Page 9 of A Furever Home (Gaynor Beach Animal Rescue #8)
ARTHUR
“What the hell are you doing here?” Neil demanded, striding into the shelter reception area next morning.
I looked up from the cash register where, admittedly, what I was mostly doing was gritting my teeth and counting the minutes to my next ibuprofen. “I run the place. Remember?”
“You got shot . And have a concussion.” Safe Haven’s funding-and-volunteers coordinator glared at me.
“I’m well aware.” I resisted the temptation to squeeze my head between my hands, and returned the glare.
“Which I had to find out about from Hilary when I arrived this morning.”
I figured part of his anger was being kept out of the loop. I hadn’t meant to insult him. “You told me you and Sawyer were headed to San Francisco for the weekend to see a show. I didn’t want to bother you.”
“Bother me?” Neil ran a hand through his dark hair, tugging on the back. “I’m the volunteer organizer. When something affects staffing, that’s literally my job. And may I repeat, shot?”
“A flesh wound.” That wasn’t as satisfyingly macho to say as I’d imagined, back when I was a lonely teen holed up in my room watching cop-show reruns.
Maybe because the flesh wound still hurt like hell.
“I was only out one day. My friends handled it with the regular volunteers. Mostly Colin, and this guy I met. Brooklyn. And I’m back now. I’m just moving a bit slow.”
I eased my tall stool back so I could stand, and Neil set a hand on my shoulder. “Oh, hell, no.”
“No what?” I shrugged off his grip.
He pushed his glasses up his nose. “No, you’re not running around the shelter working today. You look like shit.”
“Aww, thanks.”
“What? It’s true.”
“The docs wouldn’t let me shower.” I could tell my tone was bitter, but damn, I hated being dirty.
And they’d said two weeks of sponge baths and shampooing in the sink.
I’d tried that this morning, but bending my head low had brought on another bout of the powerful dizziness and nausea.
I was lucky I’d told Brooklyn to expect my hair wash to take some time in the bathroom.
I’d been able to stagger round and collapse onto the toilet seat, and huddle there and not move until the worst of the effects wore off.
I don’t think Brooklyn noticed when I emerged, otherwise he might not have been willing to drive me to the shelter.
He was kind and overprotective, something I didn’t need.
“My hair’s more comfortable loose right now,” I added. I usually wore my long ashy-red hair back in a ponytail, but I’d taken the elastic out hours ago, hoping that would ease some of the pressure in my skull. “Sorry if you think I’m not up to your promo standards at the front desk.”
“I didn’t say that.” Neil sighed. “I’m worried about you, okay?”
“I’m fine.” I sat up straighter and tried to look fine.
“Tell you what. You stay here, man the till if customers come in. Let me and the volunteers do the animal care.”
“That was actually my plan. Mostly.”
“No mostly . Sit.” He pointed a finger at me. “Stay. So when do we expect Shane back?”
“Huh? Three weeks. You know that.” Neil had fixed the volunteer schedule to cover for Shane’s absence and was chipping in more than his normal time on the main floor, in between writing grant proposals and chasing sponsors and all the stuff he did to keep the shelter in the black.
I’d already felt guilty about making him clean litterboxes.
He shouldn’t have to cover for me too, but there was a reason I didn’t stand when ordered to sit.
The move wouldn’t look so powerful if I hit the floor a minute later.
I fought the urge to squeeze my eyes shut.
“You mean he’s not cutting his trip short to come back here for you? I don’t believe it.”
“I didn’t tell him. And you can’t either.” I pointed my bigger, stubbier finger back at Neil. “You hear me? No tattling. I told him I had a fall but was fine, and to enjoy his trip. And he’s going to.” I wouldn’t have said even that much, but I worried someone else might spill the beans.
“He won’t thank you for keeping him in the dark.”
“Theo will. He planned this trip for months and paid all kinds of deposits and tickets.”
“Theo can afford to lose a few deposits.” Neil held up his hand. “Okay, quit trying to glare a hole through my skull. It’s your personal business. Until it affects the shelter.”
“It won’t.” I didn’t repeat I’m fine because I could feel a band of pressure creeping up around my head, and nausea turning my stomach. Not now. I waved Neil off and snapped, “Go do your job.”
That got me a look with some real hurt in it, but I didn’t want him to hang around to watch me puke so I didn’t apologize.
He left the lobby, and I was relieved to see his back disappear before a wave of pain rolled over me and the stool I was sitting on decided it was part of a merry-go-round.
I grabbed for a wad of tissues and dry-heaved.
