1
ROARKE
The barking had been going on for two straight hours.
I tightened my grip on the steering wheel and reminded myself why I was doing this. These dogs had been through hell. A few more miles wouldn’t kill me—even if the noise felt like it was drilling straight through my skull.
Declan owed me for this one.
My neighbor had shown up at my door that morning with that look on his face—the one that meant he was about to ask for something I wouldn’t want to give. He’d launched straight into it. A puppy mill bust. Too many animals. Not enough transport vehicles. My truck was bigger than his.
I should have said no. I always said no. That was the whole point of living alone on the side of a mountain—so people would stop asking me for things.
But then he’d mentioned the dogs. Crammed into cages barely big enough to turn around in. Some of them had never seen sunlight. Never felt grass under their paws. The kill shelter was already overflowing, and if no one stepped up, a lot of them wouldn’t make it out.
Damn it.
So here I was, nine o’clock at night, hauling a truck bed full of kennels down Main Street toward Wildwood Valley’s veterinary trailer. My back still ached from loading the dogs hours earlier. My stomach growled loud enough to compete with the barking. All I could think about was the leftover pizza in my fridge and the cold beer waiting beside it.
Almost there.
Lights flickered through the trees as I made the final turn. Dr. Hanson’s trailer sat next to the new fire station, construction equipment scattered around the site where the permanent facility was going up. Orange cones and caution tape marked off the work zone, everything half-finished and dimly lit.
I slowed as I approached, ready to pull in close so I could unload the kennels directly. These dogs had been through enough without being made to walk any farther than necessary.
That was when I saw the SUV. It sat smack in the middle of the drive, blocking the path completely.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
I pulled up behind it and threw the truck into park, leaving the engine running. The dogs kept up their chorus of barks and nervous whines as I climbed out, my boots crunching against the gravel—louder than it should have sounded in the quiet.
The SUV’s driver’s door stood open.
No one inside.
I scanned the area, irritation building. The trailer itself was dark except for a dim light near the back—probably overnight staff checking on the animals already in their care. Whoever had abandoned their SUV in the middle of the drive clearly didn’t understand how operations like this worked.
A figure paced near the entrance. Female, judging by the silhouette. She had her phone pressed to her ear, talking fast, her free hand gesturing wildly even though no one was there to see it.
I headed toward her, already rehearsing what I was going to say. Something short. Direct.Move your damn car so I can unload and go home.The pizza was calling my name. The beer might as well have been shouting.
She must have heard my footsteps because she spun around, hand holding her phone dropping to her side. In the thin spill of light from the trailer window, I caught the flash of her eyes going wide, the way her body tensed like she was deciding whether to bolt.
“Who are you?” Her voice came out sharp, edged with fear.
“I could ask you the same thing.” I kept walking, closing the distance. “You’re blocking the drive. I’ve got a truck full of dogs that need to be?—”
I stopped.
She stepped fully into the light, and whatever I’d been about to say disappeared.
So did,briefly, the ability to think.
She was beautiful—not in a slow, subtle way you noticed over time. This was the kind that hit all at once, like a hard punch to the chest.
Dark hair fell around her shoulders in loose, messy waves. Her eyes were big and expressive, set against pale skin still flushed with anxiety. She wore jeans and a soft-looking sweater, the kind you threw on without thinking, more comfort than fashion.
And she was staring at me like I might either save her…or kill her.
