Page 87 of Salvaged Hearts

My reluctance gave way as Stacy flipped through her SD card on the back of the DSLR. I hated to admit it, but the media would eat this up. One big, happy, Emerald Bay family.

Drowsy from one too many tacos and hours in the sun, Alice laid her warm cheek on my shoulder the moment the car door closed behind us. Her happy little sigh had me relaxing into her, stroking lazy lines up her sun-kissed arm. A man could get used to this. This…community. The girl nestled into my side. I didn’t want to think too hard about how we’d gotten here or where it was going because that’s when the panic set in. But…for now, at least, she was mine.

I’d just closed my eyes, at peace with that reality, when she jackknifed upright with a yelp. “Arthur, pull over! Pull over!”

“What the hell!?” I barked as Arthur calmly said, “Yes, Mrs. Hart.”

“Oh god, ohgodohgod,” she breathed in a panic, brows pinched in the center.

“Alice. What’s going on.”

“I saw something!” she yelped, throwing herself out the car door onto the shoulder of the fucking highway.

“Jesus Christ,” I growled, lunging after her. “Alice! Get in the car! Have you lost your mind?”

Cars rushed by, honking angrily as their wakes shook the town car. Emergency blinkers or not, this felt like a terrible idea. Especially as she bolted down the shoulder in her sandals, dress flapping in the breeze.

“Baby!” I barked, finally catching up to her. She could fucking move when she was motivated.

“Please don’t be what I think you are.Please,” she pled as she…bent down to amovingtrash bag.

“What the fuck?” I barked, snatching her arm and pulling her back. Then, I heard the whimper, my heart aching as my eyes closed. Kneeling, I opened the bag and wanted to be sick. Humanity’s ability to discard life would forever rattle me to my core.

“Is that what I think it is?” she asked like she was praying to be wrong as tears welled in her eyes. I wanted to say no but lifted the bag to move us back toward the car. “Greyson!” she barked. “Please tell me I’m wrong.”

Was bringing a trash bag puppy directly into my car a terrible idea? Probably. Was I about to do it anyway? Yep.

“Come on, Alice. We’ll check him out when we’re off the road.”

“Oh god, dammit,” she breathed, jamming her eyes closed before she rushed to stay by my side.

Door secured behind us, I opened the bag and, clenching my jaw so tight it could crack, fished out the surviving puppy.

His little cries would stick with me for the rest of my damn life.

18

Dogs Don’t Just Trust Willy-Nilly

GREYSON

“People suck!People suck!I don’t understand! How do people have this kind of capacity for cruelty?” Alice hissed under her breath as she stroked long lines down the puppy’s now-white back. She promptly dubbed himChiponce we had him cleaned up and nestled into her lap. The vet came and went after we had the little guy bathed, and my beautiful wife had been a rollercoaster of pissed-off and panicked the entire time.

Aside from needing some help getting his calories back up, Chip was otherwise in miraculous form, and according to my vet, would have a wonderful future, to Alice’s teary relief.

I’d never been a lapdog kind of guy—if the breed couldn’t protect you or complete a task, sharing your space with a slobbering fur-ball wasn’t really that appealing until I had Cap. But Chip would stay about this little. The mess of mud and mats was now gone, and he had stark white hair that told Doctor Melligan he was at least part Maltese.

Didn’t mean much to me, but Alice lost her shit. As I scrolled through information online, I began to understandwhy. These weren’t some mutts that filled up shelter kennels. They weredesigner dogs—highly sought after for their intelligence and endless adoration of their humans.

“You did well today,” I noted, tangling my fingers in her long ponytail. “Making him feel safe. That was quite the ordeal.”

“Thanks.Youwere incredible,” she added, still stroking long, soothing lines from the crown of his little head to his tail. Captain was still tentatively sprawled over the end of the bed, his big snout pointing toward the newcomer curiously. He’d been about as displeased as his new mama with the situation and only stopped whining when Chip did. “It was like he knew you’d help him. That says a lot, Greyson. Dogs don’t just trust willy-nilly, especially when they’re scared.”

Studying the trace of regret in her eyes, I softly assured her, “I never meant to be the monster in your story, Belle. I’m sorry you ever saw me that way.”

“Hell hath no fury like a Rhodes scorned,” she said, aiming for a joke, but her tone was too heavy with history to hit the mark.

I leaned up on my forearm so I could reach her chin, guiding her up and over to me. I pressed a kiss to her forehead, my eyes closing as I soaked up her sweet chai scent.

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