Sneak Peek
Six AM on a Tuesday morning in Pinewood Falls was supposed to be peaceful.
It was the only time of day that was guaranteed to be peaceful in this town.
I'd been counting on that peace as I stood on the station steps, nursing my first cup of hot chocolate and watching the sun paint the mountains gold in the distance.
The quiet was exactly what I needed. Quinn had been up half the night with another nightmare about her mother, and I'd spent the early hours sitting on the edge of her bed, stroking her hair and promising her everything would be okay.
The lie came easier now, three years of practice smoothing out the rough edges of my guilt.
I took another sip of hot chocolate, letting the warmth ground me in the present moment.
The sound hit me first, a rhythmic thundering.
I looked up from my drink to see a massive blur of gray and white fur bounding down Main Street like something out of a cartoon.
The Great Dane – because of course it was a Great Dane – had its tongue lolling out in what looked like pure joy as it galloped past the hardware store, the bakery, and Mrs. Beene's flower shop.
Behind the dog, an ancient van marked 'Pawsome Friends Animal Shelter' wheezed and sputtered in pursuit, its engine making sounds that suggested it might not survive the chase. The van lurched around the corner onto Maple Street, and that's when I got my first look at the driver.
Brown hair caught the morning light like liquid copper, escaping in wild waves from beneath a knit cap that had clearly given up trying to contain it.
Even from a distance, I could see the way her small hands gripped the steering wheel with fierce determination.
She was petite – probably barely five-foot-four – but there was nothing fragile about the way she leaned forward, her chin jutting out in stubborn defiance of the chaos unfolding around her.
Her lips were moving, and I caught fragments, "Come on, Maximus... easy boy... stupid van, not now...”The dog bounded into the town square, and the van followed with a screech of brakes and a small cloud of exhaust. As the woman finally came to a stop, I caught a glimpse of her profile through the windshield.
There was something about the way she took a deep breath before opening her door.
I was already moving, my feet carrying me toward my patrol car before my brain fully engaged. This was what I did – I restored order. I fixed problems. I made sure chaos didn't hurt anyone.
As a detective, I usually handled investigations rather than traffic stops, but in a small town like Pinewood Falls, we all wore multiple hats. Today I'd been covering patrol duties due to staffing shortages.
By the time I pulled up behind the animal control van, the woman had already jumped out and was approaching the Great Dane with her hands extended in a calming gesture.
The dog – massive as a small pony – was panting heavily but showed no signs of aggression.
If anything, he looked pleased with himself, tail wagging like he'd just accomplished something magnificent.
"Easy, Maximus," the woman was saying, her voice carrying that particular tone people used with spooked animals. It was softer than I'd expected, with a slight rasp. "You've had your adventure, big guy. Time to go home."
I stepped out of my patrol car, and that's when she noticed me. Her head snapped up, and I got my first clear full look at her face. Her eyes – hazel – widened with what looked like a mixture of embarrassment and defiance.
"Ma'am," I said, pulling out my citation book more from habit than necessity. "You're aware there are leash laws in this town?"
Those hazel eyes flashed with something that might have been annoyance. "Of course I'm aware, but Maximus here had other plans." She gestured to the dog, who was now sitting obediently at her feet, tongue still lolling out in doggy satisfaction. "Sometimes you have to adapt to the situation."
"Adaptation doesn't excuse breaking municipal code 15.7," I replied automatically, then immediately regretted how stiff I sounded. There was something about the way she looked at me that made me uncomfortably aware of every word.
She crossed her arms, and I noticed she was wearing a veterinary technician's scrubs under her down vest, along with boots that had seen better days.
"And following rules doesn't excuse lacking basic compassion, Detective..." She paused, clearly waiting for me to fill in my name.
"Whelan. Cyrus Whelan."
"Well, Detective Whelan, this is Maximus. He's been at the shelter for six months, and this morning he decided he wanted to explore downtown. He's not dangerous – he's just scared and lonely and looking for his person." Her voice softened on the last words.
I found myself studying her face, noting the way worry lines creased her forehead and the gentle way her hand rested on the dog's massive head. There was a smudge of what looked like flour on her cheek.
"And you are?" I asked, pen hovering over the citation book.
"Allura Perkins. I run Pawsome Friends Animal Shelter.
We handle animal control calls for the county on a contract basis.
" She lifted her chin slightly, as if expecting me to argue with her right to exist. "I'm the one trying to find homes for animals like Maximus here, instead of writing tickets for minor infractions. "
"Miss Perkins," I said, clicking my pen with more force than necessary. "The law doesn't make exceptions for good intentions. A loose animal is a public safety hazard, regardless of his temperament."
"Public safety hazard?" She glanced around the empty town square, then back at me with raised eyebrows.
"Detective, it's six in the morning. The only people awake are you, me, and Mrs. Patterson over there watering her petunias.
" She gestured toward an elderly woman across the street who was indeed tending to her flower boxes and watching our interaction with obvious interest.
I followed her gaze and had to admit she had a point, though I wasn't about to say so out loud. "That's not the issue—"
"Then what is the issue?" She stepped closer, and I caught a whiff of her scent – something warm and comforting like vanilla mixed with the crisp mountain air. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like a man more concerned with enforcing rules than understanding the situation."
Her proximity was doing strange things to my concentration.
This close, I could see the way her eyelashes caught the morning light, thick and dark against her fair skin.
There was a small scar on her left hand – barely noticeable, but my detective's eye caught it as she gestured.
When she was nervous or making a point, she had a habit of tucking a strand of that rebellious hair behind her ear, even when it immediately escaped again.
