Need You for Keeps (Heroes of St. Helena, #1)(5)
The girl had great animal etiquette. Kneeling next to Tripod in the grass, she stroked him gently, careful not to go near his face.
“Do you have a dog?”
She shook her head. “Grandma’s allergic.”
Too bad, Shay thought, taking in the way the girl seemed to relax while petting the dog. It was the same thing that happened whenever Shay was around animals. There was something so healing about unconditional love.
“Is it a nice family? Tripod’s new one?” Goldilocks asked quietly, giving Tripod a belly rub that had his tongue lolling to the side in ecstasy and all three legs sticking up in the air like roadkill.
Tripod was a two-year-old shepherd mix who’d lost his front leg in a car accident when he’d been dumped on the side of the highway, then bravely bared it all for the cover of the calendar with a local deputy.
Just not the deputy Shay had wanted.
Then again, Shay had learned early on that the things she wanted either gave her a big butt or a broken heart, because the ones she really wanted never seemed to want her back. Or at least not for long. But Tripod had a chance at a lifetime of happiness. Shay had made sure of it.
“The nicest,” Shay assured her, but Goldilocks didn’t look convinced and Shay couldn’t blame her. People could suck, something Shay knew firsthand, which was why she screened all of her applicants thoroughly before approving any adoption.
“It’s a rule.” Shay handed Goldilocks a St. Paws flyer and pointed to the tagline at the bottom. “See, right here. Only nice families need apply.”
Goldilocks gave Tripod one last pat, then stood to study the flyer. She looked at every condition Shay listed, then read the most important part: “St. Paws pets are the ‘for keeps’ kind.”
“Yup.” That was the best part of what Shay did. She wasn’t interested in finding her animals another temporary stopover, so she took the time and care to ensure that each match ended in a lifetime of love and companionship.
“We only place pets with people who have big hearts,” Shay explained.
After a long moment the girl gave a small nod and extended the flyer. “Can I have it signed?”
Shay smiled. “Sure.” She reached across the table to grab the organic inkpad she’d brought for Tripod, but the girl shook her head.
“I want you to sign it.” She handed Shay a pen from her Mary Poppins–sized bag. “Right there.”
Shay took the pen and signed her name right where the dirty finger pointed. The girl looked at the signature, then at Shay and smiled. Big and bright, exposing a gap where she’d lost a tooth. “Someday I want to be a saint too.”
And didn’t that just make her week.
Shay swallowed hard as Goldilocks gave Tripod one last pet to the head and, tucking the signed flyer in her pocket, walked toward town hall. Shay was still collecting herself when two bony hands snatched a calendar off of the table.
Estella Pricket, the current president of the Companion Brigade, the local pet owners’ society, sucked on her teeth as she looked it over carefully. Estella was about four hundred years old, favored penciled eyebrows over real ones, and had jaws like a pit bull when it came to getting her way. That she was Shay’s neighbor only made it that much worse. “How did you pick the models?”
Shay looked at the back of the calendar, over all of the drool-worthy men, and waggled a brow. “I asked them if they wanted to take it off for a good cause and they said yes.”
“And all these years I’ve been suffering through coffee dates,” Emerson said, grabbing the calendar.
“At least you get coffee,” Harper argued. “I had every one of those cuties and their half-naked booties in a dark room and the closest I got to a date was one of them asking when the calendar would be released.”
Harper had donated her set design and photography skills to the cause in hopes of meeting a dark and dangerous bad boy wanting to give her an adventure she’d never forget. Too bad for Harper, the men of St. Helena had a hard time picturing the town’s good girl getting down and dirty.
“Maybe you should lose the cardigan and tights,” Emerson said before picking up her tray to make her rounds.
Shay laughed. Estella only scowled, which made her forehead fold over on itself and her lips purse out like she needed an EpiPen. It was enough to scare a ghost. The last time the woman had scowled like that in public was when Sheila Stanton mistakenly announced Estella’s prized Pomeranian as a papillon at last year’s Bark in the Park crowning ceremony.
Sheila was sentenced to doodie duty at all Companion events—for the rest of her life.
“Not the men,” Estella said impatiently, narrowing her beady eyes on the calendar. “The dogs.”
“Oh.” That was an easy answer. “I didn’t, they picked me.” Which they had. Shay truly believed that each and every stray she rescued picked her—and in return she promised to find a family to love them.
“Then that’s false advertising,” Estella said, pointing to the tagline at the bottom of the cover, which read WINE COUNTRY’S FINEST TAIL.
“It’s just a marketing tool, Mrs. Pricket,” Harper said sweetly, scooting a little closer to Shay, which, for a girl who would rather leave the state than face a confrontation, was a big deal.
“No, it’s a lie! Because Foxy Cleopatra is the best tail in town,” the older woman snapped, and the tiny Pomeranian that sat at her owner’s feet started shaking.