After fifteen minutes of flipping through pages and looking over the cash flow, all I can do is curse to myself. It’s better than crying.
This place is broke.
Actually, it’s worse than that. The sanctuary is in debt.
I lean my elbows on the desk and drop my face into my palms.
Slow breath in, slow breath out. And again.
But nothing calms my racing heart or subsides the ache forming in my head.
Why would Uncle Jim let this happen? Why didn’t he come to me for help?
Probably for the same reason you won’t go to your family for help.
But it isn’t—not really. My family doesn’t believe in this place.I do.I would have helped…
With a sigh, I lean back against the chair and close my eyes.
Okay, Adley. This is what you’re good at. Fixing problems is your jam. Making something from nothing is easy to you, and this place isn’t nothing.
We can do this.
With a renewed sense of vigor, I get up, bring in the dogs, and get ready to go into town.
The big pet store visit was a good thousand-dollar trip.
Beds and blankets, new food and water bowls that are dishwasher safe, cat litter, a new pooper-scooper to replace the rusted one I had to fight with this morning—thing didn’t want to open, dammit. I also splurged on one of those pet water fountains to see if the fur-babies would even like it. If it goes over well, I can get more.
Tomorrow, I’ll have to go to the local feed store. It’s closed on the weekends, so I’ll have to go on Monday. I have pictures on my phone of what I need, thanks to Lloyd. He told me they’d deliver the hay bales after I bought them.
This is a whole new world for me.
Next stop today is the big grocery store nearby.
I’m loading all the bulky beds into the back hatch when someone calls out from the parking lot.
Sure that the person is calling out to someone else, I ignore it and keep loading. But then the voice is closer when it says, “Hey! Need any help?”
I inhale to respond, tell him I’m fine before I even look at him, but his rum spice scent short-circuits my brain.
I can’t breathe.I cannot breathe.
My hand grasps at my chest and I force in a breath at last before I turn to the man.
And at the sight of him, I can’t breathe again.
Tall, with wide shoulders, muscular arms straining the sleeves of his deep red muscle tee, thighs taking up almost all the space in his jeans. His brown hair is nicely combed back, shorter on the sides and longer on top. His square jaw is lined with even scruff, just less than a shadow across his face. His pale gray eyes twinkle in the sunlight, but his brow is pinched with concern as he peers down at me. When he opens his mouth to speak again, his nostrils flare, and those concerned eyes go wide with surprise.
He’s scented me, too.
I know I’m gaping at him. I know I must look like a fish, mouth opening and closing as my brain tries to come up with something to say. Then the wheels in my head come to a grinding halt.
I recognize this man. This absolute specimen of an Alpha.
“Y-you’re Jasper Lang.”
My voice is airy and small, and my face begins to heat immediately after I speak.
