Rescued Heart Read online

  Table of Contents

  By Georgia Beers

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  DEDICATION

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  By Georgia Beers

  Rescued Heart

  © 2016 by Georgia Beers

  This ebook original is published by Brisk Press, Brielle New Jersey, 08730

  Edited by Lynda Sandoval

  Copy Edited by Heather Flournoy

  Cover design by Steff Obkirchner

  First printing: January 2016

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission from the author or the publisher.

  ISBN-13: 978-099667742-4

  By Georgia Beers

  Novels

  Finding Home

  Mine

  Fresh Tracks

  Too Close to Touch

  Thy Neighbor’s Wife

  Turning the Page

  Starting From Scratch

  96 Hours

  Slices of Life

  Snow Globe

  Olive Oil and White Bread

  Zero Visibility

  A Little Bit of Spice

  Rescued Heart

  Anthologies

  Outsiders

  www.georgiabeers.com

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  I’ve never written a series before, so this was a new undertaking for me. It’s also been different in ways I never expected, and I’m really proud of the way it’s coming together. I hope you enjoy it as well. There are several people to thank, people without whom my writing career would be nonexistent…or at least much less gratifying.

  Steff Obkirchner has been designing my covers for years now, and I’m continually amazed by her artistic eye and her ability to bring to life what I’ve put inside the book. She hits a home run every single time, as far as I’m concerned. (The fact that she’s one of my best friends in the whole wide world doesn’t hurt either.)

  The other two thirds of the Triumvirate are essential to my sanity (and sometimes, my insanity). Nikki Little often makes me laugh when I want to cry, and I don’t always realize how much I need that. Melissa Brayden says helpful things like, “Why are you watching Netflix instead of writing?” or “What about this photo for the cover?” They are different sides of my daily conscience and I am so, so grateful to have them on my side.

  My editor, Lynda Sandoval, kicked my author ass with this book, and I owe her a debt of gratitude. In my fifteen years as a published writer, I’ve never been through a harder edit, and I have never been happier to come out the other side holding a novel that makes me swell with pride. She’s taught me so much already, about writing in general and about writing romance in particular. I can’t wait for the next project.

  Heather Flournoy put her eagle eyes to work and managed to catch things that Lynda and I both missed in several passes. My editing team is the best I could have asked for, and I plan on keeping them.

  The folks at Brisk Press…what can I say that I haven’t already in my previous books? They continue to be awesome, and that’s all I could ever ask for in a publisher.

  My wife, Bonnie, who has put up not only with me, but with this crazy, unpredictable career of mine—and has done so with impressive grace, never-ending love, and an unfailing sense of humor. I’m ashamed to say that I often forget to be thankful. She’s become a pro at throwing everything against the wall to see what sticks as far as plot points go. She doesn’t write, but she’s my idea factory, and sitting at a bar with her while we sip good wine and iron out the next novel is by far one of my favorite things to do in all the world. I hope we never stop.

  Last but never, ever least, I thank you, my readers. Your never-ending support keeps me going on those days when I’m sure I am a total fraud and have no business pretending to be a writer. Thank you for the e-mails, the Facebook messages, the gifts, the handshakes, and the requests for book signings. Please keep them coming. It all means so much more than you could ever know.

  DEDICATION

  To anybody who has ever rescued an animal in one way or another. Your time, your love, your home, your money…it all counts. This book is for you.

  And to all the animals of the world…if only we humans could give love as unconditionally…

  CHAPTER ONE

  “Crap.”

  Ashley Stiles was running late. Again. It was the story of her life, really. The bakery had been a madhouse with the rapidly approaching Easter holiday, and she’d ended up stuck there for way longer than she’d expected. Thank God she’d learned to pack a bag when she left in the morning so she didn’t have to show up at Junebug Farms in her bakery whites, covered with cookie batter and cake frosting. It was colorful, sure, but it was also really distracting to try and walk dogs that wanted only to lick your clothes.

  Winter was finally fading away, and that made Ashley happy. She’d been in Upstate New York her entire life. Born and raised. She could handle winter. But the past couple had been brutally cold and longer than she remembered them being when she was a playful kid building snow forts and sledding. Here it was, almost the end of March, and there were still large banks of filthy brown snow left in corners of parking lots, at the mouths of driveways, piled on some sidewalks. Winter was fading, but it wasn’t going quietly, and now that she was almost thirty, she wished it would just go rather than hang on and continue to add footnotes to the season. As if to punctuate the point, a chilly gust of wind forced Ashley to hunker down into herself as she hurried across the wet and muddy parking lot to the main building of Junebug Farms.

  “Hi, Mr. Tracey,” she called to the tall, thin man in coveralls standing on a stepladder near the door and doing something indiscernible to the large overhead sign with a wrench and a screwdriver.

  “Hi, Ashley. And it’s Bill,” he told her with a grin and a shake of his head, as he’d told her exactly the same thing the half dozen times he’d seen her since she began volunteering to walk the dogs.

