Just a Kiss (3 page)

P
aige turned off the TV and crept toward Riley's wheelchair. After a loud, celebratory supper the family had cleared out pretty quickly. Maybe they'd sensed Riley's exhaustion, despite his valiant attempt at lively conversation.

The topics had centered around life here in Summer Harbor: Zac's restaurant, the brothers' quickly evolving love lives, the family Christmas tree farm. Paige had glossed over the recent financial difficulties at the shelter. He didn't need to worry about Perfect Paws or her livelihood. He needed to focus on his recovery.

She stopped beside his chair, squatting down, taking in his handsome face, not quite relaxed, even in sleep. Twin furrows crouched between his brows, and his lips remained together. He'd changed in the fifteen months he'd been gone. She'd noticed the evolution on Skype, but it was more obvious in real life.

The planes of his face were more angled, his jaw more square. Harder. She supposed war had a way of changing a man, inside and out. His dark lashes fanned across his skin, the only thing even remotely soft or boyish about him.

She'd known him so long. Knew him so well. Maybe that was
why she wasn't quite buying the jubilant act. He'd avoided talking about everything he'd been through the past several weeks. His injury had been the elephant in the room tonight.

Her cat, Dasher, slinked by, rubbing against her, her gray tail swishing, her nose twitching toward Riley.

“It's good to have him back home, isn't it, baby?”

She studied Riley's forearms; they looked hard as steel, leading down to strong, calloused hands and thick fingers. She'd always liked his hands. Manly hands. Lobstering had always kept him in good shape. He was happiest when he was out on the water, the wind in his hair, the waves rolling beneath the boat's hull. That's why she'd been so surprised when he'd enlisted.

Surprised and dismayed. And yes, she admitted to herself, angry. He'd dropped it on her like a hot brick, after the fact. He was leaving her, and she'd felt abandoned—an all-too-familiar feeling.

But now wasn't the time to dwell on that. He was back, and he needed her.

“Riley.”

The furrows deepened. His head rolled to the side.

She hated to wake him, but there was no other way to get him into bed, and his dressing needed to be changed. She'd already turned down his covers and made sure the path to his bed was clear. There was a glass of water on his nightstand beside his bottle of pills, and the crutches she'd picked up for him were within reach of his bed.

She set her hand on his arm, her fingers brushing lightly over the dark hairs. “Riley, it's time for—”

He startled.

The next second she was flying backward, airborne. She hit the wood floor, sliding. Her elbows flew back. Her head smacked
the wall, and the heavy ring she wore on a chain thunked her in the chin.

She blinked, orienting herself, assessing. Burning elbows. Thudding head. Aching rump. Ouch.

“Paige!” Horror etched itself on Riley's face. He unset his brakes and wheeled toward her.

“I'm fine. I'm fine.” She sat up, moving carefully to her knees, a little dizzy from the whack to the head. She fixed a smile to her face as he wheeled to a stop beside her. “Man, Callahan. You got stronger over there.”

“I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you.”

She gave a huff of laughter. “I'm fine. Come on, I'm tougher than that.” She brushed the hair back from her face.

His eyes narrowed on her forearm. “You're bleeding.”

She gave her arm a quick check. “Just a scratch. Little Band-Aid and it's all good. Let's get you—”

“You hit your head too.”

“Really?” She gave him a saucy grin. “It all happened so fast, I was thinking you had a new superpower. Like that
Twilight
guy.”

He pounded his fist on the chair's arm. “Dang it! Stop making jokes. It isn't funny. This isn't going to work.”

Her lips fell as a weight settled in her midsection. “Don't be silly. It was my fault. You're just back from war—I knew better. I've done a lot of reading, and this kind of thing is common. I'll be more careful next time.”

“You shouldn't have to be ‘careful' in your own home, and you shouldn't have to take care of me.” His fingers tightened on the chair grips.

Releasing a breath, she set her knees down, put her hand over his. So many things swimming around in those green eyes.
Regret, frustration, anger. There were probably a dozen other emotions that hadn't even come to the surface yet. Maybe they were negative emotions, but at least they were authentic. She preferred them to the fake jovial thing he'd had going on since he got off the plane.

“Listen here, Callahan. I'm going to be here for you whether you want me to or not. That's what friends do. That's what you'd do for me, and you know it. Now, we're going to get you into bed, and you're going to get a good night's rest because tomorrow's your first appointment with your physical therapist. From what I've read, he's going to be the new villain in your life.”

He clamped his lips closed, and his nostrils flared. Some emotion passed through his eyes before he turned away, his jaw as hard as the boulders at Lighthouse Pointe.

“It's going to be okay. We're going to get through this.” She gave his hand one last squeeze.
Please, God. Let it be okay.

