Chapter 10
chapter
ten
Caleb closed the office door and leaned against it a moment.
The call rang more times than he’d expected.
Sheriff Micah Sutherland was a friend, and Caleb knew he could trust him. He was one of the few people in town who knew what they were really doing here at Refuge Cove.
“Caleb.” The sheriff’s voice came through strained, distracted. “Listen, I’m tied up right now. Everything okay?”
“I’ll keep it quick,” Caleb said.
“What’s going on?”
“There was a vehicle at our gate a few minutes ago. Driver took off when we approached. Virginia plates.”
A pause. Background noise—voices, a radio crackling.
“I’m on scene right now,” Sutherland said. “Won’t be back at my desk for a bit. But text me the plate numbers. I’ll run it as soon as I can.”
Caleb exhaled. “I appreciate it.”
“You think it’s connected to your place? That someone knows what you’re doing?”
His jaw tightened at the thought. He prayed that wasn’t the case. “I don’t know yet.”
“Then don’t assume the worst,” Sutherland said. “But don’t ignore it either.”
“That’s the plan.”
“Send me the number. I’ll call you.”
The line went dead.
Caleb texted the information and set his phone down on the desk. He stared at it longer than necessary.
He didn’t like unanswered questions. Didn’t like things circling the edges. But he couldn’t stand here all day worrying either.
There were dogs to feed. Runs to clean. Supplies to inventory. Intake paperwork waiting on his desk.
Refuge Cove didn’t pause just because something unsettled him.
The work never ended.
He stepped away from the desk. As he did, his gaze caught on the files stacked near the corner—permits, invoices, letters from donors who meant well but couldn’t commit.
Refuge Cove needed more help. More staff. Better cameras.
Then there were the notices about the land dispute with the Hendersons.
Caleb shook his head.
He tried to plan for every angle, but without a crystal ball to see into the future, that was impossible.
Whoever had shown up at the gate this morning hadn’t scared him off.
The only thing he could do was keep moving. Keep building. Keep protecting what they’d started.
At that thought, Caleb stepped out of the office and headed toward the kennels.
Working and staying busy was his best medicine.
After lunch, Millie sat on her bed reading a women’s contemporary fiction novel she’d found on the bookshelf. She turned the pages without absorbing much. She’d read a paragraph. Then another. Then she’d reread both paragraphs.
Finally, she gave up and stared at the wall.
The house was quiet right now.
Naomi had taken Sissy into town for a doctor’s appointment. Naomi had explained that though they tried not to leave the house except for emergencies, getting medical care for Sissy while she was pregnant was a necessary risk.
Millie felt impatient. She wanted answers about that car. She was anxious to be around other people. She needed something to distract her from her thoughts.
Finally, she heard the side door open.
She rushed downstairs, hoping to see Caleb and get an update on the car. Biscuit stayed at her heels.
Caleb and Hamilton stepped inside.
She paused in front of him, noting how his cheeks were red from the cold, how his light-brown hair appeared tussled.
But it was his eyes that really caught her attention. They looked . . . worried.
He seemed like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.
It was that same expression he’d worn throughout their relationship—whenever a friend needed help, whenever someone at work had a crisis, whenever his dog had so much as a limp.
He’d try to fix it all himself, carry every burden, shoulder every responsibility.
She used to tell him he couldn’t save everyone. He’d never listened.
Biscuit wagged his nub at Hamilton, and Hamilton copied the motion.
She took a deep breath before asking, “Any word on the license plate?”
He shook his head. “No, not yet.”
Disappointment pressed on her. She knew these things took time. She was simply anxious for answers, anxious to know if Garrick might be behind this.
One thing was for sure—she needed something to do instead of sitting around thinking about things.
She looked back up at Caleb. “Listen, I like to stay busy. Is there anything I can help with around here? Maybe the dogs?”
He glanced at her, surprise flickering across his face. “Help how?”
“I worked as a kennel assistant at a vet clinic for a while when I was in college. Cleaning, feeding, handling. I know how to do all those things. And animals usually love me.”
Caleb studied her, not necessarily skeptical but measured.
Finally, he nodded. “All right. If you want to. We could always use a hand.”
Relief slid through her, quick and unexpected. “Perfect.”
“Grab a coat. It’s cold out there.”
She turned back toward the stairs, hurried to get her jacket, and then raced back down. Biscuit remained at her heels the whole time.
The dog started to follow her to the door when she paused. “Biscuit, stay.”
Biscuit tilted his head, as if considering her directive and whether or not to obey.
“I’ll be back,” she told him. “You stay. Understand?”
His nub wiggled back and forth as she slipped on her coat.
She wished she could take him, but it was better if he stayed here. Having him go into the kennel with her might set the other dogs off. But the dog was attached to her—and she was attached to him.
Going anywhere without him felt like leaving part of herself behind.
As she looked down at his puppy dog eyes, she already missed him. He was one of the driving reasons she’d left. Not only to protect her own life, but to protect his.