  “I know,” she said with a grin, giving her stock answer. Bill Tracey wasn’t old, but he was old enough to be her father, and Ashley was raised with manners. Calling him anything other than Mr. Tracey felt disrespectful to her. Still, she was working on it.

  She stomped her feet on the industrial black rubber mat inside the door, despite the utter lack of snow on her shoes, and took a look around.

  Junebug Farms was almost always bustling in some way, shape, or form, and today was no exception. The main lobby was large, airy, and open with high ceilings and a dark concrete floor painted to look like marble—and almost succeeding. To Ashley’s immediate right was Paws and Whiskers, the small gift shop that sold everything from basics like collars and bowls, to extravagant splurges like flannel dog coats and Tempur-Pedic pet beds. She waved to Maggie Simon, the shop’s manager, who waved back even as she conversed with a customer. The woman was a master of multitasking, and Ashley had vowed to take lessons from her on
e day.

  Junebug Farms had a very particular smell, a combination of animal, hay, excrement, and disinfectant, and it was surprisingly not unpleasant. Ashley had grown used to it, grown to expect it as she entered, actually looked forward to it, and she smiled now as she inhaled and glanced to her left at the open seating area. In addition to the smell, there was the sound. A never-ending cacophony of barking, howling, meowing, and the hum of human conversation was a permanent part of the atmosphere. A white noise, really. Junebug Farms was not the place to go if you had a headache—that was for sure.

  A handful of people milled around, looking at the photos and letters that lined the walls in frames of various sizes and shapes. They told the story of Junebug Farms, how it came to be, who worked here, what it did for the community and its animal population. Walking past the wall of windows where dozens of homeless cats waited for somebody to adopt them, Ashley waved to various people she passed, people on their way here or there, people behind the enormous front desk, some she knew, some she didn’t. Not a lot of people actually worked here as paid employees; most were volunteers. Of those who were actual employees, a very small percentage was full-time. Junebug Farms operated almost solely on donations and grants, and there was never a time when money wasn’t tight. Ashley learned more about the ins and outs of how the place ran each time she came to spend a couple of hours. Though she wanted to stop and coo at all the cats, a glance at her cell phone reminded her that she was already nearly thirty minutes late, and Lisa was not going to like that one little bit.

  Shaking her head, Ashley picked up the pace and let herself in to the employee break room. Lockers covered one entire wall, and she found an empty one, shed her coat, stowed her bag, and pocketed the locker key. Hurrying down the hallway, she smiled at everybody she passed, hearing her mother’s voice somewhere in the back of her head as she almost always did: It doesn’t take any effort to smile and be nice to people.

  Mom was right.

  Lisa Drakemore hadn’t had that same lesson, obviously. She was sitting at her desk and barely spared Ashley a glance when she entered the dog area of the building. She simply held up a red canvas leash, said, “You’re late,” and handed Ashley a clipboard.

  “I know. I’m sorry. Easter rush. We had cookie orders coming out of our ears today.” Ashley tried hard not to notice that Lisa smelled wonderful, like vanilla and…sandalwood, maybe? She couldn’t put her finger on it, but it was comfortable and inviting. Which made no sense because Lisa couldn’t look less impressed if she’d put every ounce of energy into it. Ashley bit her bottom lip, took the leash and clipboard, and muttered, “I’m sorry.”

  “Mm hmm.”

  Irritated with herself, Ashley headed for the door that opened onto what sometimes felt like the saddest hallway in the world, as far as she was concerned. She tried not to look at it that way, but every once in a while the wretchedness of it would punch her right in the throat.

  The dog wing was a good hundred yards or more long. Each side had cage after cage after cage, and each cage contained an unwanted, lost, abused, or just plain unlucky dog. As she did each time she stepped through that door, Ashley took a moment, inhaled slowly, exhaled even more slowly, and willed herself into a calm, loving place. Junebug Farms was a no-kill shelter, and that was the only way Ashley was able to do what she did. None of these dogs would be put down. Not one. But some would never leave.

  Off to the left was another set of doors that led to the medical suite where dogs and cats were neutered or spayed, given vaccinations or general well-being exams, and tended to if they came in with cuts, bruises, or worse.

  “There you are.” Tammy Renner seemingly appeared out of nowhere, as she always did somehow. “I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.” Her blue eyes slid up to Ashley’s head. “Somebody throw a cake at you today?”

  Ashley squinted, then reached up to realize she was still wearing her Carter’s Bakery hat. Her ash-blond ponytail was pulled through the back and a large chunk of blue buttercream frosting fell to the floor when she touched the front.

  “Damn. I forgot to change my hat.”

  “I’m sure the dogs won’t mind,” Tammy said good-naturedly.

  “I’m surprised Lisa didn’t say something.”

  “Me, too. She’s in a mood today.”

  “Great.” Ashley scanned her clipboard to see what dogs needed walking, which were new, which might need extra attention.

  “No worries. The dogs are happy.” Tammy held up a matching clipboard, her list different from Ashley’s, though Tammy’s had three visible red check marks.

  “Oh, good. Let’s see who we’ve got today.”

