Page 48 of Call It Serendipity

“They’re moving, and vocal. About the size I would expect if they’re eight weeks old. But I don’t see any clear signs of injury. So that is all good.”

“Good,” he says solemnly. “Well let’s get them safe and sound in the truck.” When I shiver, he rubs his hand up and down my arm and adds, “And you too.”

We stand together as he lifts the box. We just don’t think to account for how fast these conditions can impact cardboard.

It happens in slow motion, the way the bottom falls out—taking all six puppies right along with it. They scamper in different directions, and we follow after them. Jake manages to scoop up the one headed toward the river before it can make it more than a single little leap, to my relief. But there are still five on the loose and the rain has managed to intensify during the chaos.

“I’ve got a gym bag in the backseat of the truck,” he says, cradling the puppy to his chest and using his foot to block another one trying to run for it. “It might be tucked under the seat, but it’s there. I’ll catch them while you grab it?”

“On it. And I’ll take this one with me,” I call over my shoulder, bending down to snatch the bundle of fur trying to bound up the slope toward the road.

I locate the bag immediately, emptying out the change of clothes and sneakers and depositing the first puppy into it. Then I spin on the heels of my rubber boots and slip and slide my way back down to where Jake juggles three wiggly, wet puppies.

If I wasn’t so worried about the remaining two, I’d stop and admire the adorable sight. He talked about me being his demise, but he is temptation wrapped in flannel. Rugged features softened by the gentle way he holds the fragile animals in his capable hands.

“Okay, you’ve got them?” he asks, placing them in the bag with their waiting sibling.

“Got them. Where did the other two go?” I turn side to side, squinting through the rain and seeing no movement in any direction.

“They made it into the woods.”

My eyes widen in horror, and Jake quickly reaches out to cup my cheek.

“Don’t worry, I’ll find them. Go stay warm in the truck and watch these little ones.” His voice is warm and reassuring. His confidence is unwavering.

As his hand lingers, his thumb swiping droplets of rain off my cheek, I realize that I have unwavering confidence in him too. “Okay,” I murmur, nodding into his touch.

His eyes spark as I reach up and place my hand on his. And for a second, I think maybe he’ll kiss me. I think I want him to kiss me. But there are poor, defenseless puppies fending for themselves in this wilderness, and they need Jake more.

He turns his hand, catching mine and lowering it. Fishing his keys from his pocket, he drops them in my waiting palm. “I’ll be right back,” he assures me before turning and disappearing into the forest.

27

It feels like an eternity that I sit in the passenger seat of Jake’s truck, waiting. I have the vents blowing warm air at the duffel bag of puppies on my lap, and my attention set on the tree line.

Rain continues to fall in unrelenting droves, the sky looking more like evening light than late afternoon. “Come on, Jake,” I whisper, hugging the bag tighter. “Come back to us.”

Maybe there is something to his theories on chance and the universe. Because as soon as the words leave my lips, I watch the unmistakable rustle of trees. The movement is so subtle at first that I almost miss it. But then with another tremble of branches, Jake emerges.

He has his hat turned forward again, his face dipped low as if using the bill to protect something down around his chest. His arms are wrapped across himself, his flannel jacket unbuttoned. And two puppies’ faces peek out from inside the open flaps.

My heart leaps in my chest, partially from joy and partially from relief. “He did it,” I whisper to the rest of the litter. “Everyone is accounted for.”

Turning back to the truck window, I watch him slowly tip his chin upward, his dark eyes shining as they find me from underneath the cap. My heart gives an exaggerated thud at the way he locks onto me and the corner of his mouth tugging up in that adorable way. As if to say I can be the good guy in your story. Or maybe that’s just what I’m thinking as he approaches.

I lean over and open my door for him, a spray of rain blowing in before he’s there and blocking it with his body. “You got them.” I beam as he unfolds the small animals from his coat and places them with their litter.

“Patches there didn’t make it easy,” he replies, lifting his hands to brace himself on the truck frame.

“Patches?” I look into the duffel, trying to guess which puppy he’s referring to. Fighting a smile, I add, “You named them already?”

“I named him. It only seemed right after having to crawl into some serious underbrush to get the little guy,” he replies warmly.

It’s sweet. So sweet. But I’m having difficulty focusing on that while he’s looking this sexy, leaning on his truck with his jacket exposing the wet T-shirt plastered to his strong torso.

“Patches it is,” I whisper, watching a bead of water run from his ear, down the curve of his neck, and disappear into the painted-on cotton.

He pats his truck once before taking a step back and closing the door. Then a moment later he climbs into the driver’s seat beside me. “Ready to get them to the shelter?” Jake asks, peeling off the waterlogged jacket and tossing it in the back seat.