Page 3 of Finding Gideon
“Mm-hmm. We don’t get many passers-through in Foggy Basin. Especially ones picking up strays and breaking down in the middle of the road.” His grin widened. “That your whole life in that bag back there?”
I glanced toward the battered duffel tossed in the back seat. “Pretty much.”
“Well, if you’re looking to get that pup checked out, you’re in luck. Doc Jones over at Fluff & Tuff’ll take care of him.”
“Fluff and what now?”
“Fluff & Tuff Animal Clinic,” Reuben said proudly, like he owned stock in it. “Used to be Claws, Paws, and More before Doc Jones bought it out last year. Changed the name, painted the building bright blue—can’t miss it. Man’s real good with animals. Kind of quiet, but knows his stuff. Used to work in San Francisco, if you can believe it. Big-time vet hospital. Trauma, emergencies, all that. Probably saved more lives than I’ve delivered letters.”
I tried to wedge a word in. Failed.
“Some folks say he came here to escape the city. Others swear it was because of a messy divorce. I say it’s probably a bit of both. Anyway, he’s single, got a place tucked right behind the clinic, and from what I hear, he’s a sucker for strays and sad eyes.” Reuben winked. “You’ve got both.”
I blinked. “Uh… where is the clinic?”
“Oh! Just a ten-minute walk. Straight up this road, then take a left at the corner. You’ll see the blue building on your right, with a bone-shaped sign. You can’t miss it.”
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. “Thanks.”
Reuben squinted at me. “You got enough cash for it? Doc’s not one to turn folks away, especially not with a dog like that, but still. Never hurts to ask.”
“I’ve got… enough,” I said, which was a lie. Probably. But I’d deal with it.
“Well, I’ll let you go, then. Can’t keep you in this heat with a sick pup. But you be sure to tell Doc I sent you, alright?”
“Sure,” I said, already pushing my door open. “Thanks.”
Reuben gave me a cheery little wave. “Welcome to Foggy Basin, Gideon. You’ll like it here. Quiet. Weird. Lots of folks with secrets. You’ll fit right in.”
I offered him a thin smile, then slid out of the truck and circled around. The dog lifted his head and let me scoop him up without protest.
“You’re heavy for a featherweight,” I grunted, hitching my bag over one shoulder. “Let’s hope this Doc Jones is as kind as Mr. USPS says.”
Reuben was still watching as I locked the truck and headed up the road.
I didn’t look back.
I spotted the bright blue building before I saw the sign.
The last of the sun streaked across the storefront like it was trying to paint everything gold before the light gave out. “Fluff & Tuff Animal Clinic” sat in big, playful letters on a bone-shaped sign above the glass door, and sure enough, the trim was painted the kind of cheerful blue that felt aggressively hopeful.
I shifted the dog in my arms—he was heavier now that I’d walked what felt like a mile instead of a ten-minute stroll—and pressed the heel of my hand against the small of my back. Myshirt clung to my skin, damp with sweat, and my feet ached in boots that had seen better days.
But when I reached the steps, I saw the interior lights dimming. A shadow moved inside, then disappeared.
“No, no, no,” I muttered, dragging myself up the short steps. I tried the door handle. It didn’t budge—it was locked.
I bumped the glass door with my elbow. “Come on, don’t lock it yet?—”
I knocked. Once, twice, with more urgency than I meant to. The dog whimpered in my arms.
“Just a sec,” came a voice from inside.
The door squeaked open, and I forgot how to speak for a second.
Six feet tall. Wide receiver’s build—broad-shouldered, long lines of muscle under fitted scrubs. Skin like burnished mahogany. Tightly coiled hair. And those eyes—espresso brown, warm but alert, like they noticed everything and catalogued it for later.
“We’re closed for the day.” His eyes flick to the dog. “But come on in.”