  This was the best and worst part for Ashley. Most dogs were so sensitive, so in-tune with the world around them. Some of them were just elated to see her, to have some time out of their cage to get some exercise and soak up the attention of a human. Each cage was attached to an outdoor run so the dogs could get outside any time they wanted, but nothing beat the loving attention of a person. Some of them jumped, howled, did spins, so excited were they for Ashley’s company.

  She loved when that happened.

  Others were obviously depressed. Those were the ones Ashley spent extra time with, gave extra love to, sat down on the floor of the cage next to them and just talked to them, pet them, loved them.

  Jax was one of those depressed dogs, and he was on Ashley’s list today. He was very large, which was a big part of why he hadn’t been adopted yet. He was also ten years old, another part of the reason. A Lab/shepherd mix of some kind, he’d been dropped off by the grandson of his owner, who had passed away six months ago. Nobody in the family had been able to take him, so the grandson dropped him and left without so much as a backward glance. Ashley was one hundred percent sure Jax understood that his master was dead and he’d been abandoned, and it broke her heart to look into his sad and lonely brown eyes. He would get all the extra love she could shower on him today.

  When they put their lists together, Tammy and Ashley surmised that three new dogs had arrived that morning: a terrier mix that had been found wandering behind a 7-Eleven and two pit bulls that had been seized from their owners, most likely under suspicion of dog fighting. Ashley didn’t let herself think about that at all; the entire subject sickened her.

  Instead, they went to work. Rather, Ashley went to work and Tammy continued to work and they walked dogs together for the next two hours, chatting with each other about life, love, and family.

  “What’s new in the land of baked goods?” Tammy asked.

  “Not a lot.” They stopped along the path as the dogs sniffed various trees and leftover snow mounds. “We were busy today, though. And my manager is still an idiot. I’m so glad she’s leaving.” She took a deep breath of late winter air. “What are the garden plans for this year? Did you decide to compost again?”

  Ashley always thought of Tammy as a hippie born twenty years too late. Somewhere in her early fifties, she had long chestnut brown hair shot through with strands of silver and almost always braided down her back. Her taste in clothes tended toward worn jeans and T-shirts with a denim shirt thrown over. She never wore makeup, was fond of hammered silver jewelry and cowboy boots, and had been married to her husband since she was seventeen. She was a vegetarian and had an impressive green thumb and an amazing garden each year, from what she’d told Ashley, and though Ashley didn’t consider herself spiritual or earthy or anything like that, there was a quiet, peaceful energy that Tammy gave off. Being around her was relaxing. Ashley thought that was why the dogs gravitated toward her. Working with her was enjoyable, and Ashley was always happy to see her face.

  “My husband bought a new compost barrel, so we’ll see how it goes. And your manager is an idiot. You could do her job in a heartbeat. Have you talked to the owner about who’s going to replace her? Have you applied for the job?”

  “Not yet,” Ashley said with a shake of her head.

  Though the wind kicked up eve
ry now and then, the weather generally cooperated and allowed them to get through their lists, walking a total of sixteen dogs in 120 minutes. They were in agreement that each dog deserved at least fifteen minutes of fresh air. On the weekends, Ashley liked to walk longer, but it was a weeknight and on most weeknights, she wanted to get home, eat some dinner, and decompress a bit. Bakery hours began very early and by six or seven o’clock, she was usually beat.

  Back inside, they hung their clipboards on the wall next to Lisa’s desk.

  “She must be on her dinner break,” Tammy commented at the empty desk chair. “I think it’s one of her nights.”

  Ashley nodded, knowing Lisa’s schedule varied each week, and honestly happy not to run into her.

  “I’m going to head out,” Tammy said, her hand on the swinging door of the break room. “You coming?”

  “I thought I’d go sit with Jax for a bit,” Ashley said.

  Tammy gave a knowing smile. “He’d like that, I bet. Okay. See you tomorrow?”

  “I’ll be here.” They waved their goodbyes and Tammy disappeared into the break room. Ashley turned back to the hall of cages and walked halfway down until she came to the one she sought.

  Jax was curled up on the blanket in the far corner and didn’t lift his head when he saw Ashley, though his tail thumped the floor twice. Ashley unlocked the cage and let herself in.

  “Hey, big guy,” she said softly, taking a spot on the floor next to the enormous dog and burrowing her fingers into the fur around his neck. He lifted his head then, seemed to look right into her eyes, and not for the first time, Ashley got a quick flash of something almost human. She smiled warmly at him and he laid his head on her thigh as she began to talk.

  “So, let’s see. What can I tell you about today? Oh! The girl at work I told you about last week? Katie? Remember her? She dropped an entire tray of macaroons on the floor this morning. An entire tray, Jax. Do you know how many macaroons are on one tray? Like, three dozen. I wanted to kill her. But you’d have been proud of me. I kept my cool. I didn’t yell. I helped her pick them up and then got her started making another batch.” She rubbed at her cheek. “I may have cracked my jawbone clenching my teeth so hard to keep from blowing a gasket at her, though.” She continued to stroke Jax’s fur, soft and thick, and she grinned when he gave a little groan of contentment and shifted his body so he was closer to her.