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Now, that’s funny. Of course, Shiloh would try to be friends with a trash panda.
Then, I remember rabies. I hope she’s okay.
“Emily puts her phone on Do Not Disturb when she works on orders, I’m watching Olive, and Ramon is still out front. I need to stay here. Cameron is out with Annie, and Reid isn’t picking up his phone. Your dad is taking a much-needed night off. You’re it.”
I almost offer to watch Olive so Mom can take her, but the last time I was alone with my niece, I ended up with a horrific smoky eye and pearl clip-on earrings.
“Okay, I’ll do it.”
“Come soon. She looks green.”
My pulse quickens as I close the closet and walk down the hall to my parents’ office. It’s at the rear of the hallway, past the bathrooms and the joint office my siblings use.
Why was Shiloh close to a raccoon?
I’ve seen her with the dogs that come into the brewery. When she’s not looking, I watch her pet every dog aggressively, talking to the owners. She baby-talks every goddamn one, and they lick her face like she’s a T-bone steak. My dad does the same thing, and Fitzgerald the resident Goldendoodle has never been more thrilled. That dog freaks every time he sees my dad and now every time he sees Shiloh.
She seems like the type to want to cuddle anything, diseases be damned.
When I reach the office, I expect the typical Shiloh—bubbly and excited to see me and saying hi, even if she’s shaken up. Pretending like our incident in the office didn’t happen.
Instead, I’m met with Shiloh’s pale face and a large gash on her thigh.
“Oh shit,” I say, covering my mouth.
“Uncle Jackson, it was Darryl!” Olive shouts. “Shiloh was so brave!”
“Who is Darryl?” I ask.
“I think it’s one of the raccoons. I can’t keep them all straight,” Mom says.
“He’s the big one who likes to trick me…”
“Olive, I would love to hear everything about the raccoons later, but I have to get Shiloh to the doctor.”
“Yes, yes, yes,” Olive says. “Shiloh saved me.”
Shiloh’s eyes drift closed, and my heart stops. She’s as white as the tissues on my mom’s desk, and who knows what she’s been exposed to. I drop down to a knee and place my hands on her forearm, without thinking. I can’t remember the last time I touched a woman I wasn’t related to.
Shiloh is not special. You would be this concerned about anyone.
I’m lying to myself. Shiloh is not just anyone.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
Shiloh’s eyes flash open, and she rips her arm away from me. So she doesn’t forgive me for how I acted when she decorated my office.
I honestly thought she would keep trying, bringing me coffee or leaving notes. Maybe up the ante with a singing telegram. However, over the last month, there’s been nothing. She still says hi to me with a bright smile and a hand wave. I’ve lingered in her presence, in case she wants to say something. Greetings and hand waves are all I get now.
Now, Shiloh looks like she would rather let rabies ravage her body than go to any medical facility with me.
“Do you need help standing?”
“Maybe. I don’t know.” Shiloh braces her hands on the chair to stand up and winces.
“I can help you,” I say, offering my arm. Shiloh hops over, and my arm slides around her waist. Her body presses against mine, and tingles I haven’t felt in a long time rampage through me.
“Does the wound hurt?”
