Pawliday Love

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

D ecember 23rd

“Hannah, I hate the thought of you alone during the holidays.” Rose Jones, the director of Furry Friends Animal Rescue, stroked the long-haired tabby nestled in the crook of her arm. “You’ve been volunteering to cover our Christmas and New Year shifts for the last five years. How many Christmas dinners and New Year’s Eve parties have you missed?”

Not a single one. But Hannah Wright wasn’t going to share that with the older woman. Somewhere between sixty and eighty, with short steel-gray hair and soft brown eyes, she’d founded the rescue organization thirty-five years ago. The place ran on a shoestring budget, relying heavily on volunteers, and it had become a family of sorts for Hannah when she first relocated to the small northeastern Pennsylvania town eight years ago.

She didn’t mind spending the holidays with the animals. It was quiet and peaceful, with no one rushing her through a list of dogs to walk and cats to feed. She’d fallen in love so many times and ached for a pet of her own, but Mr. Roundhouse, her landlord, hated animals. He wouldn’t even let her have a goldfish. The upside of not having a dog or cat of her own was that she had plenty of attention to lavish on the animals who needed a little extra attention.

Mr. Jingles, a ten-year-old toy poodle, had been surrendered when his owner, an elderly shut-in, passed away. The fluffball huddled in the corner of his pen, scared and wary, having never been away from his devoted owner. Hannah got him through the holidays, and early in January he was adopted by a widower who’d just lost his wife.

Teddy, Freddy, and Neddy, a bonded trio of black cats, had become long-term residents at the shelter until one of Hannah’s coworkers mentioned they were leaving the city for a farm they’d inherited. They were on the search for a kitten for their twelve-year-old daughter to make the transition easier, but she’d convinced them to adopt the cats, promising three times the fun. Hannah had received a Christmas card from them last week featuring a smiling young girl and three black cats, all wearing Santa caps.

There was Ladybug, a schnauzer struck by a car who lost a leg.

Scarlett, a gorgeous Persian, who reacted violently toward men.

Brick, a pit bull-mastiff mix, who’d never been properly socialized.

Remy, a blind and deaf German Shepherd.

Brownie, a Siamese who required medication two times a day.

If Hannah couldn’t bring them home herself, knowing they’d found forever homes where they would be safe and cherished and loved was the next best thing.

“I arranged temporary foster homes for about half of the animals. None of those remaining need meds, wound care, or special dietary considerations. Frank and Tommy will be here tomorrow to clean out the kennels and cages if you can handle the morning and afternoon feedings on the 24 th and 25 th . They’ll cover the rest of the week if you’re still available for the 31 st and 1 st .”

“Of course. This has become my holiday tradition.” Hannah lightly trailed a finger down the tabby’s nose. The cat blinked at her slowly.

“Maybe next year you’ll finally agree to come up to the mountains with me. Deborah and Hank would love to have you.” Rose spent the week between Christmas and New Year with her daughter and son-in-law at their place in the Poconos. She’d been inviting Hannah for years, but it felt too much like a pity invitation for Hannah to accept.

Orphaned at fifteen when her mother OD’d on heroin, Hannah was well acquainted with pity…and scorn and shame and envy. All the judgment that came with being a foster kid, and then when she’d aged out, broke and homeless. At nineteen, she finally caught a break when she landed a job as a live-in aid. June Jameson became the grandmother Hannah’d never had, and for two magical years, she’d discovered the true meaning of family–safety, acceptance, encouragement, joy, love. June’s small inheritance had been enough to pay for college and a reliable used car. That was all Hannah needed to get on her feet.

Six years ago, after getting a degree in computer science, she decided to drive east from Indiana until she found a place that felt like home, settling in the small town a short distance from Allentown. She rented a cozy carriage house apartment and worked from home as a web developer. It took time to be accepted into the close-knit community, but she had a small circle of friends and–most of the time–was happy with her life.

“Don’t worry about me, Rose. I grew up without the traditional Christmas experience, and you can’t miss what you never had.” She smiled and continued speaking so her friend couldn’t object with words that would only embarrass Hannah. “I’m not comfortable with the whole friends and family gathered around the tree, singing Good King Wenceslas and drinking eggnog scene. The book club hosted a white elephant party, and I still have plenty of treats from the cookie swap Jana Gustofson hosted for the library volunteers after Thanksgiving.”

Rose gave her an assessing look, then decided to let it go. “What did you bring home from the white elephant exchange?”

“This year I got lucky. A ten-dollar gift card to McDonald’s. It beats the butt poop tea infuser I got the year before.”

Gently setting the cat on its feet, Rose stepped behind the front desk and retrieved a small box wrapped in red and green paper. She handed it to Hannah. “Do not open until Christmas morning.”

