Page 42 of A Furever Home (Gaynor Beach Animal Rescue #8)

Oh, no, you’re not disappearing again. I was not putting Cheyenne through more days of being terrified about where Harvey was. I tried to run after him, but even with the crooked, hurt-ribs way Harvey was moving, he was faster than me.

I looked down at Eb, trotting at my side, ears half-cocked as if he wasn’t sure what the game was. He’d been originally owned by a college student who gave him no discipline and lots of unfortunate tricks. But maybe one of those could save us now.

I pointed at Harvey and said in a happy, let’s-play tone, “Ebony! Tag! Tag him!”

Ebony woofed and leaped forward. As I called, “Tag! Tag!” he chased down Harvey. Harvey spun at the sound of paws closing behind him and raised an arm in front of his throat, his other hand ready to intercept a head aimed to bite.

But Eb didn’t attack. Instead, he leaped forward off his hind legs and planted both front paws high on Harvey’s shoulders, stiff-legged with all his weight behind them. “Tag” meant “knock him over.” His past owner’s idea of a joke on his buddies.

Harvey bowled over backward hard. His ass and shoulders hit the concrete and I saw his head bounce.

Good. See how you like a concussion.

I called Eb urgently. “Eb, come! Come!” His usual follow-up to “tag” was a thorough face-licking and I didn’t want him in Harvey’s reach.

Eb lollopped back to me, ears up and tail waving happily. “Good boy,” I told him, hustling forward. “Good job.”

When I reached Harvey, he’d rolled over face down and was groaning, scrabbling to get up. I planted my cane in the middle of his neck, right at the base of his skull, and leaned on it heavily. He cursed, but collapsed flat and froze, his face pressed against the pavement.

“Don’t move,” I said through gritted teeth. I wanted to hit and hurt, smash his skull, break his spine. I leaned down a bit harder. “I don’t know if I can pop your skull off your neck like this, but I’m willing to try.”

“Fuck you.” His voice came garbled. “F-fuck. You took my woman. Gonna die.”

“Move an inch and if this fails, I’ll let the dog rip your throat out.”

“Fuck you, motherfucker.” But he didn’t move.

Suddenly, an alarm sounded from the shelter, wailing loudly. Fire?

Brooklyn panted up to me, his arm around Cheyenne. “Something’s smoking.”

“Shit!” I looked over my shoulder at my pride and joy, full of vulnerable animals. Then down at Harvey. “Cheyenne, are you okay?”

She grinned at me with blood on her teeth. “My arm hurts, but I have his gun.” Sure enough, in her hand, she held the pistol, her casual grip seeming competent. Teach your kids to use guns and you may regret treating them like crap.

“Point it at Harvey,” I told her. “Shoot him if he moves. Brooklyn, get Eb and take care of Cheyenne.”

“What?” Brooklyn stared at me, his face pale. “Where are you going?”

I knew what I was doing was crazy, but I couldn’t help myself.

The siren wailed in my ears. The dogs barked hysterically in the back.

I rushed toward the damaged window as fast as I could, my leg trying to trip me as I climbed over the damaged wall.

Inside, I could smell smoke, and something along the wall sparked in bright flickers.

Fire extinguisher! We had a dozen, all through the facility, and overhead sprinklers too. Why aren’t they going off?

Even as I had that thought, the sprinklers let loose with a torrent of water. I stumbled, slipping on the wet floor, and found the nearest extinguisher.

The sparks of light beside the broken window seemed smaller.

Drop the cane. Pull the pin. Aim at the base—where?

There. Squeeze. Sweep. Foam shot from the extinguisher, hitting the wall.

I adjusted my aim, sweeping back and forth.

Water soaked my hair and ran down my face.

I kept going till the extinguisher ran dry, my chest heaving with my breaths.

When no foam left the hose anymore, I dropped the extinguisher, squinting. I didn’t see flames. The air was thick with moisture and tinged with smoke, but not unbreathable. Outside, I heard a siren approaching.

Time to get out.

Ya think?

The recklessness of what I’d done made me stagger, but as I looked at the spot where flames had flickered and saw only foam and black char, while the dogs went nuts in the back, I couldn’t be sorry.

The siren hit a crescendo outside and stopped, although I could hear another farther away.

As I turned, scooped up my cane, and tried to walk, a firefighter in full gear burst through the broken window opening and rushed to my side.

He grabbed my arm. “This way. Get out!” His muffled voice sounded pissed off. I let him support me on one side and deployed the cane on the other as he hustled me toward the back, away from the damage.

