Page 7 of A Furever Home (Gaynor Beach Animal Rescue #8)

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“He’s probably going to be cranky.” Colin chuckled. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

I didn’t know Arthur well enough to be able to judge how cranky he might or might not be.

When I’d arrived at the shelter that morning—to find Colin and Vicky already hard at work—I’d considered turning around.

Except, honestly, I didn’t have anything else to do on a Sunday with no clients scheduled, and, just as clearly, my help could be used here.

I’d put in a good day’s work so far, and felt useful doing it.

That’d helped stave off my worry about a man who was essentially a stranger.

But who didn’t feel like one. “You said they were doing another brain scan this morning, and along with getting shot, he has a concussion. I think a little crankiness might be allowed.”

Another chuckle from Colin, his Long Island accent a little heavier. “I should record you saying that, for after you deal with him.”

Who knows how long I’ll even be here? Arthur might send me on my way. Hell, I couldn’t even be certain he’d remember he asked me to help. “You said you told James to tell him that I’m still here, right?” Wow, that sentence confused even me.

“James told him. I didn’t hear what the response was, but Arthur’s always grateful for volunteers, so you’re good. Vicky gave you an orientation, and you took care of Arthur’s babies. That was the most important part.”

Chili had been particularly pleased to see me when we arrived that morning.

I’d worried about leaving the three dogs and cat alone last night while I’d gone home, but they’d all been fine.

And I’d known Ebony would try to put his massive paws on my chest, and was ready to thwart his efforts to knock me over. “They did great.”

A newer-model SUV pulled into the parking lot.

Almost as soon as the engine cut, a bald Black man with a bushy beard leapt from the driver’s side and hustled around to the passenger rear door. He had that door open and was pulling out a crutch when the front passenger door opened. “I asked you to wait,” the tall man holding the crutch scolded.

“That’s James.” Colin beamed with clear admiration for his husband in his gaze.

The passenger grumbled, “I told you, I don’t need you hovering.” And that would be Arthur whose frown really marred his handsome face as he emerged. He accepted the crutch, then looked up and caught my eye.

Our gazes held.

After a moment, he broke away to glare at James.

“Cranky.” Colin grinned as he headed toward the SUV.

After a moment, I followed.

“You’re looking…” Colin cocked his head at Arthur. “Rough.”

“Thank you.” Arthur’s frown didn’t lessen. “You have three kids you should be with.”

James rolled his eyes. “A few hours with Danny and Rob, as well as Hallie and Thomas, will be good for them.”

I wracked my mind. Colin had told me a bunch of proud foster-dad and close family stories as we worked. Danny was James’s brother. Rob was Danny’s fiancé. Hallie and Thomas were their kids.

See? I could do this.

“May I help?” I gestured to the bag James carried.

“That would be lovely.” The big man handed it over. He topped me by a couple of inches, and I was six-two. A bit of a height difference between the husbands.

I grinned at Colin. “All good.”

Arthur nodded to me. “Thanks.” He pivoted back to James. “So you can stop hovering. See? I’ve got a minder.”

Okay, yeah, a little cranky. I didn’t blame him.

Gunshot wound? Knock to the head? Guy was probably in pain—even if they were giving him the good stuff, which I had a vague impression they couldn’t with a head injury .

Poor guy. “I’m happy to be a minder. Nothing else to do.

” And since Arthur intrigued me in a way few men had recently, I was determined to prove myself useful.

Arthur hobbled toward the shelter, and I hustled ahead with his bag to get the door for him.

I tossed a nice to meet you at James before following Arthur into the grand lobby space. Colin had explained how this used to be a wine tasting room. That made all the majestic marble tiles and mirrors and chandeliers understandable.

“Do you want to go straight upstairs to rest?” I held up the duffel bag. “I need to run this upstairs, right? And do you want to see your dogs? Or do you want me to bring them down here? Because those stairs are steep but, I have to say, your dogs are super adorable.”

“Is Vicky here?” He glanced around. “She usually works Sundays.”

“She had to take off early. She apologized and was relieved when Colin said you were being discharged from the hospital.”

“Not a moment too soon.” He winced as he rubbed his forehead. “Hospitals are expensive.”

No shit. Expensive, stressful, scary. But I pushed those memories aside. “I think resting is a good idea?—”

“I’m fine. Really.” He tried to grab his bag from my hand. “I can take care of things from here on.”

