Chapter Twenty-One
The river was nothing like the lake.
Penny gripped her paddle and tried to remember everything Eddy had told her—angle the blade, use your core not your arms, lean into the current instead of fighting it. The kayak wobbled beneath her, water splashing over the sides, and she was absolutely certain she was about to flip.
"You're doing great," Eddy called from ahead.
"I'm doing terrible!"
"Same thing, first time out." He spun his kayak with an easy grace that made her want to throw her paddle at him. "Just keep moving forward. The river does most of the work."
They'd been on the water for an hour now, winding through a section of the Current River that Eddy had picked specifically for beginners. Class I rapids, he'd promised. Nothing she couldn't handle.
He hadn't mentioned the Class II section coming up.
"There's faster water ahead," he said, drifting back until they were side by side. "You ready?"
"No."
"Good answer. Means you're paying attention." He grinned—actually grinned, an expression she was still getting used to seeing on his face. "Follow my line. When the water gets choppy, paddle harder, not softer. And whatever you do, don't lean back."
"What happens if I lean back?"
"You flip."
"Great. Very reassuring."
He laughed and pulled ahead, his paddle cutting through the water with the easy confidence of someone who'd done this a thousand times. Penny followed, trying to match his rhythm, watching the river ahead turn from smooth green to churning white.
The rapid hit her like a roller coaster.
Water exploded around the kayak, cold spray hitting her face, the boat lurching and spinning in ways that felt completely out of control. She paddled furiously, remembering nothing Eddy had told her, operating on pure instinct and adrenaline.
Then, suddenly, she was through.
The water calmed. Her kayak steadied. And Penny was laughing—really laughing, the kind of full-body joy she hadn't felt in years.
"I did it!" She pumped her paddle in the air like a victory flag. "Did you see that? I didn't flip!"
Eddy had stopped in the calm water beyond the rapid, watching her with an expression that made her breath catch. Pride. Wonder. Something softer that looked like love.
"You did good," he said.
"I did amazing." She paddled toward him, still grinning. "When's the next one?"
They pulled out at a sandy beach two hours later.
Penny collapsed on the shore, every muscle in her body pleasantly exhausted, while Eddy secured the kayaks. The sun was warm on her face. The river murmured past. Somewhere upstream, birds were singing.
"I can't believe you did this for a living," she said when he settled beside her. "My arms feel like noodles."
"You get used to it." He lay back, hands behind his head, squinting up at the sky. "After a while, it's like breathing. You don't even think about it."
"Is that why you stopped? Because it stopped feeling like breathing?"
He was quiet for a moment. She'd learned to read his silences—this one wasn't defensive, just thoughtful.
"I stopped because of the hydraulic," he said eventually. "But I stayed stopped because I was afraid. Afraid the panic would come back. Afraid I'd freeze again when it mattered."
"And today?"
"Today..." He turned his head to look at her. "Today I watched you go through your first rapid with zero experience and more confidence than sense, and I realized something."
"What?"
"The panic never came. Not even close." He reached over and took her hand. "I spent nine years thinking I couldn't trust myself on the water anymore. Turns out I just needed the right reason to try."
Penny squeezed his fingers. "I'm your reason?"
"You're everything."
She rolled onto her side and kissed him. Soft and slow, tasting river water and sunshine and the particular sweetness of a man who'd finally stopped running from his ghosts.
"Take me home," she said against his mouth. "And then take me to see my shop."
Pampered Paws looked like a construction site.
The front window had been replaced, gleaming in the afternoon sun.
The door hung properly on its hinges now, fresh paint covering the marks where the collar had been nailed.
Inside, workers moved between sawhorses and power tools, installing the new kennels that would replace the ones Hensley's men had destroyed.
Penny stood in the doorway, taking it all in.
"The brothers started last week," Eddy said from behind her. "Limestone's got a crew that owed him favors. Proof handled the permits."
"They didn't have to do this."
