“I’m aware.” She rolled her eyes.

If she was half this difficult with our parents, I had an inkling why they wanted to marry her off.

Although irritating didn’t mean I was put off by her defiance.

That spark was part of who my little sister was.

Our parents with their demands for complete submission to the head of the household?

Yeah, I could see my dad and sister clashing.

Something told me she wasn’t meek and mild at home either, no matter how well she’d faked it when I was back there before.

We need a plan. “Let me do some research, and I’ll call Mr. Cavannah first thing in the morning.”

“You’ve got dogs coming first thing in the morning. Is Arthur bringing his dogs back? Are they part of your crew? It’s super cool that you get to work with dogs all day. Can I work for you? That could be my emancipation job, right?”

“Yes, it’s cool. No, I don’t normally care for Arthur’s dogs. Maybe we should stick to the topic at hand.”

She rose, grabbing my plate as well as hers.

“I can help.” I stood as well.

She shot me that look. “You go do whatever research you have to do. I’ll clean up the kitchen.”

Tidying up was my least favorite task, but if someone else cooked, I always pitched in to help. “But?—”

“We agreed I could stay here if I cook and clean. I cooked and now I’m cleaning. I’m also going to run the vacuum through the place.” She turned and headed to the kitchen.

I let out a long exhalation. We hadn’t actually resolved anything. Or had we? At least I knew why she ran. I was going to research…

I headed to my little alcove where I had my desk, filing cabinet, and an uncomfortable chair. All in a little crammed space without a window. An incentive to do all my paperwork quickly, and move back into the light. Still, I flipped on the lamp and booted up my computer.

At the last minute, I remembered to select incognito. Not a guarantee I couldn’t be traced, but an added layer of protection.

I started with researching California custody arrangements and, as I’d suspected, I needed a lawyer. I located Mr. Cavannah’s office phone number and left a long, rambling message. Somehow, that felt like a huge accomplishment.

Next, I ran a search for Cheyenne.

Nothing.

I was surprised. Not that I couldn’t find anything from her ordinary life—our town barely interacted with the outside world and we were paranoid as hell, so things like social media footprints were nonexistent.

If Cheyenne had any sort of online account—and I couldn’t conceive of how she’d be able to create, let alone maintain one—how could she access it?

Doing anything under the eagle eye of the librarians would be risky.

Our family had a computer, but the laptop was completely under my father’s control.

She might’ve been allowed to type a term paper, but that would’ve been it.

And if she had an account under an alias, I didn’t stand a chance of locating it.

No, what I found really interesting was I couldn’t find a missing-person bulletin. The quickest way to locate someone these days was to post it on the internet. That shit went viral all the time. Beautiful young woman like her? Missing for nine days? Catnip.

Yet I couldn’t find a single mention of her anywhere.

My phone buzzed.

I almost ignored it.

Wynn Cavannah .

Shit, almost missed him.

I swiped to accept. “Hello?”

“Brooklyn West?”

“Yes, sir. I’m Brooklyn.”

“I hope you don’t mind me calling. I saw your message and figured you’d probably still be awake.”

Given I’d sent the message about twenty minutes ago, that’d been a good bet. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“You’re not. My husband’s out tonight, and I’ve been wandering around the lighthouse. My phone notified me of a message on my business line, and I wondered if it might be important. Sounds like you’re in a bit of a difficult situation.”

Since I’d word-vomited Cheyenne’s predicament to his voicemail, he was aware of just about everything. I cleared my throat. “Can you help us?”

“Yes, I believe I can. You said something about an in-home doggie daycare business?”

Had I?

Word vomit .

“Uh, yeah.”

“Would it be okay if I came to your house tomorrow? I like to get out of the office sometimes, and I have to say I like dogs. If it’s okay for me to be there, of course.”

George, Hiro, Poppy, and Jett. No one shy with strangers. No Maisie and none of Arthur’s dogs, unless he changed his mind. For a moment, I hoped and crossed my fingers— don’t think about Arthur. Focus . “I’d really appreciate if you could come here. Cheyenne and I will be home all day.”

“Text me your address. I’ll come first thing, say nine a.m.? Then we can get a petition going with the courts. I think you’ve got a strong case, but I have a lengthy list of questions to ask both of you.”

“I—” I swallowed hard. “I’m worried about her.”

“You have the right to be. Legally, you should be calling your parents and letting them know that she’s safe and with you—but I understand why you haven’t.

If you can establish it’s for her safety, that protects you.

That’s why I want to put a priority on gathering information and then get an emergency request in to the court tomorrow. ”

After a moment, the tightness in my chest eased a bit. “Yes. Thank you.” I had no idea how I’d pay him, but it didn’t matter—whatever it took to keep my sister safe.

“Nine o’clock all right?”

“Yes. Perfect. Thank you.”

“Good night, Brooklyn.”

“Good night, Mr. Cavannah.”

“Just Wynn. We’re going to be working pretty closely together, so Wynn’s fine.”

My heart lightened a little more. “Yes, thank you.”

He cut the line.

I texted him my address, and then I stared at my phone. My first instinct was to call Arthur. To share this news with him. To get his perspective on things. But he’d chosen to leave and disentangle himself from this mess. I didn’t blame him. The West family could be a disaster at times.

Still, I popped off a quick text asking if he was settled and how his menagerie was doing.

When I went to bed an hour later, he still hadn’t responded.