“Oh, Ginger, you had an accident.” Linx nuzzled the little bundle ofsweetness.
“About Grady’s list,” Tami called out as she scrolled through the center’s email. “I think it’s okay if the dog trainer he’s working with approves of theadoption.”
“I don’t agree.” Linx wet a paper towel and wiped off Ginger’s fur. “What happens if we give a dog to the trainer, and it turns out the veteran doesn’t wanthim?”
“There are no guarantees even with all the screening we do.” Tami sounded exasperated. “You could have someone who’s perfect on paper. Has great references from his neighbors and says all the right things, and then something goes wrong and the dog is surrenderedagain.”
“Or abused, orworse…”
“I think we should give Grady’s program a chance,” Tami said—or rather Tami’s hormones spoke. “Let’s give him one of our hardest-to-place dogs and see how hedoes.”
“They’re not experiments.” Even though Linx grumbled about it, she had to look at the realistic situation. The more dogs she placed in their forever homes, the more she could rescue from killshelters.
“Here’s a good one,” Tami said, staring at the screen. “Grady has a veteran who needs a mean-looking dog. One who’s calm and collected, but scary to lookat.”
“Men with small balls always want a mean-looking dog, and then when they can’t handle it, they dump the dog at the pound.” Linx set Ginger into a box lined with a towel and heated a hot water bottle in themicrowave.
“You need to take a chance,” Tami said. “Besides, I’m betting there’s nothing small on your man,Grady.”
And Linx was betting Tami was dying to find out—firsthand. She kept needling her with the “your man” thing, hoping Linx would flat out deny it and give her the greenlight.
“Fine, I’ll take a look and see what we have. Watch over Ginger.” Linx strode across the small box-like cabin through the kitchen to the backdoor.
Dogs barked and bayed at her as she dragged the bag of food from kennel to kennel, exchanging dirty bowls with clean ones. She stopped to pat and chat with each guest, from the old bulldog that had been with her since she’d started the center to the newest arrival, a majestic-looking German shepherd pitbull mix who stood quietly at her side while she filled hisbowl.
He didn’t dig in until she gave the command, and he didn’t join in the incessant barking that the other dogs did to pass thetime.
“Still getting used to us, aren’t you?” She rubbed his neck. He was one of the dogs who had been surrendered by his owner. The usual excuses were death in the family, loss of living space, or move across the country. This one was a soldier deploying to awarzone.
She sighed as she surveyed the rows and rows of kennels, each housing a shell-shocked former pet who had either been abandoned or had been abused to the point of running away. Finding new homes for them was a priority. Her shelter was no-kill, and she relied on donations and adoption fees to keep the operationgoing.
Which reminded her. She needed to get the center spruced up for the Fourth of July festivities. Hang up the flag, red, white, and blue banners, and make sure everything was clean andspiffy.
Every year, in the week running up to July 4, Colson’s Corner had a Gold Rush Festival which attracted tourists and locals alike. She would have a booth plastered with photographs of the available rescue dogs, as well as incentives for people to visit the shelter where she could pre-qualify potential adopters for the pet auction held after the Fourth of Julyparade.
There was no time to worry about whether Grady found an office or not. The only thing that mattered was keeping him and Cedarapart.
Oh, sure, he hadn’t looked for her much after that fire four years ago, but then again, she hadn’t posted anythingeither.
Cedar was hers, and she had a much better life with Linx than with a traveling smokejumper who didn’t understand the first thing aboutresponsibility.
