Chapter 4
chapter
four
As Max walked around the outside perimeter of the kennel building, Caleb pushed through the heavy door leading inside the space.
The noise of the dogs barking hit hard in the enclosed area.
He automatically scanned everything, looking for any signs of trouble.
He looked at the long row of runs. All but seven were full. The concrete floors were scrubbed clean but worn smooth with use. The overhead light caught on metal fencing that served as doors for each run, cardboard signs printed with the names of each dog attached to the front.
At the back of the space stretched a work area with a long counter where they prepared food and kept supplies. A small office sat to the side of that.
On first sweep, Caleb saw nothing unusual, nothing that might have upset the dogs.
Max stepped in beside him. “Didn’t see anything outside.”
Caleb nodded and began to walk down the center aisle, Max beside him.
The gates were all latched. All the dogs were accounted for. Water bowls upright. There were no obvious signs anything was wrong.
They slowed near the far end. One of the dogs, a pit bull mix named Tobey, had retreated to the back of his kennel, hackles raised, eyes fixed on the exterior door instead of on them.
Each run had a small door that led outside to a fenced-in area where the dogs could get some fresh air. At night, the doors were locked for safety reasons.
Caleb lifted a hand, signaling Max to stop.
He unlocked the kennel and stepped inside. “It’s okay, boy.”
He let Tobey sniff his hand. The dog accepted his gesture and relaxed, rubbing against Caleb.
Then Caleb walked toward the exterior wall.
Caleb crouched and checked the hardware of the door.
The gate itself was closed, but the door sat crooked in its frame. The latch hung loose, the metal bent just slightly—almost as if someone had tried unsuccessfully to force it open and then shoved it back into place.
Max leaned in beside him. “That wasn’t like that earlier.”
Caleb straightened slowly. This wasn’t damage from wear or cold temperatures.
Someone had tried to get into the kennel through that door.
His spine tightened at the thought.
He already had a list of people with reasons to resent the refuge.
Starting with the Hendersons. Their closest neighbors had made no effort to be friends. Richard and Sarah had bought this land from them. It had been a fair purchase—but the Hendersons claimed this property should still belong to their family, who’d owned it for generations.
However, the family had been behind on taxes, so the county had stepped in and auctioned it. Sarah had insisted to Richard that they give some of the property to the Hendersons, specifically the area where their small, rundown home was located.
But that goodwill gesture hadn’t been enough for the Hendersons. They’d villainized Sarah and Richard instead.
Then there were Richard’s friends. Richard had turned them against the King family by claiming that Caleb and his siblings had stolen land that rightfully belonged to him. But two weeks before Sarah had been killed, she’d secretly met with a lawyer.
She’d had paperwork drawn up, giving this place to her family. In one of his love bombing moments, Richard had actually placed the property in her name. She must have feared her husband would eventually kill her, so she’d been proactive.
Richard had no idea, and he’d been furious when he found out. But the paperwork had stood. A judge declared it legal and binding.
When Richard was arrested, that had sealed the deal. He’d given them a lot of grief in the months leading up to his trial. Even though Sarah had died just over three years ago, it took three and a half years for the trial to start. He’d been out on bail in the meantime.
Finally, as of six months ago, he’d been convicted and started his prison sentence.
However, even though Richard was locked up, he still had minions doing his dirty work for him. Mostly, his lackeys let the Kings know they were keeping an eye on them.
There had been no overt threats. Just glances. Showing up at strange times for strange reasons. Conversations that sounded casual but had undertones of malice.
The unspoken message was clear: We’re keeping an eye on you.
Caleb had a feeling Richard was planning something and waiting for the right moment to enact his plan to get this property back.
Then there was Bill McLoughlin. Long before Sarah ever set foot on this property, the real estate developer had wanted this property. He’d wanted to buy it, subdivide it, turn it into something profitable and unrecognizable. The refuge had ended that possibility for good.
There were the other variables also. The pasts the women brought with them. The people their guests were running from. The men who didn’t like being left behind.
Caleb looked down the aisle again.
Whatever was going on here, he didn’t like it. A lot of people were depending on him to not only keep this place running but to keep things safe.
His biggest fear was that he would fail them.
Millie began to collect the dishes from the table.
“Don’t worry about the guys,” Naomi told her. “They’ll be fine. The dogs bark all the time. Any little thing sets them off.”
“Good to know,” Millie murmured, trying to feel reassured.
She set her bowl on the counter beside the sink.
Naomi paused, the water running in the sink and dish soap sudsy. “While we have the time, this might be a good chance to tell you how things work around here.”
“Sounds like a good distraction.” She was curious about the details.
“We can take up to eight women at a time.” Naomi turned off the water and gestured toward the hall leading to the far wing of the house.
“The staff each have their own room downstairs, so we’re close by if anything comes up at night or you need us for anything.
All our guests stay on the second floor, and each room has its own bathroom. ”
“That’s nice for privacy.”
“Yes, it’s a very nice feature.” She paused before continuing. “We have a screened-in porch out the back, and if you go out that way, there’s a smaller, fenced-in dog run where you can let Biscuit roam. You’re also welcome to walk on the property, but we do prefer you let us know first.”
