Made to Love You (Walkers of River’s Edge #4)

Chapter One

A nnabelle Walker took a deep breath of fresh April air as she rode her bike up Riverview Road, her thighs burning as they always did on the first bike ride of the season. Spring had finally arrived, and the tall cottonwoods, oaks, and tulip trees along the sides of the road were greening up. The scent of newness filled her nostrils, and the sun warmed her back. A carpet of wildflowers colored the ground beneath the trees all shades of yellow, white, and blue with buttercups, snowdrops, and the tiny violets. Oh, how she needed this renewal.

She rose up off the seat as, panting, she pedaled up the hill near Sunset Ridge Lane, then turned in to stop for a breath. The hill up to the top of the lane was even steeper, but she was determined to make the ride to get some pictures of the little farm in the valley below. With the blooming trees as background, it would be a spectacular shot, and a good lesson for the phone photography class that she was teaching at the Boys & Girls Club. She pulled her water bottle off the holder attached to the down tube on her bike and took a long drink.

God, it was already warm, and it was only—she checked her smartwatch—ten in the morning. Or maybe it was just the exertion of riding up that hill. She touched the crown on the side of her watch—only sixty-nine degrees. Sure felt warmer. Slipping out of her fleece jacket, she took her phone from the zipper pocket before she tied the arms around her waist and shoved the sleeves of her snug Lycra shirt up her forearms.

The blend of colors along the broken fencerow was irresistible, so she leaned her bicycle against the Stop sign and trudged into the tall meadow grass to get a picture. Dew dampened her shoes and the stretchy fabric of her leggings, but the wildflowers called her and she wanted to capture them. She’d almost put on her hip pack and brought her digital camera and her granddad’s small vintage Leica 35mm with her, but this morning’s photographs were meant to be taken with her phone, so she’d resisted the urge. The 35mm would’ve been great for close-ups of the violets there by the fence post and for the snowdrops as—

Anna paused at the sound of something rustling in the tall grass beyond the fencerow. She peered over the top rail, but didn’t see anything. Probably just a chipmunk or squirrel. She swung her leg over the fence, but there was the sound again. Straddling the fence, she tipped her head to try to follow the noise. It was coming from over by a row of scrub pines. Craning her neck, she saw a flash of pale fur. What wild animal had fur that light? An albino squirrel maybe? Her friend Jazz had mentioned there was one up by the house that she and Anna’s cousin Eli had sold recently.

Swinging her other leg over, she sat on the top rail, balancing to keep from toppling backward. Then she held her phone up and tried to focus the camera on whatever critter was under that pine. How cool would it be to get a picture of the albino? She scanned back and forth across the row of pines a couple of times trying to catch the elusive creature. Ah, there! She eyed her screen. That was no squirrel… Was that a…oh, holy crap. It looked like a… She used her thumb and forefinger to expand the image.

It was a dog! She scooted off the fence and floundered through the already-tall grass to the pines, her sneakers crunching on the dry weeds beneath the green. When she got about a dozen feet away, the dog—it was a puppy actually—caught sight of her and whimpered. She moved a little closer. It definitely wasn’t a coyote pup—she’d seen a litter of those in the woods by Weaver’s Landing Marina last spring. They were stringier and leaner and had pointed noses. With its big winglike ears and fuzzy white, brown, and black coat, this creature looked more like a domestic dog, but she couldn’t identify the breed. Hell, she knew nothing at all about dogs. She really wasn’t all that crazy about them. They were dirty and needy and required way more attention than she was interested in giving to any animal. She heard someone say that owning a dog was like having a toddler for fifteen years. No thanks.

The little thing whimpered again and moved, but it was holding its rear leg up to its belly. Oh, damn, it was hurt. Anna went over and knelt down, holding out one hand to let it sniff her. It shoved its head against her palm and she saw that its right hind leg was torn and bleeding.

“Hey, little guy, what happened to you?” She stroked its head.

The poor thing was filthy, and as she glanced around, she noticed a paper dog food bag nearby.

When she approached the bag, the stench nearly set her back on her heels—that was something other than spoiled kibble. She bent down and peeked in and stumbled back at the jumble inside. She couldn’t be sure, but it sure looked like a mess of wet kibble and a couple of what appeared to be dead chipmunks covered in maggots. Her stomach turned over and she gagged. Closing her eyes, she ran a few steps and took several deep breaths just to keep her breakfast in her stomach where it belonged.

When she was finally able to straighten up, she swallowed hard and opened her eyes. The puppy had hopped closer. She took a quick photo of it and then did a Google Lens search on the picture. Google identified it as a Papillon puppy, and damn…these critters were expensive. Why on earth would anyone abandon a pricey puppy out here? It was dirty and hurt, so it must have been there a while, perhaps surviving on the spoiled kibble. She sighed.

