“I know, but…” Her gaze locked with the puppy’s. She stuck her hand through a hole and the puppy wrapped her paws around it, as though giving her a hug. “She’s the one.”
Josh sighed. “We could get both?”
Her jaw dropped, and she was convinced she’d heard him wrong. “The beagle and this girl?”
“Yeah, I guess.” He shrugged. “I’ll take the beagle and you take this one.”
Rachel glanced at the card on a slot above the kennel and read it out loud. “She’s approximately three months old, and a retriever mix. No known issues and she’s twenty-three pounds. They’ve named her Roxie.”
“She looks like a Roxie.”
“What do you think little girl? Want to come home with me?”
Roxie’s head bounced up and down, sealing the deal.
Chapter One
A seventy-six-pound barrel of fur greeted Rachel Goodman when she opened her front door. At ten years old, Roxie still greeted Rachel with a hug every time she came home.
She set her keys on the table, along with her purse. “How was your day, pretty girl?”
Roxie barked, continuing the conversation they had every afternoon when she came home from work.
“Chase any squirrels today.” After kicking off her three-inch heels, she went to the kitchen and filled Roxie’s bowl with fresh water. “I hope you didn’t bother Mr. Myron too much today.”
Guilt oozed off Roxie’s dipped head, and Rachel laughed. “I’ll let you in on a little secret. I think he likes you. Otherwise, he would have fixed the loose posts a long time ago.”
Mr. Myron reminded Rachel of her grandfather—gruff on the outside but all marshmallow on the inside. When she’d moved to Mansboro, Maryland from the Mojave Desert in California three years ago, she hadn’t known a soul. All she had was Roxie, who’d been her constant companion since Josh broke their engagement the day before the wedding.
She’d met her new neighbors when Roxie found the loose fence posts and escaped into Mr. and Mrs. Myron’s yard. They’d since become surrogate grandparents to her, inviting her into their family and hosting her for holidays when she couldn’t get home to the west coast.
“I want to watch the six o’clock news, and then we’ll go for a walk.” She dumped a scoop of dog kibble in Roxie’s dish. “The station filmed a segment about the shelter’s new education facility.”
With her tongue hanging out, Roxie stared at her, in blissful ignorance of what Rachel told her, before moving to eat her dinner.
Rachel grabbed a seltzer from the fridge and went to the living room. When she pressed the remote’s power button, the television turned on to the local channel she needed, evidence she rarely watched tv other than for the news. When did she have time? As director of a women’s shelter, she rarely worked less than ten hours a day.
The commercial break ended, leading directly into the segment on Hope House.
Toria Martinez, the evening news anchor, appeared on the screen. “A local shelter is getting a new education building, thanks to the generous donation of a mystery benefactor. Our own Max Warner has the story.”
The scene changed to Rachel’s office at Hope House, and she cringed as she watched the interview from earlier. In preparation for her television debut, she’d gone to the salon last night. For whatever reason she didn’t know, she’d asked her hairdresser to give her bangs. Big. Mistake. Kelly had cut them too short, giving Rachel the appearance of a young girl.
However, the camera picked up the hint of natural auburn highlights in her espresso-colored hair, and since she’d lost those five pounds she’d gained from winter snacking, plus an additional five, she didn’t have to worry about the camera adding weight. She’d always been slim, but that was good genes—not healthy habits—and she’d decided to change her ways before those habits caught up to her.
Roxie jumped on her lap before the clip ended. Unconsciously, Rachel stroked cinnamon-hued fur until she felt a lump that drew her attention from the news to her dog. She ran her hand over the spot again and pinched her lips.
The small bump she’d been keeping an eye on for months had doubled in girth overnight to the size of a golf ball. Drawing in a deep breath, she told herself not to worry. Senior dogs often had lumps that amounted to nothing. Dr. Scott advised her of that on her last visit when she’d noticed another spot that turned out to be a cyst.
That’s probably all this was, but still, the rapid growth concerned her. Wouldn’t a cyst that large need to be drained? She grabbed her phone and called the vet’s office.
“Eastern Veterinary Hospital, this is Hannah speaking, how may I help you?”
“Hi, Hannah, this is Rachel Goodman, calling about Roxie.” Her gaze drifted to the worrisome growth. “She has a bump on her leg, and I’m pretty sure it’s a cyst, but it doubled in size overnight.”
“The doctor will definitely want you to bring her in. When is a good time?”
“Late afternoon or early evening if possible, but I can take off a morning if needed.”
