Keeping Cole's Promise. Cheryl Harper
and pointed the opposite direction. “Down the highway.”
Cole tapped a finger nervously on the coffee table. He could walk two miles easy. It was only part-time, but it was a place to start and he had the skills listed. Flexibility. Experience working with animals. He could lift fifty pounds no problem.
“Good character.” That might be the sticking point. Not that he didn’t have it, but that he had no way to prove it.
“Take the truck.” EW stretched in the seat. “Go in the morning. Won’t know until you try.”
“You’ll have to come with me. Can’t drive. No license.” Maybe if he had a personal witness, they would listen.
“Might be better to take your chances without me.” EW raised an eyebrow, and Cole understood exactly what he meant. Mimi had bragged on EW’s skills with motors. The rest of Holly Heights viewed EW as the town drunk.
But Cole would enjoy having a partner, a little bit of backup, someone who believed when he wasn’t so sure himself.
Relying too much on what other people thought was how he’d gotten mixed up with the gang that convinced him taking what he needed was the only answer. Not anymore. Going alone was the only way to stay out of trouble.
“I’ll walk it. I can do it.” The distance was nothing. Convincing Sarah Hillman to give him a shot would be the challenge. Finding a job was the key to everything. If he spent too much time sitting around this trailer with nothing to do but list his mistakes and fight the temptation to drown his problems, he’d be back inside Travis before the year was out. He didn’t believe in fate or destiny, but this felt right. All he had to do was seize his chance.
REBECCA LINCOLN PUT the car in Park and checked the clock on her car radio. “Fifteen minutes early, right on time.” The only other cars in the parking lot belonged to Sarah and Shelly, Sarah’s right hand and the most important volunteer at the shelter. They’d both been at Paws for Love since sunrise, no doubt.
As she reached over to grab the floral tote she used to organize all the paperwork for the shelter, Rebecca hit the buttons to lower the windows a crack. Otherwise, the Texas sun would turn her car into an oven. She loved ovens but had no desire to sit in one on the drive home.
Whistling might be over-the-top, but it was a beautiful morning. On sunny Saturdays like this one, the bedraggled flower beds and dusty gravel lot in front of the building seemed twice as sad, but Sarah was slowly and surely changing every piece of Paws for Love for the better. With enough time, she’d hire someone to replace the peeling paint and plant bright flowers, and the outside of the building would reflect all the joyful work done at the shelter.
Time. That was all this place needed now. Smug certainty and a touch of pride at what her money had accomplished added up to a song in her heart. If Jen was there, Rebecca might hum a happy tune, to annoy her.
Before she could open the car door, Sarah stepped out of the building. “Good. You’re here early. Can you cover the phone and desk for me? I need to call Will before Jen gets here.”
“Sure. I’ve got the desk. This time next week, we’ll have some real help for you.” Rebecca was perfectly happy to spend some time behind the counter at the shelter. Sarah was ruthlessly organized, so it was easy to find the log of volunteers. Rebecca ran a finger down the list of names and hours. The kids she’d sent over from the high school where she worked as a guidance counselor had plugged right in. The satisfaction of correctly identifying and connecting kids with opportunities was nice. Every single one of them would have great extracurriculars for college applications.
That job satisfaction made it impossible to consider quitting her job, even after hitting the lottery.
Her phone chirped to notify her that a text had come in. Every time she heard it, she pictured a bluebird of happiness.
Booked the flight into Austin. It’ll be good to see my kids in person. Her mother had taken to texting instead of calling, probably because she was too busy for long conversations. After a lifetime of charity work in Holly Heights, Rebecca’s parents had moved to Florida, where they played golf. Lots and lots of golf.
Already planning the menu. Rack of lamb. I’ve always wanted to try it. Can’t wait to see you. The farewell dinner for Daniel and Stephanie was going to be her inaugural dinner party with the new kitchen. Saying goodbye to her brother and her friend would hurt, but she was anxious to demonstrate what a smart investment the large check she’d write to the contractor would be.
Starving children, Rebecca Lincoln. Refugees. Go for chicken, something reasonable. We aren’t fancy, you know that.
Her mother’s reply shouldn’t have surprised her, because she’d heard similar responses her whole life. But it did shave off a sliver of the good mood she’d begun the day with. Trying something new would have been fun.
While she waited for one of the shelter’s volunteers to come up to the desk, Rebecca wandered over to the bulletin board to check out the photos Sarah had posted of all the dogs up for adoption. She bent to study the details for the cutest beagle on the board when the door opened.
“Welcome to Paws for Love.” The last part of her greeting was strangled as a man stepped inside. His size, the ferocious frown wrinkling his brow, sweat shining on his face, everything about him shouted that he was out of place.
The loud bang of the door as he closed it behind him shook her.
And she was cornered. The sensation of being helplessly cut off flashed through her mind, a reaction from the first and last time she’d tried to stop a fight at the high school. Confident of her authority as an adult and school counselor, she’d stepped between two boys roughly her size and found herself pinned against a wall of lockers, one hard hand on her throat. In the seconds it took Eric Jordan to come to his senses, she’d frantically clawed at that arm and wondered if anyone would save her.
This guy, he was twice the size of Eric Jordan. His shoulders strained against the ironed cotton button-down that had to be at least ten years old. His khakis fit better, but had the same crisp crease that showed careful attention. His white sneakers shuffled as he stopped in the center of the tiny lobby.
She’d been able to look over Eric’s shoulder to see the watching crowd. This guy would block out the sun.
Rebecca put one hand over her racing heart and managed to say, “Can I help you?”
He fidgeted nervously for a second, shifting back and forth between the door and the shelter’s ancient cash register. The too-tight sleeves of his shirt strained over hard muscles as he clenched a folded newspaper. “I’m here about the job.” He wiped one large hand over his forehead.
As Bub, Sarah’s goofy brown dog, came ambling down the hallway, Rebecca held out a hand to try to stop him. Bub had no guard dog setting; he was strictly a social ambassador, a lover, not a fighter.
“Hey, pup,” the big man said, and bent down on one knee. The ominous sound of a seam stretching beyond its limits whispered through the lobby. Bub, sensing another admirer, tipped his chin up for a scratch.
Man and dog communicated silently long enough for Rebecca to get her brain in gear.
“The deadline was Friday. We aren’t accepting applications any longer.” Her voice was the cold, we-have-rules-for-a-reason tone all educators learned early on. People who wouldn’t follow directions were a pet peeve.
“I understand, but I’m asking for a favor, some leeway.” He braced one hand on the counter beside the computer, and the whole base tilted. He scrambled to right it, but everything on top crashed to the floor. The clatter kicked up her heart rate again. Rebecca held out a hand to keep him from crossing behind the counter to clean up his mess.
“We set the deadline for a reason,” she said, and crossed her arms tightly over her