“Yes, you have.” Hadley glanced up. “You want me to check if he’s chipped?”
“Can you? I mean, someone called and thinks Good Boy is his. But just in case the man is wrong . . .”
“Sure thing. I’ve got a scanner in my truck.” Hadley stood and headed toward the parking area. “Give me a sec.”
She returned a minute later with a small handheld device—sleek, compact, about the size of a TV remote. She knelt beside Good Boy and ran the scanner slowly over his shoulders and neck.
The device beeped.
“He’s chipped.” Hadley stared at the small screen. “I’ll need to check the national registry to track down the owner’s contact info. I can do that back at my clinic. The owners will receive notifications every day for ten days. If they don’t respond—and if the guy coming says Good Boy isn’t his dog—you can claim him.”
“Sounds good.” Naomi looked down at Good Boy. He sat at her feet, tail sweeping the ground, completely oblivious to the fact that his time here was running out.
One more day.
She’d have him for one more day, and then he might be gone.
How had he found a place in her heart so quickly? A week wasn’t long. Barely any time at all. But somehow the thought of him leaving felt like losing something she hadn’t realized she needed.
And if this was hard . . .
Her gaze drifted back toward the house, toward where Grace slept.
If losing the dog hurt this much, what would it be like when Grace was taken away?
The thought settled heavy in her chest.
She hated it. Hated the uncertainty. Hated that she was already bracing for loss, already preparing herself for the moment when someone would show up and say Grace didn’t belong to her anymore.
But she’d be wise to keep that thought at the forefront of her mind.
Because the alternative—letting herself believe Grace was hers to keep—would only make it worse when the inevitable happened.
Naomi reached down to rest her hand on Good Boy’s head.
The moment was interrupted by the sound of the app used to control the gate buzzing on her phone.
She stepped outside in time to see Caleb leaving the house and heading across the driveway.
“You expecting anyone?” Naomi called out.
Caleb kept walking, his expression already shifting into something more alert. “No, I’m not.”
Micah stepped out behind her and moved to catch up with Caleb. His body language had changed in an instant. His shoulders squared, and his hand drifted toward his hip in that instinctive way he had.
The buzzer sounded again.
Whoever was at the gate wasn’t going away.
Micah and Caleb crossed the yard together, their strides matching.
As they got closer and he saw the man who stepped from the truck, his jaw tightened.
“That’s Dale Harding,” Caleb said just loud enough for Micah to hear. “Richard’s brother.”
Maybe Micah shouldn’t be surprised, but he was.
They reached the gate and stopped a few feet back—close enough to talk, far enough to keep the barrier between them.