“Thank you, Rose.” She leaned in for a hug, bittersweet memories of the two holidays she spent with June making her throat tight.

“Merry Christmas, my friend.”

Stepping back, Hannah blinked away the sting of tears. She told Rose you couldn’t miss what you never had, but she dreamed of one day having it all–a husband who loved her, wide-eyed children who made a list for Santa, a house decorated from top to bottom, and friends gathered around a huge dining room table with homecooked dishes. Of course, her husband needed to have kitchen skills because Hannah had trouble boiling pasta for boxed mac-and-cheese.

“You’d better get going.” Hannah tucked the package into the pocket of her hoodie. “It’s already starting to snow, and the temperature is dropping. You don’t want to be driving through the mountains on icy roads. Besides, I need to walk Atlas. He doesn’t do well if he’s cooped up for too long.”

The Australian Shepherd was a stray they’d rescued about six months ago. The vet estimated the dog’s age to be around two, which meant he was young and energetic. A trainer who volunteered at the shelter had been working with Atlas to curb some of his destructive behaviors–like shredding his toys and herding anything that moved–to make him more adoptable, but he was still a handful. Walking him two or three times a day, taking him through the agility course behind the shelter, and engaging him in games that offered mental stimulation were the best strategies to manage his high energy levels.

“Thanks again, Hannah.” Rose pulled on her parka. “As I get older, I truly appreciate the gifts of time and service. We’re lucky so many people give year-round, but your help during the holidays is extra generous.”

They exchanged another hug, and Hannah made her way to the kennels housing the dogs awaiting adoption. A chorus of woofs and howls welcomed her, and she greeted each one with a head scratch and kind words until she reached Atlas.

“Hey there, boy.” He was forty pounds of gorgeous. His coat was full and silky, classic red merle with copper patches around his face and chest. He had one blue eye and one brown, a condition called heterochromia, common to the breed. “Wanna go for a walk?”

Atlas wiggled, struggling against the urge to jump with excitement, so she praised him, calmly getting a lead attached to his collar.

“You covering the holidays again, Hannah?” Tommy, a retired high school band director, walked past, dragging a green hose.

“Yes. Rose said you and Frank are on clean-up duty.” She doublechecked the leash, well acquainted with the dog’s strength and impulsivity.

“We can feed the animals tomorrow morning if you have plans for Christmas Eve day,” he offered, tugging a gray wool cap over his bald head.

“And ruin my breakfast surprise for you and Frank?” She grinned. “No way.”

“Let me guess. Cinnamon rolls and hot chocolate from Baked with Love?”

“I only allow myself one roll each season, and it’s extra delish when I share it with you guys.” Like Hannah’s Christmas and New Year’s shifts, holiday clean-up duty had become a tradition for Frank and Tommy.

“Looking forward to it.” Tommy grimaced. “My mother-in-law’s cooking isn’t much to brag about, but at least we’ll have a decent breakfast.”

“I’m sure Frank appreciates your sacrifice.” Her brief connection with June had made them an unconventional sort of family, and she felt a kinship with other non-traditional families. Couples like Frank and Tommy. Nord and Jewel Bondie who’d adopted children from Sudan, China, and Bangladesh. The Arkfields–four generations under one roof. Some of these folks were related by blood, but some were found family –people connected by choice.

“Headed for the park?”

“That’s the plan. If we get the two to three feet of snow the weatherman is forecasting, it might be a couple of days before I can take the dogs out again. Atlas really needs the distraction.”

“Get on, then. Sidewalks are already slick.” Tommy patted Atlas, who gave an impatient whine. “Sure is pretty, though.”

In the short time Hannah had been in the shelter, at least three inches had fallen. They’d have a white Christmas for sure. That thought put a spring in her step that almost landed her on her backside when she stepped on a patch of ice.

“Sorry, Atlas. No sprints today, boy.”

Hannah warmed up quickly, keeping pace with the energetic dog. The shops glowed with festive lights, red bows, and evergreen boughs, the falling snowflakes turning the quaint downtown into something from a Hallmark movie. They turned into the park, a large open area crisscrossed with walkways, iron and wood benches spaced out so people could sit and visit or simply enjoy a quiet moment. With the biting wind and snowfall, all but one of the benches were vacant.

Atlas made the decision for her. Like a heat-seeking missile, he headed for the lone stranger bundled up in a blue parka and cap.

“Whoa, slow down, boy!” Hannah grabbed the leash with both hands, struggling to rein in the dog. “Atlas! Stop!”

He barked loudly, lunging forward like a husky pulling a sled. The man looked up, startled. Hannah caught a flash of dark eyes, an unruly lock of hair the color of gingerbread, and a wave of coffee jettisoning from a paper cup imprinted with the Baked with Love logo before Atlas planted his front logs on the man’s shoulders and began licking his face.