Page 52 of The Love Shack

She refused to be bummed about that.

On the way over to her house—which, as Oliver had noted, was probably half the size of the shelter—she realized that her side door wasn’t secured. It never was, because she’d never seen a reason. Friends and neighbors surrounded her, and she often went from her home to the shelter and back again.

Yet now... Now it felt like maybe that was a bad idea. She glanced down at Hero, but he just looked anxious for dinner and his bed.

With added tension squeezing her lungs, she stepped into the laundry room, and then the kitchen, pausing to listen.

Hero stared up at her curiously, unsure of this change in their pattern.

Everything was quiet. Closing and locking the door behind her, she walked through to the front door, but it was always locked because she seldom used it. Cheese, who had been sleeping on the back of the couch, stared at her with wide yellow eyes. Berkley gave her a stroke, telling herself to stop fretting.

When the house had been renovated and the shelter built, she’d specifically requested that the laundry/mudroom be at the back, closest to the shelter, to make it easy to clean up when things got messy.

A good, solid plan.

There was no reason to use the front door. She didn’t entertain, so she didn’t have invited guests. Visitors to the shelter drove around to the gravel parking lot near the side of her house.

Damn it, she was spooked. She unleashed Hero and gave him food, then refreshed his water. Cheese, of course, trotted into the laundry room, wanting her dinner, as well. They were at ease, so she should be, too.

With the animals taken care of, Berkley forced one foot in front of the other, going around the corner, peeking into her bathroom, then into the guest bedroom. It’d make her feel better, she reasoned, just to double-check that all was secure.

She opened the closet, but all she saw was her winter clothes hung on the rod, and her boots and extra shoes on the floor.

Forcing a deep breath, she went into her bedroom. The closet stood open because she often left it that way. The bed wasn’t made, because she rarely made it. Feeling ridiculous, she knelt down and peered under the bed. Nothing but dust bunnies and a couple of boxes of keepsakes.

Calling herself a fool, she plopped down to sit on her butt, her back against the mattress and box springs. Why was she suddenly jumpy? It was almost like the static from an incoming storm, making the fine hairs on her arms stand up. She hadn’t been this nervous since she was eighteen, after she’d lost her mother and had to sleep alone in her house until it could be sold.

Hero heard everything, and he could be protective. If there was any reason for nervousness, he’d have sounded a loud, barking alarm.

To distract herself, she looked at the notes Erin had left her. Another shelter wanted to know if she could take an expectant cat, due to give birth any day. Yes, she would. She put that note aside.

Another was a note from Yardley, asking if she’d please join them for tea. She did like Yardley. Heck, she liked everyone she’d met so far. Hmm... She couldtryto make that meeting. That note went to the side also.

Lastly, the director from the shelter she’d previously worked at said they’d gotten a call—from Chad Durkinson. For the longest moment, her eyes stayed glued to the name, trying to convince her brain that she’d seen it incorrectly.

Chad Durkinson.

No mistake.

Her heart shot into her throat and managed to lodge there.No.It couldn’t be true. Chad had no reason to seek her out. None at all.

As she read the rest of the note, her hands shook.

He’d tracked her down because he wanted to see her. For what purpose? She wanted absolutely nothing to do with him. She gripped the paper, and thankfully saw that the director had told him she’d changed jobs, but he’d had the good sense not to tell Chad where she’d gone. He’d kept all her information private.

Dropping her hands to her sides, she closed her eyes in stark relief.

She tried to draw a few deep breaths, telling herself to get it together—and her phone buzzed in her rear pocket. She nearly shot off the floor.

Her heart punched back into her chest and started a furious, almost painful pounding. Fumbling, she withdrew the phone and stared at the screen with dread.

Lawson.Relieved beyond measure, she answered with a strangled, “Hello?”

After a beat of silence, he said, “Berkley? What’s wrong?”

Seriously, was he psychic? It wasn’t like he could see her sitting on the floor, completely rattled. “Nothing,” she denied, trying to make her voice stronger. “Why?”

“You whispered.”

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