I’ve given my speech, and I’ve been mingling and have spoken to as many people as I can, from the prominent figures like the local MP, the mayor, the owners of some of the largest businesses, and a couple of reporters, to the ordinary people who might one day need the services of a therapy center, and explained just how important I think PAWS is going to be. On top of that, Cullen, Jude, and I, and a couple of the vets, have given demonstrations on dog training, and those herewith pets like Hal with Miss Daisy and Leon with his four dogs have let people fuss over them. Even Cullen’s wary German Shepherd, Ghost, was the subject of a very sweet scene. Max, Isla’s son and Ghost’s new best friend, introduced him to a tiny girl who’d once been bitten and who was now scared of dogs, and Ghost was the perfect therapy dog, letting her stroke him while he licked her hand.
“So when are you going to choose another pup?” Cullen jokes.
I used to have a Labrador, but he died shortly after my father, and the pain of those two losses together was too much for me to consider getting another dog for a while. Three years have passed since Dad died, though, and lately, with the advent of PAWS opening, I’ve been thinking about getting another. The center is about animal-assisted therapy, after all, and it makes sense for me to have my own dog while I’m seeing patients.
“Soon,” I promise. “Let me know if you think any suitable dogs come in.”
Cullen and I are joint CEOs of the new PAWS facility, but at the moment he’s dividing his time between overseeing some of the renovations of the old farmhouse, and continuing with his job at the Ark, working with rehoming rescue dogs.
“Will do,” he says. He nods as Jude walks up to us. “You checked on the Forever Home?” It’s what we call the barn where rescue dogs are housed until they find new owners.
“Yeah,” Jude says. “They’re a bit restless because of the music, but not too bad.”
“I’ll take a turn with them.” Cullen finishes his drink and heads off toward the barn.
I sip my beer, watching Jude as he finishes off one glass of wine, then picks up another from the tray on the nearby table. “Tough day?” I ask, amused. He’s not a great drinker, and I’ve often joked that after one shot he’s under the table, so it’s strange to see him knocking the glasses back.
He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Kinda. I think Beth and I just broke up.”
I stare at him. “What happened?”
He scratches at a mosquito bite on his arm. “We had another argument.”
“Another? You argued earlier?”
“Before we came out.”
“You want to talk about it?”
“Nope.”
“What was it about?”
“I just said I didn’t want to talk about it.”
“Fair enough. I’m just trying to ascertain how you left things.”
He meets my eyes for a moment, his expression mutinous, then looks away, across the Quad.
I follow his gaze, looking for Beth but not seeing her. “Where is she?”
He shrugs and has another mouthful of wine.
“Did she leave?”
“I don’t know.”
“Is she okay?”
“I’ve no idea.”
“Jude…”
He finishes off his glass in one mouthful, puts it down with a bang, and takes out his phone.
“Are you going to call her?” I ask.
“No, I’m going to text Bran and ask him to come and pick me up.” His brother lives about ten minutes away in the nearby town of Paihia.