She couldn’t very well leave the poor thing all alone out here where it was sure to become either coyote food or a meal for the eagles, owls, and hawks that hunted all along the river. It was a miracle it hadn’t perished already, which told her the puppy had decent survival instincts going for it, if nothing else. Bending down again, Anna examined the sore leg without touching it. The thin flesh was torn, so maybe some raptor had tried to grab it, but ended up dropping it. She searched the skies, but saw nothing but fluffy white clouds and the bright morning sun.

“Hey?” A deep voice startled her out of her reverie and she spun around to see a man standing on the other side of the fencerow. “Can you help me? I think I’m lost.”

*

Sawyer Braxton, DVM, was about three seconds from turning around and driving straight back to Purdue. This whole trip had been nothing but a disaster from the moment he’d closed the door on his apartment in West Lafayette. The drive to River’s Edge that should’ve taken him three hours tops had gone on for over thirty-six hours due to his aging truck developing a coolant leak and overheating on the highway south of Indy. He’d found a mechanic in Greenwood who had the parts, but it meant locking all his earthly possessions in the back of his Ford F250 pickup and spending the night in a motel near the repair shop. He’d gotten the truck that morning when the mechanic had opened at seven. A large coffee and a quick egg sandwich at a drive-through and he was finally back on the road.

He’d made it to River’s Edge—cute town—but finding Dr. John Price’s veterinary practice was apparently beyond the ability of the truck’s twelve-year-old GPS. He’d been up and down Sunset Ridge Lane twice and never did see anything that looked like a vet’s office and the damn GPS kept telling him to make a U-turn, but there was no place on this narrow road to do that without driving all the way to the top. Plus the cell service up here sucked—his phone kept going in and out.

Stopping at the side of the road, he’d noticed a pretty nice bike leaning up against the Stop sign and wondered idly who’d leave an expensive bicycle out here in the middle of nowhere. Well, not really the middle of nowhere—the main road into town was right there. He looked closer— oh, it has a flat back tire. That would be a reason to leave it, although he was surprised that it wasn’t at least chained to the Stop sign to keep someone from stealing it.

He pulled out his leather-bound journal, where he kept everything pertaining to his life despite his students making fun of him for still using a pen and paper instead of the Notes app on his phone. Flipping pages, he found the envelope with the offer from Dr. Price and checked the return address. Maybe he’d put in the wrong address. He had. He’d simply grabbed the first road that sounded right on the truck’s GPS list. He actually needed Sunrise Ridge Road, wherever the hell that was. He held up his phone—still no bars.

Sawyer blew out a long, frustrated breath and rolled down his window. Shoving his glasses up on his head, he rubbed his face. Maybe he should’ve taken a shower this morning, but there had been hair in the tub at the motel, so he’d just done a quick dousing of his face in cold water and put yesterday’s clothes back on. He could take a shower when he got to wherever his apartment was, which reminded him, he needed to text the apartment guy—he checked his notebook—Mac Mackenzie to let him know he was finally in town. He’d already given Dr. Price a heads-up that he was going to be a day late—great first impression. All in all, this whole venture was starting to feel like a huge mistake.

But going back was an even worse one.

He glanced out the open window, enjoying the cool breeze that blew into the cab of the truck. He should reprogram the GPS and get his butt in gear, but just for a moment, he wanted to enjoy the spring morning and not deal with anything in the least electronic. He shut off his engine and basked in the blessed quiet, interrupted only by birdsong. Movement caught his eye, and he noticed a tall, willowy woman standing in the grass beyond the fence, her hands on her slim hips. She was clad in Lycra leggings and a snug shirt, and with a fleece jacket tied around her waist, so he assumed she must belong to the bike. Maybe she knew where the vet’s office was. Old-fashioned directions appealed way more than the GPS at this point.

He opened the door, got out, leaned against the fence rail, and called, “Hey? Can you help me? I think I’m lost.”

She turned and her expression was distracted. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I’m looking for Sunrise Ridge Road.” He watched as she strode toward him with purpose.

“Well, you’re hell and gone from there, my friend.” She smiled, wide and friendly. “Sunrise Ridge Road is on the west end of town. You’re on the east.” She quirked a blonde brow. “Kinda funny, dontcha think? Sunset Ridge Lane is east of town and Sunrise Ridge Road is west.”

Sawyer scratched his head. “That’s odd, yeah. I need to find the veterinarian’s office. Dr. Price?”

“You need a vet? So do I.” She stopped a few feet from the fence.

He furrowed his brow. “I don’t need a vet. I am a vet.”