“Understood.”
“Plus, we do have a chicken coop back there. If your dog likes to chase chickens, please keep him on a short leash.”
“Makes sense.”
“Breakfast is usually simple, and lunch is generally some kind of sandwiches. Our mom comes over a few evenings a week to cook dinner and help with light housekeeping. She just left right before you arrived.”
Caleb had loved talking about his mom. The woman sounded like a force to be reckoned with.
At one time, Millie had been anxious to meet her—to get her approval. That day had never come since Caleb had broken up with her and shipped off somewhere overseas to work special operations for the Navy.
“We don’t expect anyone staying here to pitch in—but if someone wants to, we don’t turn the help down either,” Naomi continued, pushing a bowl into the soapy water of the sink. “We always need a hand with food and laundry and cleaning the bathrooms. But we also want everyone to have time to heal.”
“What are the house rules?”
“I’m glad you asked. We try not to have a lot of ‘rules,’ per se. But, of course, we ask that you don’t tell anyone where you are—it could put everyone here in danger. We ask that you have no contact with anyone outside the home for the length of your stay.”
“Makes sense.” Millie nodded. “And how long can I stay, exactly?”
“As long as you need. We’ll do everything in our power to help you.
We try to give women skills to get jobs if they don’t have those.
We try to find new places for our guests to live.
We’ll even help with new identities or with pressing charges.
We have a counselor available whenever needed and an attorney who volunteers here once a week if any women need legal advice.
Whatever you need. We want to help you get back on your feet. ”
She glanced around. “Am I the only one here at the moment?”
“We have one other guest right now, and someone new is coming the day after tomorrow.”
Millie snapped upright at the sound of the door opening.
Her muscles locked, every instinct screaming to be ready—to move, to run. Biscuit was on his feet beside her, ears up, body angled toward the hallway as he sensed her tension.
Then Caleb stepped inside.
Relief hit hard enough to make Millie sway.
He shut the door behind him and shrugged out of his jacket. “It was nothing. One of the kennel latches gave a little, probably from the cold. I think the sound of it set the dogs off. Max and I fixed it.”
Her shoulders loosened, breath coming easier than it had since the dogs started barking.
Naomi studied Caleb’s face a beat longer then nodded. “Good. I figured it wasn’t a big deal.”
Caleb’s gaze found Millie’s. “Let me show you where you’ll be staying tonight—unless Naomi already did.”
“I was just getting around to it,” Naomi said.
“Then follow me.” Caleb motioned toward the stairs. “I know you must be tired.”
Millie and Biscuit followed him to the top.
“How long have you owned this place?” Millie asked as they walked down the hallway.
Caleb slowed. “It was Sarah’s—she was my oldest sister. She died three years ago and left the property to my family.”
Something twisted in Millie’s chest. She remembered when she and Caleb were together that Sarah had been married. He’d always spoken of his oldest sister with pride.
Millie knew that kind of loss didn’t loosen its grip easily—especially in a family as close as his.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I never met her, but I remember how you talked about her. She sounded wonderful.”
“She was.” He stopped at the last door.
Millie sensed there was more to the story, but she didn’t ask. Not now.
Caleb pushed the door open, and she peered inside, Biscuit hurrying in front of her and sniffing the perimeter.
The room was small but warm, with a neatly made bed and an olive-green and beige quilt folded at the foot. Lamplight glowed against the walls, and a dog bed stretched in the corner, already set out.
Everything felt . . . intentional and welcoming.
“This is your room,” Caleb said. “Max already brought your bags up. You should be comfortable here, but if there’s anything you forgot or that you need, let us know. At least one of us takes a trip into town a couple times throughout the week. We can pick up things for you.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“Sarah studied interior design, and her husband was an architect. A lot of time and thought went into building and decorating this place.”
“That explains why this house looks like it belongs in a magazine.”
“She had a real talent.”
“I agree.” She scanned the room again before nodding and glancing at Caleb. “Thank you for letting me come here.”
“I’m glad you’re here. It’s getting late, so I’ll finish intake tomorrow if that’s okay with you.”
“Of course.”
“Just to reassure you, the house is kept secure at night. The alarm will be set. If any doors or windows open, I’ll be notified.”
She let out a breath and tried to relax. “Good to know.”
His gaze remained on her a moment longer, an unreadable emotion lingering in the depths of his eyes. Unspoken conversations hovered between them.
But neither brought up the past. Not now. Maybe not ever.
His voice sounded hoarse as he said, “Good night, Millie.”
“Good night, Caleb—and thank you.” The words caught slightly on the way out.
As the door clicked shut behind him, Millie sat on the edge of the bed and listened as quiet settled around her. Biscuit circled once, then dropped into the dog bed with a satisfied sigh. She’d need to let him out before she turned in for the evening. But she still had time.
Millie looked at the window, the dark beyond it no longer pressing quite so close.
Starting over was possible, she knew that much.
Believing in herself enough to do it—that was the part that took practice.