"They wanted to." He set down the fifty-pound bag of dog food he'd carried from the truck. "You're one of us now. When something of yours gets broken, we fix it."
She walked through the space slowly, cataloging changes. New kennels, bigger than the old ones. Fresh paint on the walls—not the cheerful pink she'd had before, but a warm cream that felt more professional. The grooming station was still being assembled, but she could see the layout taking shape.
Better than before. Everything was better than before.
River padded through the front door, nose working overtime, investigating every corner of the new space. He sniffed the kennels, the grooming equipment, the stack of dog beds waiting to be arranged. Finally, he settled in a sunny spot by the window, apparently satisfied with his inspection.
"He approves," Penny said.
"He's got good taste."
She moved to her office—smaller than the main room, but intact. Her desk had been replaced with a simple table, and someone had set up a new computer. The walls were bare except for one item.
Her license.
Still in its frame, somehow undamaged in the destruction. Someone had found it and set it aside, waiting for her to come back.
She lifted it carefully, running her fingers over the glass. Penny Bradshaw, Licensed Pet Groomer. The proof that she'd built something real.
"Need a nail?" Eddy asked.
"Got one." She'd spotted the small hammer and hardware on the desk—thoughtful, like everything the brotherhood did. She measured by eye, drove the nail into the fresh drywall, and hung the license exactly where it belonged.
Centered. Visible. The first thing anyone would see when they walked in.
She stepped back to admire her work.
"Two weeks," she said. "Maybe three. I can reopen."
"Your clients are waiting." Eddy moved to stand beside her. "Diane's been fielding calls. People asking when you're coming back, offering to help with the rebuild, some of them just wanting to make sure you're okay."
"Really?"
"You built something here, Penny. Something that mattered to people." He wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "That doesn't disappear because some asshole with a pill operation tried to break it."
She leaned into him, looking around at the space that was slowly becoming hers again. The new kennels. The fresh paint. The license on the wall. River in his sunny spot, already at home.
"I'm going to need more staff," she said. "The old place was barely keeping up with demand. This one's bigger."
"So hire more staff."
"And I want to add boarding capacity. People are always asking for overnight kennels, and I never had the space before."
"So add boarding capacity."
She twisted to look up at him. "You make it sound easy."
"Isn't it?" His hand rubbed slowly up and down her arm. "You know what you want. You've got the skills to make it happen. The only thing that was stopping you before was a monster who doesn't exist anymore."
The simplicity of it hit her like a wave.
Kirby was dead. Her mother was safe. The business was being rebuilt, better than before. And the man beside her looked at her like she could do anything she set her mind to.
Maybe she could.
"I want to add a rescue wing," she heard herself say. "Dedicated space for fosters and hard-to-place dogs. Partner with the county shelter, take the ones nobody else will."
Eddy's smile was slow and warm. "Of course you do."
"It's not practical. The profit margins on rescue work are—"
"Since when do you do anything for profit margins?" He turned her to face him, hands on her shoulders. "You built this place because you love animals. You take in dogs nobody else wants because you can't stand to see them suffer. Adding a rescue wing isn't impractical—it's inevitable."
She stared at him. "How do you know me so well?"
"I pay attention." He kissed her forehead. "And I love you. Same thing, most of the time."
River chose that moment to pad over, nosing between them like he wanted to be included in the moment. Penny laughed and scratched behind his ears.
"What do you think, River? Want to help me run a rescue operation?"
The shepherd's tail wagged.
"I think that's a yes," Eddy said.
Penny looked around the space one more time. The construction chaos. The promise of what it would become. The man and the dog who'd somehow become her family.
Three weeks ago, she'd found a dead dog on this floor and thought her life was ending.
Now she was planning an expansion.
"Come on," she said, taking Eddy's hand. "Let's go home. I want to sketch out the rescue wing before I forget any of my brilliant ideas."
"Whatever you want."
They walked out together, River trailing behind. The afternoon sun was golden on the parking lot, warm on her face, full of promise.
Whatever she wanted.
For the first time in her life, that felt possible.