Luckily, breakfast was enough of a memory that my stomach was empty.
I wiped my lips and clung to the edge of the counter as the world spun and dipped.
“Excuse me?” Seconds or maybe hours later, someone stood in front of me.
I blinked hard, reached for my water bottle, chugged a mouthful, and plastered on a smile. “Yes? How can I help you?”
The white-haired old woman across the counter tilted her head and eyed me. “Are you all right, young man?”
“Ate the wrong thing for lunch.” Is it lunch time yet? The morning seemed unending. “I’m better now. What can I do for you?”
“I was hoping to look at cats. Maybe an older cat? I don’t have a lot of years left myself, but I can give a good home to some nice quiet senior.”
“Oh yes, perfect.” I glanced around but didn’t spot any volunteers.
Because they’re in back doing your job for you.
I pushed the buzzer button. “Someone will be here in a minute. Have them show you Lucy and Spritz. Lucy’s fourteen and she’s in great health.
Sweet cat, pretty much a lap potato. Spritz is more aloof but he’s gentle when he gets to know you.
Might need his teeth done next year—Oh, Jeff.
” I waved to the retired gentleman who appeared down the hallway.
Several of our mid-day volunteers were seniors who couldn’t afford a pet or lived in no-pet housing, but loved being around the fur-babies.
Jeff wasn’t up to walking the bigger dogs, but he adored the cats.
“Show our client Lucy and Spritz, please, and any other older friendly cat she might like.”
“Can do.” He peered at me. “Are you okay, Arthur?”
“I wish people would stop asking me that!” I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to yell.”
“I’ll go show the lady some cats.”
I heard their footsteps click away across the marble tiles and sighed.
“Okay, that’s it,” Neil said from my elbow.
“What?” I barked, then pinched my nose harder as my head vibrated from the noise. You dumbass.
“That.” Neil’s tone was gentle. “You look like you’re about to fall over, and you’ve yelled at three people so far this morning.”
“I don’t yell at people.”
“Not usually, no. Which is why I’m sending you to your bed. Or wherever you’re staying, I guess, since the dogs aren’t upstairs.”
“With Brooklyn.” Who didn’t deserve to deal with my cranky self either.
“I’ll just go up and sack out in my apartment for a while.
” I pushed to my feet using my good leg, bent to retrieve my crutch from where it leaned against the counter…
and dizziness swamped me until I puked right on Neil’s foot.
Luckily just a little yellow bile. I followed that performance by staggering into the counter, grabbing it for dear life as I hit my bad leg on the edge and yelped like a bee flew up my thigh. With a red-hot poker. Owowowowowie.
Neil caught my arm in a strong grip. “Do you need a doctor?”
“No! Damn. Just my ibuprofen and stretching out in bed for a bit, I guess.” I swallowed my pride and asked, “Can you give me a hand getting up the stairs.”
“No can do.” Neil shook his head. “I’m not leaving you alone at the top of the stairs, and I don’t have the time to stay with you.”
“I’ll call when I want to come down.”
“Uh-huh.” He eyed me. “What was the name of the new volunteer I introduced you to this morning?”
I was better with pets’ names than humans’, and I barely remembered the intro. I’d been focused on staying upright. “Brown hair, short, about thirty.” I searched my aching brain. “Said she had to go to work at ten. Has a dog named Chloe.” Or Cleo, or something like that.
Neil nodded. “Yasmin. As I told you three times.”
“That’s not much of a test. I’m crappy with names at the best of times,” I grumbled.
“Which is why I’m not sending your ass to the ER. But I am giving you two choices. Either I drive you to this Brooklyn’s place, or you let me send you in a cab.”
“You can’t spare the time. If we’re open to the public, one of us has to be here.”
“I’ll call a cab, then.” Neil crossed his arms and gave me a hard stare.
“You’re not the boss—” I cut off “of me,” before I manage to sound like a toddler.
Neil pushed the stool up against my butt. “Sit down, stay put.”
I lost the energy to keep arguing. “All right.”
“Good.” Neil hesitated. “You know it’s because we all want you to get better, right?”
“Yeah, yeah. Go do your things.” I flapped my hand at him.
Neil went and did whatever, and I stewed in my own irritability, which was better than taking it out on a friend.
Thirty minutes later, my taxi pulled up in front of Brooklyn’s peach stucco house.
My head was much better. Of course, recovery happened ten minutes after I left.
I thought about turning around, but Neil would probably kick me back out, and I couldn’t deny I was beat and still aching everywhere.
Just without the debilitating levels of vertigo.