Her eyes—the bluest he’d ever seen—widened. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, I’m going to be working with Dr. Price, but only if I can find his office.”

“No way.” She rolled those spectacular eyes skyward and laughed out loud. “What are the chances? I mean, truly, what are the chances?”

He was confused and tired. “Sorry?”

“ I need a vet. I found a hurt dog over here.” She pointed behind her. “Can you take a look?”

He hesitated for less than a second. “Um…okay.” He followed her across the field to a stand of pines and heard the puppy before he saw it and his heart stuttered. Definitely a pain and fear whimper. The poor little thing started toward them, favoring the right rear leg, which he could see even from a few feet away had a nasty wound. He rushed to the dog, evaluating the situation before he even knelt down to take a look.

It looked like a Papillon and something had chewed on the leg or perhaps an eagle or owl had tried to grab it and torn the flesh. The puppy’s eyes were matted as was his fur, and it was thin, but not starved. Either it hadn’t been out here too terribly long or it had some source of food. He looked around. Ah, a bag of dog food.

The woman must have seen him looking because she immediately said, “That’s full of dead rodents and wet food. I don’t think he’s eaten from it for a while.”

Sawyer focused on the puppy, whose short, curved tail was wagging in spite of its bedraggled state. “She needs to be stitched up and bathed and given antibiotics and probably vaccinated.”

“It’s a girl?” The woman stooped down beside him.

“Yup, probably about eight, maybe ten weeks old at most.” Carefully, he picked up the tiny puppy. “She needs immediate attention if we’re going to save that leg.”

The woman rose and brushed her hands together. “Okay then, take it.”

“What?” Suddenly this little critter was his responsibility?

“Well, you’re a vet…you’re headed to John Price’s farm.” She lifted one shoulder and shook her sweeping blonde bangs from her face. “Can’t you just take it with you?”

He scowled. “If I do, I’m going to need someone to hold her while I drive.”

She lifted her chin. “I’m on a bicycle—”

He picked up the puppy. “Actually, if that’s your bike”—he pointed—“you’re not going anywhere. It’s got a flat.”

Her face fell. “Are you kidding?” She ran to the fence and vaulted over it in one smooth, impressive move.

He followed with the puppy held close to his chest—the shivering little thing practically fit in the palm of his hand. “I can probably get it in the back of my truck,” he offered.

Why the hell not? She knew the way to the vet’s farm and she could hold the puppy until they got there. Then, he’d take her to wherever she lived after they dealt with the dog. He climbed over the fence, careful not the jostle the puppy who’d gone very quiet against his jacket.

Cursing colorfully, the woman spun around. “It’s okay. I’ll call my brother.” She scowled. “Crap, he’s in Cincy buying plants… maybe…” She chewed her lower lip, then gave a resigned sigh. “Okay, I guess.”

Sawyer held out his hand. “Hold the dog.”

“Why?”

“I need to take off my jacket and wrap her up. She’s shivering.”

With a look of distaste, she took the dog, holding her as far away from her body as she could.

Quickly, he shed his fleece jacket, not bothering to hide his smirk as he reclaimed the little dog and wrapped her up. With his free hand, he popped open the hard tonneau cover over the bed of his pickup. “You can hold the dog or lift the bike into the truck, your call,” he said, not at all apologetic about his irritated tone.

She squared her shoulders, making her seem even taller—they were practically eye to eye. “I’ll get my bike.” She did, bringing it to the back of the truck. “Okay if I move some of this stuff?”

He peered into the truck bed. “Sure, just shove those boxes over.”

She pushed his boxes aside, lifted the bike as easily as if it were a toy, and laid it down before carefully testing the cover to make sure it would close. It did. When it was secure, she came around to where he stood by the cab, watching her move with undisguised admiration. She didn’t even wrestle with the bike, but merely placed it in the truck. She was strong and walked with an easy stride and, okay, she had a great butt.

Stopping in front of him, her brow pleated in a frown, she put out her hands. “Give me the damn dog.”

With a grin, he handed the puppy over. “Cup your hand under her hind leg, so the wound won’t pull.”

She settled onto the bench seat next to him, one-handed her seatbelt across her chest, and gave him an expectant look. He took the end of the belt and snapped it into place as she adjusted his jacket around the trembling puppy. Holding the dog close to her chest, she nodded her head toward the main road. “Hang a right and drive straight through town.” Then she tipped her face to the dog and murmured, “It’s okay, girlie. It’s okay.”

Smiling to himself, Sawyer started the truck, then stuck out his right hand. “By the way, I’m Sawyer Braxton.”

She hesitated for a heartbeat, then accepted his hand and shook it—a nice firm handshake. “Anna Walker.”