I cocked my head. “We haven’t done evening feeding yet.

Your dogs need walks. How are you going to manage all that?

” I held the bag away from him. Clearly he thought he’d just nab it and, what?

Head upstairs on his crutch, then hobble back down and feed a shelter full of pets?

Stubborn man. “Let’s get you up to your apartment. ”

“Fine.” He said the word with annoyance. “We’ll make it fast.”

Apparently my hovering wasn’t any less annoying to him than James’s.

Is he always this…cranky? I could completely see where he was coming from, but he wouldn’t be able to do everything himself.

“I bet these marble tiles are a little slippery, but then you’re familiar with them, I guess.

I thought the upscale look was weird, but Colin explained about the winery.

Looking fancy probably helps adopters believe you take great care of the pets, right? ”

“Yup.” He managed to crutch through the hallway to the stairs halfway back.

I shuffled behind him. Trying not to rush him, and yet trying not to seem like I was holding back and babying him. I’m so confused. Which was weird. I was a pretty confident guy who could tackle just about anything. This guy had me word-vomiting and unsure of myself.

We were about halfway up the staircase when he stopped.

I waited.

He swayed dangerously and started to lean backward.

I dropped the bag and was at his back in an instant—countering his momentum and pushing him forward. Banging our knees landing upward onto the steps was one thing. Both of us crashing backward was a catastrophe in the making.

The crutch slipped from his hand as he grabbed the railing. “Fuck.”

“It’s okay. I’ve got you.” Which I mostly did. The guy was solid—and probably had a good thirty pounds on me. Still, I had us both upright and balanced.

For now .

“What’s wrong?” I asked, bracing at his back.

“Dizzy.” His fingers were clenched white on the railing. “Head’s spinning. Damn.”

“Do you want to sit down?” I wasn’t sure how, but we’d figure it out.

“No. Not moving. It’s okay. Just…keep your hands where they are?”

“Sure. Of course.” I pressed both palms firmly against his spine while he pulled in slow, deliberate breaths.

“No offense if I puke on your feet,” he muttered.

“None. Um, is that likely?” I didn’t flinch. The muscles of his back were taut under my hands.

“Maybe. Damn.” He swayed, then straightened again. “Whoo. Merry-go-round.”

“I can’t catch you if you fall,” I admitted. “Lean forward a bit.”

“Smart man.” Arthur added his other hand to the railing, hunched his shoulders over, and bowed his head, shifting his center of gravity toward the wall and the steps in front of him.

For what felt like an hour but was probably five minutes, we stood there, me braced against disaster, him breathing in a forced rhythm, sweat breaking through his shirt. Then he said, “Easing off a bit. Hang on.”

“Take your time,” I told him, not moving my hands. Digging out my phone to call for help would be smart, but not letting both of us go backward down the stairs was smarter.

Inch by inch, he straightened, then took one hand off the railing. “Okay, that was fun. Not. But I’m better, thank you.” He shifted his weight away from the wall. “Yeah, better.”

“I’m going to bend and get your crutch, then we should gently go back down the stairs. I saw a staff lounge where you can rest while I call the ambulance.”

“No ambulance. No more paramedics or doctors or scans or any of that crap unless I’m dying.”

“Let me drive you, then,” I offered. I was pretty sure a dizzy spell was a bad sign.

“No!” He sighed. “My deductible’s six grand. Between the ride yesterday and the hospital, CTs, everything, I already owe that much. My copay is still twenty percent out of network. There’s no way I’m getting near the ER again.”

“A doctor, then. Just to check you out.”

“It’s no big deal!” he snapped. Then mumbled, “Sorry. I’ve had a concussion before. Dizziness happens the first few days. Anyhow, I was probably just woozy from stressing this stupid leg on the stairs. Getting shot hurts. Zero out of ten, don’t recommend.” He sighed. “Could you grab my crutch now?”

With one hand still on his lower back, in case the dizziness or whatever came back, I snagged the crutch.

He took a deep breath as he slid it under his arm. “Right. If we can get upstairs, I’ll be fine. I just need to lie down for a bit.”

I frowned. “And then what? You’ll go back and forth on these steep stairs by yourself whenever your dogs need to go out? You’ll manage the animals down here as well?”

He twisted to eye me over his shoulder.

I considered glaring, but he looked so bleak with sad eyes and a downturned mouth under that extravagant mustache, I didn’t have the heart.