"I understand the situation perfectly," I managed, though my voice came out rougher than intended. "You're new in town, you're running the animal shelter, and you think the rules don't apply to you because you're doing good work."
Her cheeks flushed pink, whether from cold or anger, I couldn't tell. "Detective, some people in this town care more about maintaining their perfect little bubble than actually helping their neighbors."
"And some people," I countered, "think good intentions excuse everything, including putting the community at risk."
We stared at each other for a long moment. Maximus, seemingly bored with our standoff, let out a massive yawn and flopped down on the sidewalk with a thud that made Allura's lips twitch despite her obvious frustration.
"Look," she said, and her voice had softened just enough to make something dangerous shift in my chest. "I know you're just doing your job, but Maximus isn't some menace to society.
He's a gentle giant who's been abandoned twice and is desperate for someone to love him.
" She crouched down beside the dog, her small hand disappearing into his massive head as she scratched behind his ears. "Aren't you, buddy?"
The tenderness in her voice when she spoke to the dog did something to my defenses that I wasn't prepared for. This close, I could see the way her eyelashes cast shadows on her cheeks, the gentle curve of her mouth as she murmured to Maximus.
"Miss Perkins," I started, then stopped when she looked up at me. Those eyes held a mixture of defiance and vulnerability that made my pen hesitate over the citation book.
"Allura," she corrected, standing gracefully despite her petite frame. "And before you finish writing that ticket, you should know that Maximus escaped because someone threw rocks at the shelter fence last night, scaring him. He's not a habitual offender—he's a victim."
The information hit me like a punch to the gut. "Someone was throwing rocks at the shelter?"
"Old Man Fletcher, most likely, though I can't prove it." Her jaw tightened. "He's been campaigning to have us shut down since the day I arrived. Apparently, barking dogs disturb his afternoon naps."
"Why didn't you report it?"
"To who?" She gestured toward my badge. "The police? I'm new in town, Detective Whelan. I don't exactly have credibility here yet."
The defeated note in her voice bothered me more than it should have. I clicked my pen closed, the sharp sound echoing in the quiet morning air. "Running a loose animal through downtown isn't the way to build that credibility."
"Neither is letting scared animals suffer in silence," she shot back, that fire returning to her eyes. "But I suppose you wouldn't understand that."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means some people in this town care more about maintaining their perfect little bubble than actually helping their neighbors." She bent down to clip a leash on Maximus, her movements efficient despite her obvious agitation. "Some of us think rules should serve people, not the other way around."
The criticism stung because there was truth in it, and I didn't like the way it made me feel—rigid, cold, exactly the kind of by-the-book officer I'd sworn I'd never become. "The rules exist for a reason, Miss Perkins. To keep people safe."
"And what about keeping animals safe?" She straightened, and even though she barely came up to my shoulder, she somehow managed to look down at me. "What about showing a little compassion for creatures that can't speak for themselves?"
The yellow school bus chose that moment to rumble down Main Street, and I caught sight of Quinn's face pressed against the window, her eyes wide with fascination as she took in the scene. The sight of my daughter watching made heat crawl up my neck.
Allura followed my gaze and her expression softened. "Is that your little girl?"
"Quinn. She's seven."
"She's beautiful." Allura's smile was the first genuine one I'd seen from her, and it transformed her entire face. "I bet she'd love to meet Maximus properly. Under better circumstances."
Quinn had been begging for a pet for months, and I'd been deflecting with excuses about responsibility and mess and the chaos pets brought into carefully ordered lives. Looking at Allura with this massive, gentle dog, I could practically hear my daughter's arguments echoing back at me.
"Quinn doesn't need the distraction of animals right now," I said, more harshly than necessary.
Allura's expression shifted, becoming more guarded. "Of course not. Heaven forbid a child experience joy and wonder."
"That's not what I—" I started, then stopped myself. Explaining my reasons would require explaining Sarah, explaining the nightmares, explaining why I'd built walls around our life that I wasn't ready to examine, let alone tear down.
"It's fine, Detective." Allura tugged gently on Maximus's leash, and the dog rose obediently to his feet.
I watched her start toward the animal control van, noting the proud set of her shoulders, the way her gray streaks in her brown hair caught the morning light like frost catching the first rays of sunrise.
"Miss Perkins," I called out, and she paused without turning around. "I'm not going to write the citation."
She looked back over her shoulder, surprise flickering across her features. "Why not?"
Good question. "Consider it a warning. But if Maximus takes another tour of downtown, we'll be having a different conversation."
"Understood." She hesitated for a moment, and I thought she might say something else, but then she just shook her head and continued toward her van.
I stood there watching as she coaxed Maximus into the back of the vehicle, noting the way she moved. The van started with a concerning wheeze and a small cloud of black smoke, and I found myself wondering how safe that vehicle actually was.
As she pulled away from the curb, Allura rolled down her window and called out, "For what it's worth, Detective Whelan, some of us in this town care more about hearts than rules."
The van disappeared around the corner with another concerning mechanical sound, leaving me standing alone in the town square with the lingering scent of vanilla and mountain air, and the uncomfortable realization that my perfectly ordered morning—and maybe something deeper—had been completely upended.
"Trouble," I muttered under my breath, just as Finn's patrol car pulled up behind mine.
"What's got you all twisted up, partner?" Finn asked as he climbed out, his dark eyes taking in my expression with the kind of knowing look that came from three years of working together. "You look like someone just challenged everything you believe in."
I glanced once more in the direction Allura's van had disappeared, then back at my partner's amused face.
"Something like that."