T
he cacophony started the moment Paige entered the kennel area. High-pitched barking, tails thumping, paws prancing. A hint of disinfectant hung in the air, mixed with the lingering smell of dog chow. She tugged the leash, coaxing along the male boxer, who was less than eager to return to his kennel.

“Hey, guys! Who's happy today, huh? Are we all fed and raring to go? Oh, we're so feisty, yes we are!”

She gave attention to the animals as she passed, exclaiming over each one before finally stopping at the last kennel to let the boxer inside. Before closing the door she knelt to scratch behind his ears. Her heart squeezed at the forlorn look in his eyes.

“It's okay, baby. We'll find you a home.”

The boxer was brown with a white muzzle and flews. He had floppy ears and the wrinkled forehead so characteristic of the breed. They'd found him on Bristol Road four weeks ago, dehydrated and starving. His weight was coming up, his nose was bright and shiny, but the hollow look in his eyes remained. She'd been calling him Bishop from the get-go. She didn't name all her animals, but the name had flashed into her brain the instant she'd laid eyes on him. Sometimes that happened.

Something about the sad look in his eyes reminded her of Riley. She wished she could bring the dog home. She had a feeling the animal would be good for him. But she was renting her house, and the owner allowed only one pet. Probably a good thing, or Paige would've had a menagerie by now.

The past three days Riley's demeanor had been cheerful enough—if stubborn. He wanted to do everything himself. She knew it was important to his pride and his recovery. But watching him struggle for ten minutes on a thirty-second task was painful.

She worried about him, home alone during the day. But the family was making regular stops, and he had plenty of food, that was for sure. Every single woman within a twenty-mile radius had brought over a casserole or pie. Still, she'd checked in by phone a lot the past few days. He didn't seem to mind, and it put her mind at ease.

Speaking of which . . . She checked her watch. It had been a couple hours. She closed Bishop's kennel and left the clamor for the relative quiet of her office as she tapped her phone.

He answered on the third ring.

“Hey there!” she said. “What are you up to?”

“Same thing I was up to an hour ago.” She heard the smirk in his voice.

“Well, I had a few minutes and just thought I'd—”

“Paige. I'm fine. You don't have to call me every hour.”

“I'm not! I was just calling to, uh, to see if you wanted takeout from the Roadhouse tonight.”

“No, you just wanted to make sure I hadn't strangled myself in the drapery cords or something.”

“Don't be silly. I don't even have drapes.”

“Paige.”

Okay, fine, she was hovering. But what if something happened while she was gone? What if he fell and couldn't get back up?

“I'm sorry. I don't mean to smother, but I worry about you. I wish I could afford to take some time off.”

“And do what? Sit here and watch me do my exercises? I can take care of myself. I'm getting around fine, and I keep my cell phone on me. If I need anything I'll call.”

Her gut clenched at the thought of letting loose. But she was probably going to drive him crazy if she didn't. “Promise?”

“Cross my heart.”

The bell over the front door tinkled. Lauren was out to lunch, so Paige wrapped up the phone call, making a mental note to stop at the Roadhouse on the way home.

Margaret LeFebvre was waiting behind the counter as Paige entered the lobby.

She looked as fresh as usual. Her smart fashion and elegant figure put Paige in mind of Diane Keaton. Margaret owned the Primrose Inn and served as chairperson of the shelter's board.

Despite the woman's friendly smile, Paige's stomach twisted. “Margaret. This is unexpected. How are you?”

Margaret removed her glasses, letting them dangle from the metal chain around her neck. “Oh, I'm fine, dear. Business is quite good, and my daughter just had her baby.”

“Congratulations! That's four grandchildren now, isn't it?”

“Yes, indeed. This one's my first granddaughter though.” She extended her phone, showing a photo of the sleeping baby. She forwarded through a dozen more photos.

“Oh, she's just precious.”

“Sofia Grace, for my mother. She would've been so pleased.”

“What a beautiful name. You must be thrilled.”

“I am. I only wish they lived closer, but I'll be making a trip to meet her soon. Only for a couple days, though. The inn is like a short leash sometimes, but I do love it.” She tilted her head. “While I was in town I heard the Callahan boy is back.”

“He is. It's so good to have him home.”

“He's had a rough time of it.”

“He sure has. But we've got him hooked up with a good physical therapist, and he'll be back on his feet in no time. He's at my place for now.”

“I'd heard that. Well, just be careful. Traumas like that can really affect a person. One of my friend's sons came back from Iraq a completely different man. Sullen and angry and violent. He got into trouble with the law and ended up serving prison time. Such a shame.”

Paige's spine lengthened even as the memory of being shoved across the room flashed in her mind. That was different. Riley had been asleep and unaware of what he was doing.

“Riley would never do anything like that. He's strong and independent. He'll come out of this the better for it.”

