She needs a fresh start. He’s got scars that haven’t healed. With the help of some rescue dogs, they’ll discover that everyone deserves a chance at happiness.
After a year of heartbreak and loss, the only thing keeping
Constance afloat is the dog rescue she works at with her sister, Sunny.
Desperate for a change, Constance impulsively joins a new gym, even though it
seems impossibly hard, and despite the gym’s prickly owner.
Rhett Santos keeps his gym as a refuge for his
former-military brothers and to sweat out his own issues. He’s ready to let the
funny redhead join, but unprepared for the way she wiggles past his hard-won
defenses.
When their dog rescue is threatened, the
sisters fight to protect it. And they need all the help they can get. As Rhett
and Constance slowly open up to each other, they’ll find that no one is past
rescuing; what they need is the right person—or dog—to save them.
Harlequin
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One
Constance slammed on her brakes. Steam rose from the
street as rain gurgled through the ditches. She killed the engine, stepped into
the pattering droplets and scanned the shoulder of the road. Nothing there but
the remains of a goose carcass. “Where are you, boy?” Constance gave a low
whistle.
It hadn’t been her imagination. The picked-over goose
only made her more certain she’d seen a dog, weaving through the foggy
afternoon air like a phantom. A lost dog, with his head bent against the rain
as he loped along the muddy ditch.
Constance whistled again. Silence, but for the sound of
rain hitting the trees that lined the road. “Maybe I’m just tired.” She’d done
a lot of massages today, which made her feel wrung out. Constance almost ducked
back into the van, but halted.
There he was: a white face with brown patches, peeking at
her from behind a bush. “Hey, boy.” Constance squatted down, making herself
smaller, less threatening. The dog watched, motionless. Constance drew a
biscuit from her coat, briefly recalling the cashier’s amusement at the grocery
store today when she’d emptied her pockets on the counter, searching for her
keys. Five dog biscuits had been in the pile with her phone, a used tissue and
the grocery list.
“Dog mom, huh?” the elderly cashier had said.
“Something like
that.” More like dog aunt, to all of the rescues at Pittie Place. Her sister,
Sunny, had quite the brood.
Constance laid the biscuit near her foot and waited. A
moment later, the bush rustled and the dog approached. He had short hair and
big shoulders. He got only as close as he needed to, then stretched his neck
out for the prize. As he gingerly took the biscuit, Constance noted a droopy
abdomen and swollen nipples, like a miniature cow.
So. He was a she.
Constance inched toward her. The dog held on to the biscuit, but reared back.
Constance extended her fist, slowly, so the mom could smell her. “You got
puppies somewhere?”
The dog whimpered, but crunched up the biscuit.
“Where are your
puppies?”
The dog whimpered again. Her legs shook. Her fur was
muddy, feet caked with dirt. She had blood on her muzzle— probably from the
dead goose. By her size and coloring, Constance decided she was a pit bull.
Constance rose up, patted her thigh and headed toward her
van. She slid open the side door, grabbed a blanket and spread it out, but when
she turned around, the dog was several yards away. Her brown-and-white head was
low as she wandered beneath a streetlamp, the embodiment of despair in the
drizzle that danced through the light.
Constance followed, slipping on the leaves that clogged
the drainage ditch. The dog glanced once over her shoulder, but her pace didn’t
quicken. Constance decided her calm demeanor was working, keeping the dog from
fleeing. And let’s be honest: the biscuit hadn’t hurt. Chances were, the dog
would be happy to have more as soon as she got wherever she was going. “Let’s
see where you’re headed, then. Show me if you’ve got a home.”
Constance followed her across the road, around the curve
and down the narrow lane. Frogs popped like happy corn all over the slick
street, but the chill of the oncoming winter slithered through Constance’s
blood.
She followed the dog for a good quarter mile. Even before
she hooked a left down the unpaved road hidden behind the trees, Constance had
figured out that the mama was headed to one of the handful of empty places that
sat decomposing on the hundred or so acres the Matteri family owned. Constance
paused only long enough to squelch the sizzle of anger that bubbled up inside
before she pressed on, determined to know if the dog was a stray or a neglected
mother from Janice Matteri’s puppy mill.
