Page 15

F ive days later, Lynda gently lifted Star from the large enclosure that had replaced the incubator.

The smallest of the wolfdog puppies had thrived under their constant care.

She’d put on weight and was more alert than she’d been when she arrived.

All the puppies were growing rapidly; their eyes were bright and curious, and their personalities were emerging with each passing day.

“There’s my brave girl,” Lynda murmured, cradling Star against her chest as she settled into a rocking chair. The clinic was quiet this evening. Matt had gone to check on a horse at the Peterson farm, and the volunteer who usually helped with the evening routine had called in sick.

The past few days had transformed Lynda’s life in ways she hadn’t anticipated.

On the nights when she looked after the pups, she’d slept on a cot between the three-hour feeding schedules.

A set of clothes now occupied a small corner of the storage closet, and she’d brought some toiletries from home so she could shower each morning.

More surprising than the time she spent at the clinic was how natural it all felt. Between Matt and the other volunteers, they were on a shared mission that was making a difference in the pups’ lives.

“You’re getting so strong,” Lynda told Star, checking the puppy’s gums and eyes with practiced ease. “Baker and Rainier better watch out. You’ll be wrestling them to the ground before they know what hit them.”

The puppies’ names had been chosen through a community contest organized by the local radio station.

Apart from Star, the other four now bore the names of Montana mountains: Baker, Rainier, Helena, and Granite.

They’d become local celebrities, with daily updates on Facebook and a steady stream of visitors hoping for a glimpse of the “miracle pups,” as everyone called them.

Star yawned, her tiny pink tongue curling as she settled more comfortably in Lynda’s arms. The weight of the puppy, warm and trusting against her chest, brought an unexpected lump to Lynda’s throat.

“What will I do when you’re all grown up, little one?” she whispered, her voice soft in the quiet room. “I wasn’t planning on getting attached to you.”

She glanced around the small break room that had become her temporary home.

Matt had done his best to make it comfortable for her and the other volunteers.

He’d added a small bookshelf filled with veterinary journals, murder mysteries, and romance novels.

There was a lamp for reading and a small vase that he’d filled with flowers.

“I was supposed to be visiting for a few weeks,” Lynda continued, absently stroking Star’s soft fur. “But here I am, hopefully selling my practice to Robert and getting my house ready to put on the market.”

Star blinked up at her with innocent amber eyes.

“Now, there’s you and your brothers to consider, too. And the shelter needs so much help.” Lynda sighed, rocking slightly. “And then there’s Matt.”

His name hung in the air, weighted with all the complicated emotions she’d been trying to sort through.

Working alongside him these past weeks had shown her a man of extraordinary compassion, skill, and quiet strength.

He’d sung to the puppies when he thought no one was listening.

When he was treating even the most fragile patients, he was gentle and patient.

And he’d welcomed her into his clinic and his life as if she’d always belonged there.

“What if staying here doesn’t work out?” she asked Star softly. “What if I sell everything in Denver, move here, and then discover I’ve made another terrible mistake? What if I’m seeing what I want to see, not what’s actually there?”

Star snuggled closer, her tiny paws pressing against Lynda’s arm.

“Ray seemed perfect too, you know,” Lynda continued, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I thought we had a good marriage. Not perfect, but good. And the whole time...” She swallowed hard.

“The whole time, he was just waiting for something better to come along. Someone younger, less demanding, less...” She gestured vaguely at herself. “Less me.”

The puppy squirmed, and Lynda adjusted her hold, bringing Star up to eye level.

“I’m sixty-seven years old, Star. That’s too old to start over if I get it wrong again.” She touched her nose gently to the puppy’s. “And I really don’t want to get it wrong. Not with Matt. He’s too important.”

The admission, spoken aloud for the first time, even if only to a puppy, sent a ripple of something like terror through Lynda’s chest. Matt had become important to her—more than she’d allowed anyone to be since the divorce.

“And what about my daughter?” she continued, settling Star back against her chest. “Amy will have to fly here instead of driving for twenty minutes. The boys are already growing up so fast.”

Star’s eyes began to droop as the puppy fell asleep in Lynda’s arms.

“But when I think about going back to my empty house, back to the life I built after Ray left...” Lynda’s voice caught. “I don’t want that anymore. That life was about proving that I could survive, that I didn’t need anyone. But maybe... maybe I do want someone. Maybe I want Matt.”

The admission hung in the quiet room. Lynda closed her eyes, feeling the gentle weight of the sleeping puppy against her heart.

“But what if he doesn’t feel the same way?” she whispered. “What if I’m misreading everything? What if he’s just being kind? He might see us as friends and nothing more.”

A floorboard creaked in the hallway outside the break room, and Lynda’s eyes flew open. Matt stood in the doorway, his expression impossible to read in the dim light. Her heart dropped. How long had he been standing there? How much had he heard?

“Matt,” she said, heat rising to her cheeks. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

He stepped into the room, his movements careful as if approaching a skittish animal. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” he said quietly. “I was going to say something, but then...”

Lynda froze. Having Matt hear her deepest fears left her feeling exposed in a way she hadn’t been in years.

He moved closer, kneeling beside the rocking chair so they were at eye level. “Lynda,” he said softly. “I need to tell you something important.”

Her heart stuttered in her chest. Here it came—the gentle letdown, the kind explanation that he valued her friendship but nothing more. She braced herself, determined to accept his words with dignity.

“I’ve been trying to find the right moment, the right words,” Matt continued. “But I think I’ve just been afraid. Afraid of rushing you, afraid of my own feelings.” He took a deep breath. “But after what I just heard...”

Lynda waited, barely breathing.

“I’m not being kind, Lynda. And while I value your friendship more than I can say, that’s not all I feel for you.

” His blue eyes held hers, steady and sure.

“If you’re wondering if staying in Sapphire Bay is a mistake, I want you to know that there’s at least one person who thinks it’s the best thing that’s ever happened. ”

The words hung between them, a bridge being extended across their shared fears.

“Whatever you decide about Denver,” Matt added gently, “I want you to know where I stand. I care about you and want you to be happy.” A small smile touched his lips. “Just in case what I think factors into your decision.”

Lynda felt something tight and knotted begin to unravel inside her chest. “It does,” she whispered. “It factors in a great deal.”

Star stirred between them, making a tiny mewling sound before settling back to sleep. Matt’s hand came to rest on the puppy, his fingers brushing Lynda’s in the process.

“We’ve got time,” he said softly. “To figure it all out.”

Lynda nodded, grateful for his understanding. “I’m not good at trusting anymore,” she admitted. “Not after Ray.”

“I know,” Matt replied. “And I’d never ask you to blindly trust me. Just... maybe... trust a little? Enough to see where this might lead?”

In the quiet of the break room, with a sleeping puppy between them and the uncertain future ahead, Lynda turned her hand beneath Matt’s, their palms meeting, fingers intertwining.

“I can do that,” she said. And Lynda was surprised to discover she meant it.