6. Piper
PIPER
“Do we have enough volunteers?” I ask Rory as she sniffles and then sneezes into her tissue while I not so subtly lean away from her.
“I can see you,” she grumbles, her eyes glassy and her cheeks flushed.
“I don’t want to get sick.”
“I’m not sick—”
“You are and you should go home.” When she opens her mouth to argue, I shake my head. “I need you to be ready and healthy for the event. I can do a few days by myself while you rest.”
“Call Mack.”
Keeping my face carefully neutral, I tilt my head to the side. “I’ll think about it, and if I need something I will.”
“Are you sure this is okay? I have no idea what’s wrong with me. I woke up feeling like shit and it’s only gotten worse.”
“Get home before the storm comes through, at least, and I’ll check in on you later.”
“Thanks, love you.” She sniffles and grabs her purse and oversized water bottle from the desk.
I stare after her as she leaves, the sky ominous and the wind already picking up into what I’m sure will be a doozy of a storm. I hate days like this; the dogs are already on edge as it is, but throw in unpredictable weather and it’s the worst kind of stress.
I’ve almost convinced myself to swallow my pride and call Mack to come sit with me and the dogs when the landline rings, making me jump as I grab the receiver.
“Stray to my Heart, this is Piper. How can I help you?”
“Do y’all take strays off the street? Because there’s a real skinny-looking dog that’s hidin’ in the bushes near Morning Star Donuts.
Do you know where that is?” The voice sounds like it belongs to someone’s grandmother, the sweet southern drawl hitting me right in the chest with the instant feeling of home.
“Yes, I do.” I roll my eyes, already reaching for my keys and moving around the desk to pull a couple of different leashes from the bottom drawer. I have a few in my truck, but I’m not taking any chances.
“You think you can get ’em before this storm hits? Hate to see the poor thing out there when this rain comes. Buckets, I tell ya.”
“I’ll do my best. Thank you for the call.”
We say goodbye and I hang up, running out the door before doubling back to lock it.
The little voice in the back of my head is telling me to call Mack before things go to shit, but my pride is still a little bruised.
As much as I’d like to think I could sleep with him without catching feelings, that would be wildly delusional.
Self-proclaimed, my toxic trait is that I love feelings—even when they’re unrequited, misconstrued, or completely twisted to fit the narrative.
My narrative.
Why am I such a mess again?
Couldn’t be that my father abandoned us before the twins were born, and Mom struggled to raise us herself, barely making it to see everyone graduate from high school before passing away from a surgery complication.
Definitely not.
Pulling out of the parking lot, I do my best to keep to the speed limit as I head toward Main Street. Most of the town is deserted, folks probably preparing for whatever walloping we’re about to receive. Luckily for me, I can drive as slow as I need to while I search for the dog.
Please let me find him.
It takes me two trips up and down the entire length of the street. The Neon Saloon catches my eye, and I wonder if Mack will end up there tonight, swinging some girl around that’s here for the rodeo. A sharp stab of jealousy hits me out of nowhere and I hate it. I can’t be jealous of Mack.
I told him no.
I told him to forget it ever happened.
Because he said it was a mistake.
It’s only when I think about the look on his face that I can’t fully believe my account of that night. He’d been wrecked, and that’s not the look of a man who’s just looking for a good time.
He cares—I know he does.
But does he just care because I’m his sister’s best friend? Because we’re friends?
Or is it something more?
The questions will have to wait because on my second pass, I catch sight of white-and-gray fur huddled between a small bench and a concrete planter.
Bingo.
Making a U-turn, I park my truck and get out, grabbing several leash options and a pocket full of snacks before shutting the door with a soft snick.
“Hi, baby,” I coo, keeping my voice gentle but happy as I creep toward the obviously terrified animal. “That’s a sweet baby, yes, you are.”
Slowly, I reach into my pocket, closing the distance as I continue murmuring to the dog before squatting down and giving him a second to adjust.
Thunder rolls in the distance and I know my time is running out. Throwing the first treat, I don’t make the dog move at all, sending two more the same way and watching the little thing gobble them up.
With patience we do not have time for, I throw the next couple a little bit closer to me, forcing the dog to abandon his spot. It feels like an eternity but he finally does, low to the ground. The dog finds each treat, following the trail right to me.
It’s working.
Thank God, it’s working.
He’s almost close enough I can reach him, my heart in my throat as I hold my palm out, a few treats sitting in the middle, and wait.
Almost there.
Like the crack of a whip, thunder and lightning descend on Hearts Bend, the momentary shock making me unable to grab the dog before it bolts, this time avoiding the bench and shooting into the bushes while droplets of rain fall from the sky.
I’m out of time, and it’s time for that helping of crow.