Constance took the same turn and watched as the dog
neared the abandoned house up ahead. Nobody had lived there in years. It was
only a matter of time before it became condemned. The dog bypassed the
crumbling porch of the old colonial and went around back. Constance knew little
daylight was left, and she hadn’t brought a flashlight. She broke into a trot,
clutched her coat tighter around her and didn’t slow until the dog came back
into view. Constance followed her, her heart thumping harder with each step.
The dog passed the rusted chain-link fence and
disappeared over a rise in the property, near an old shed so overgrown with
trees it was only recognizable by a pale red door. Just as she reached the
hill, Constance heard a squeak. The sort of high-pitched noise that echoes from
everywhere and nowhere all at once. Another squeak came. And another. She
crested the hill and saw the dog slink inside the shed door. Constance got to
the shed and pushed inside. The dog had reached her destination: a battered old
mattress, three shades of brown, lying a few feet inside. The mewls, now loud
and hungry, came from a shredded section of the mattress.
Constance narrowed
her eyes. At first, she counted only two bobbing, brown heads, but as she drew
closer there was a third. Then a fourth. The last one didn’t move nearly as
much, just sort of waded on his stomach. The puppies had cocoa-colored fur and
black muzzles. Eyes open. The ones that moved didn’t really walk, just stumbled
into each other, like drunks. Mama dog curled around them and they all wiggled
toward her abdomen.
Constance knelt down next to the mattress and watched the suckling puppies. She decided they were about two weeks old. The air in the shed smelled of sour milk, poop and urine. She dug out another biscuit and reached, slowly, her hand in a fist to protect her fingers, her gaze on the mama for any sign she was upset, such as pinned ears, bared teeth or a raised ridge of fur down the back. The energy around the mom and her pups was calm, to the point of exhausted. Constance had certainly helped with enough of Sunny’s dogs over the years to know. She offered the biscuit and the mom took it. With her mouth busy, Constance carefully touched the smallest puppy, who shook so hard the tremble came from deep inside, beneath his skin and fur, straight from his bones.
Constance rose slowly and did a quick search of the
vicinity for more puppies, which turned up nothing but trash, vermin and an old
orange crate, which she brought over to the mattress.
Now to see if Mom was going to accept help.
Though daylight
was precious, Constance waited until the pups were done suckling before she
offered a third treat. “Let’s go back to my place,” Constance said as Mom
accepted the biscuit. “My sister has a rescue for critters, just like you. And
I help her all the time. You’ll be safe there. Does that sound okay?”
While Mama
crunched, Constance reached for the two pups closest to her and, keeping an eye
on Mom the whole time, she lifted them and settled them in the crate. Mom’s
chewing quickened, so Constance acted fast, lifting the last two pups swiftly
but carefully. She rose to her feet, crate in her arms. The mother dog was on
her feet almost ahead of her, pointing her muzzle at the crate and whining.
Constance knew the
mom would follow her anywhere she took those pups, but she also lacked any
signs of aggression, almost as though she knew that this was their only chance.
Or as Pete, owner of Canine Warriors and Constance’s longtime childhood friend,
would put it, “You just got something about you, Cici. Everybody trusts you.
People. Dogs. The damn Devil himself.”
Constance headed back to her van, chasing the sunset. As expected, the mother followed. Once to the vehicle, Constance opened the van and set the crate full of pups next to the blanket she’d spread out earlier. The mama dog leaped in after them.
Constance slid the door closed, settled behind the
steering wheel and let out a great sigh. Mission accomplished. She edged down
the long, lonely road. The rain pattered on the windshield and the scent of
dirty puppies hit her nose. She’d take them home tonight and get them settled
in, see how they reacted to a new environment, then text Sunny in the morning.
Constance had worked with enough dogs, and people, to know that introducing
another new person this evening was bad news. Let Mama get used to Constance
first, and get some good food and rest, before she was moved to Pittie Place.
Tonight, at least, this girl and her babies belonged with
Constance.
Excerpted
from Rescue You by Elysia Whisler Copyright © Elysia Whisler. Published
by MIRA Books.
About the Author
Elysia Whisler was raised in Texas, Italy, Alaska,
Mississippi, Nebraska, Hawai'i and Virginia, in true military fashion. Her
nomadic life has made storytelling a compulsion from a young age.
She doubles as a mother, a massage therapist, and a CrossFit trainer and is dedicated to portraying strong women, both in
life and in her works. She lives in Virginia with her family, including her
large brood of cat and dog rescues, who vastly outnumber the humans.
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