Page 13 of Healing You
“Here.” Steve grabbed a scrap of paper from his back pocket and, looking around the cages, wrote down which dogs were in most dire need. “These guys will need the most medical attention. When you get them into fosters, be sure to bring them to me for treatments. I'll be able to give you a huge break on bills. Basically just the medications at cost. And if you need me to take one or two home with me, I'm sure Molly won't mind.”
She shook her head, dropping her hand to her thigh. “I can't let you do that. You deserve to be paid for your time.”
“Seriously, it's not a problem. Are you able to take the Chihuahua tonight? Her infection is the worst, and I'd like to get her out of that cage as soon as possible.”
“I'm way ahead of you.” She pulled open the door to the backseat of her car. Curled in the back, the Chihuahua lay on a pile of blankets, already fast asleep.
“Good.” There was a pause as a feeling of regret surged through his chest. “I'm sorry for what I said earlier. Dawn and I spent most of grad school convincing people we were just friends. Guess I'm still a little defensive. But I had no right assuming anything about your fiancé. I mean, if he managed to steal your heart, he must be pretty damn great.” It felt like the right thing to do—apologizing. And it didn't hurt that maybe he was fishing for answers about her engagement status while he was at it. Shameless, he knew. And yet, he also didn't care.
She didn't respond immediately. And Steve didn't walk away.
“I was prying. I'm the one who should be apologizing.” She offered him a regretful half-smile as she moved around to the driver's side and climbed into the front seat. Something tightened in his throat at seeing her there behind the wheel. So near another windshield that had caused her so much damage.
She had been prying. Making assumptions. The question was—why? Why did she care? Why did he catch her staring at him like she did when they were in high school and still in love? She should hate him... hell, she did hate him. The proof had been in that letter. Had she moved past the hatred finally? Was it simply curiosity? Or had that ember never been fully extinguished—even after almost thirteen years? That was the thing about embers. When you kick one, it can either spark into a flame or tamp out. And Steve had no idea if he was ready to handle the kind of fire he knew Yvonne could spark.
7
I t had taken another two hours to find temporary fosters for the twenty dogs, three of which Yvonne had to bring home to her one bedroom herself. Carrie took another two home. The next morning, Yvonne sat outside Elsa's diner, Gatsby at her feet and Carrie across the table from her. She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes, the pressure feeling surprisingly good despite the stress piling up. “What are we going to do? We used all the grant money to reimburse past medical expenses. How are we going to afford this? How are we going to place twenty more dogs into homes?” she asked, more to herself than her assistant.
Assistant. She hated that term. Carrie was so much more than an assistant. She was her colleague. Her partner. Her friend.
“Well...” Carrie flipped through some papers. “We have two thousand in the rescue funds. That should be enough to get by... for now.”
“Barely. Not after we cover the cost of food and medicines. That will maybe last us a couple of weeks with twenty new dogs. Not to mention the other eight kittens we took the other day and our fifteen other foster dogs we need to get adopted.” Money had always been an issue with their rescue. Yvonne and Carrie had perfected the art of grant writing, and their fundraising efforts were getting better and better. Yet, with animals constantly in need, they managed to burn through those funds faster than a fire through a paper factory.
There was silence as the two sat there staring at their uneaten plates of eggs and toast. Yvonne shoved hers around with the fork a little bit, swirling them with her potatoes. God, this sucked.
“Didn't you say that your parents had—”
“Carrie, no.”
“But it's your money—”
“I said no. We can do this without their help.”
“Ummm.” Carrie tapped the edge of her spoon to the table, in thought. “We could have another dinner party?”
Yvonne shook her head. “The only people who end up buying those plated meals are our friends and families. It doesn't really bring in new donors or money.”
Silence again. Looking up beyond Carrie's shoulders, she saw Steve stretch from within his booth inside the diner. He signaled to Elsa for the check and stood, grabbing his wallet from his pocket.
Yvonne licked her lips, remembering the sight of Steve shirtless in his running shorts. The way his muscles clenched as he lifted his body out of the lake. A thought slipped into her mind. “We could do an adoption event... like a 10K or a Fun Run or something. At the end of the run we could have food and a party with all the adoptable dogs.”
“Oh! I like that! We can publicize it around the state too, so that we bring in people not just from Maple Grove. Runners travel all over for races!”
“The Humane Society will help us advertise it, I'm sure.” Yvonne felt that little flutter of excitement in her belly. The kind she always got when she knew she had a great idea. “This could be good. Maybe we can have one longer race... around six miles, and another shorter run for families who want to participate, but aren't serious runners.”
“I love the idea!” Carrie squealed and kicked her feet under the table. “And we could have the event after the run at Steve's clinic! He has that awesome doggy playground in the back for physical therapy and when he boards animals.”
Yvonne's fork froze midway to her mouth. She cleared her throat and resumed chewing. “Um, yeah. Or, you know, we could ask the Laconia Humane Society to use their facility?”
“That's stupid. Steve's is right here in town. And you two seem to be on speaking terms again, finally. Besides, you know he'd let us...”
“I'd let you do what?”
Yvonne cringed, stifling her groan. From across the table, Carrie lifted an eyebrow. She could practically hear her friend's voice ringing in her head—You ask him or I will.
Gatsby jumped to his feet, tail swinging wildly as he wiggled over to Steve. He bent, accepting her dog into his arms. As Steve laughed, Gatsby nearly knocked him over. That traitor. “Someone's feeling better, huh?”