“The dogs!” I said as he half-dragged me down the hall.

“You first. Here.” We reached the side door and there were my phone, Cheyenne’s, and Brooklyn’s side by side on the floor.

“Did you call 9-1-1?” I asked. “I mean, the cops. He tried to kidnap her.”

The firefighter cursed as I slipped out of his grasp to pick up my phone. “Outside, sir. Now! Worry about the rest later.”

I hit the emergency button, but let him haul me out the door, away from the building, and around toward the front.

A cop car came screaming down the road toward us and peeled into the lot, so I guess my call was unneeded.

I shut off the voice of the dispatcher, sticking the phone in my pocket.

The cops leaped out of their car and ran toward Brooklyn, Cheyenne, and Harvey.

Fifty feet away, the firefighters were shooting water through the broken window into my shelter.

Better than fire. Keep the babies safe.

“Wait here,” my rescuer said, letting go of my arm and sprinting to help his buddies.

I wasn’t about to do that when Brooklyn and Cheyenne could be still at risk from Harvey.

Ignoring my screaming leg, I trudged in their direction.

As I approached, I could see that luckily, one of the two officers had been among the cops responding to Harvey’s first kidnapping attempt.

She had her cuffs on the right person, as Harvey snarled and cursed on the pavement.

“…can be used against you in a court of law,” she was saying as I approached. The other cop stood over the gun which lay on the ground, and was speaking into his radio.

Brooklyn must’ve caught sight of me out of the corner of his eye, because he dropped his arm from around Cheyenne’s shoulders and charged my way. “Arthur! Dammit! You bastard!” He lunged at me, catching me in a hug so ferocious I almost fell.

“Hey, hey, I’m okay,” I wheezed.

“You could’ve died!” He squeezed me again, then shoved me away. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“That there are fourteen dogs, nineteen cats, and two rabbits in there, and seconds count.” I peered over his shoulder.

The firefighters were still working, but they didn’t seem excited, and no one was chopping holes for more hoses.

I breathed a sigh and prayed that we were safe. “I couldn’t let them burn.”

“Fuck!” Brooklyn yanked at his hair. “Yes, okay, it would be tragic to lose any of the fur-babies. But Arthur, I’d trade all of them in a heartbeat for you. If you die, who’s going to save the two thousand cats and dogs you’ll help in the years to come?”

“The shelter would find someone. I’m not irreplaceable.” I knew that.

“You are to me.” Brooklyn stepped close.

The sunset colors lit his eyes to green and gold, wide and scared in his perfect face.

He put his hands against my bearded cheeks and held me still, looking so deep into my eyes I thought he might see my soul.

“You are irreplaceable to me. If you died, it would rip my heart out. Don’t do that to me, Arthur. Please.”

I met his gaze, and for the first time in my life, I felt truly special.

Truly loved, not an afterthought, not a second choice.

Brooklyn’s murmur of, “You’re my heart. There’s no one in the world like you,” filled up that dark, bleeding space inside me that had been carved deep through years of not being enough for the people I’d desperately cared for. Filled it and overflowed.

“I love you,” I said. “I won’t do that again.” And then, because I couldn’t resist. “Of course, with luck, the need won’t arise again.”

Brooklyn stared at me, then cursed and kissed me, hard and passionately. When we broke apart, he said, “I love you too. And you’re still a bastard. How can you joke about this?”

I looked over his shoulder at the flurry of emergency personnel swarming the parking lot. Laugh or I’d cry? But even though I was still terrified, the emergency seemed to be under control.

An ambulance had arrived, but it was Harvey they were loading. Cheyenne stood close to a cop, who had her arm around the girl. The firefighters were talking more than firefighting, while guys in two different uniforms began striding our way.

And here in my arms was the man I’d somehow, unexpectedly, wonderfully, when I’d given up hope, come to love. So I kissed him one more time before I said, “You take Cheyenne, who probably needs a doctor, and the cops. I’ll take the animals and the firefighters. Meet back at your place?”

“Dammit.” Brooklyn nodded and gave me the gift of his smile, complete with lopsided dimples. “I’m not done yelling at you. But yeah. Deal. I’ll see you at home. Take care of yourself, though.”

I’d have quipped, always do , but Brooklyn would’ve scorned that for the lie it was.

Brooklyn was the guy who really cared what happened to me, and he deserved only the truth.

So I simply said, “You too. And Cheyenne,” before turning to meet the guy in the turnout gear to find out how my shelter full of furry critters stood, while Brooklyn walked forward to meet the cop.