“I'm sure you're right, dear.” Margaret dropped her phone into her bag. “Do you have a few minutes to talk?”

Paige's chest felt weighted with a cement block. “Of course. Lauren should be back from lunch any minute. Come on back.” She led the way to her office.

The room was small and basic with brown paneling and an old oak desk. Paige kept her space clean, and if it smelled like dog, she'd long ago lost the ability to tell. Her only adornments were her monster fern in the corner and a desk photo she'd taken with the Callahans several years ago on the Fourth of July. She'd
jumped onto Riley's back just before the camera's click, and the candid shot captured his surprise.

“Have a seat.” Paige gestured toward the only other chair in the room. “Can I get you some coffee? Water?”

“No, thank you. I just had lunch at Frumpy Joe's. My stomach hasn't quite recovered.” Margaret shifted on the chair, making her straw handbag crackle.

Paige laced her hands on her desk, pushing back the anxiety that wormed in her gut. “I can tell something's wrong, so why don't we just get it out on the table?”

Margaret gave her a look that could only be described as pitying. “This is difficult. I know how much Perfect Paws means to you, and how hard you've worked. I'm afraid I've come bearing bad news.”

Paige braced herself, her heart thundering in her chest. The shelter had been running on a shoestring budget for a while. She imagined all the possibilities. Maybe they'd lost another sponsor. Or were going to have to start charging for their free services. She balked at the thought. There were so many who couldn't afford vaccinations and spaying, and those things were critical.

“Just tell me what it is. I can take it.”

Margaret gave a strained smile. “I'm afraid we have to close the shelter.”

The sucker punch drove the breath from Paige's body. “What? No!”

“I understand this is upsetting—”

“We can't close, Margaret. The community needs us. The animals need us. Even right now there are—”

Margaret leaned across the desk and placed a hand over Paige's fist. “I know, dear, I know. Settle down. Take a deep breath.”

Paige tried, but her lungs seemed to have shrunk in the last ten seconds. At this very moment she had twelve dogs and nine cats that needed care. What would happen to them? To all the animals they saved and found homes for every year? Not to mention the wounded wildlife that she maybe sort of rescued—off the record.

“You know funding has been drying up the past couple years. Some of our benefactors have moved from the area, and others have had setbacks. It's a tough economy.”

“But we've found new funding.”

“Not enough. Not with the free vaccinations and the free spay and neuter clinics we did last year.”

“Those things are important. And they pay off in the long run because—”

Margaret held up her hand. “I know all the benefits. The problem is that they cost a lot of money. The vet fees, the medications, the vaccinations . . . Those services drain our funds, and now we're in an untenable position.”

Paige blew out a breath. Priorities. She had to think. “All right. I know I've been a little stubborn about this in the past, but we'll just have to start charging for those services. I don't like it, but it's better than nothing.”

Margaret shook her head slowly. “I'm sorry, dear, but it's too late for—”

“I'll find a grant.
Grants.
I'll make it work somehow.”

“You know how long it takes for grants to come through, if they ever do. We don't have time for that. The board doesn't see any reasonable alternative.”

“A fundraiser then! Remember the lobster dinner benefit we
did a few years ago? I can throw that together pretty fast, and the town will come through, you'll see.”

“Paige . . .”

“The community needs this shelter, Margaret! You know it does.” The image of Bishop's sad eyes surfaced in her mind, and her throat closed up tight. “Animals will die without it, dozens of them, needlessly.”

Something in the woman's pale blue eyes softened.

“Just give me three months. I'll find new sponsors, do fundraisers, get grants, whatever I need to do. Just don't let them do this.”

“You've already got your hands pretty full at home, Paige.”

“I make time for what's important, and when I set my mind to something, I make it happen. I'll make this happen, Margaret. Please.”

The woman studied her for a full thirty seconds while Paige worked hard to telegraph her resolution. Her lungs seemed frozen in place as her heart kicked against her ribs.

Margaret let out a sigh that seemed to come from her toes. “I really think you're biting off more than you can chew here. Maybe if Riley's family stepped in to help a little more.”

Surely the woman wasn't going to make her choose between running the shelter and caring for Riley.

“I
am
Riley's family. You don't need to worry about that. I can do this. Not only will I get additional funding, I'll go over the expenditures and cut every spare cost. I'll initiate a fee for lost pets and charge for every service we offer if I need to. Just give me a chance, Margaret. Three months, that's all I'm asking.”

Margaret's eyes searched hers for a long moment. “All right. I think I can talk the board into three months.”

Paige's breath tumbled out.

She was in a fog as she walked Margaret out. After the door fell closed behind her, Paige turned and let her weight sag against it.

Three months to raise thousands of dollars. What had she gotten herself into?