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He wasn’t sure if she was talking about his physical or emotional state, but he knew the answer to both. “Yes,” he said. “Having Spirit with me helps. She’s...she’s like my anchor, you know? She keeps me grounded.”
Sasha nodded slowly, her eyes fixed on his face. “I could see that whenever I saw you two together at the rescue. I could see your bond. She’s an amazing dog.”
Donovan smiled, the tension in his chest easing slightly. “Yeah, she is.”
Silence fell between them, but it felt different now. More companionable as he navigated the winding coastal road. The sky was a canvas of deep blues and purples, fading into a soft glow to the east.
But it was too early for dawn.
Sasha sucked in a sharp breath. “Is that…?”
chapter eight
“Fire. Fuck!” Donovan pressed the gas to the floor and burned rubber up the hill toward RWCR, jumping out of the vehicle the moment it rocked to a stop in the circular drive.
Flames engulfed the fields behind the barn and Sasha’s clinic and crawled up the mountain toward the tree line. If the fire reached it, the entire town would ignite. It was moving fast, roaring as it consumed smaller trees and dry brush. Embers danced in the air, sparking more fires in the too-dry grass.
Shit, this was bad. The whole damn county hadn’t seen a good rainstorm since spring.
The heat was palpable, the air thick with smoke. The acrid smell of burning wood and vegetation overwhelmed the senses, and Donovan blinked hard against the sting of it.
The fire licked toward the barn, and tendrils of smoke rose up from the back of the building as the side wall caught. The columns grew taller and thicker as he drew closer until they completely filled the sky with a gray blanket that obscured the stars.
He grabbed Sasha’s shoulder, pulling her back, away from the burning building. “Go to the house! Make sure Zak, Anna, and the girls are safe.” The house was farther away from the wall of flames. She’d be safer there.
Her face was white with fear, her eyes wide and brimming with tears. “The dogs…”
“I’ll get them. Do you have any overnight patients at the hospital?”
She blinked at him like she didn’t understand the question.
“Sasha, focus!”
She shook off the shock. “No. No, we’ve been doing renovations, so I sent all of my hospitalized patients to Dr. Richards in town.”
“Okay, good.” The doggie daycare and hotel were closed down for the same reason, and all of the adoptable pets had been sent to either foster homes or the county ASPCA until the renovations were complete. So that meant there were only two dogs in their rehab wing right now: the scarred Golden Retriever, Matilda, and the newest resident, a black German Shepherd named Dante, a state police K9 who had been wounded on the job when his handler was killed. And, of course, Spirit. He’d left her here in her old kennel since he’d planned to be gone all night.
Jesus. Spirit was in there. His heart jumped into his throat as he turned toward the building.
Sasha grabbed his hand. “Be careful.”
He gave her fingers a quick squeeze. “I will. Go wake Zak and Anna.” It was weird they weren’t already awake and trying to save the dogs themselves, but he couldn’t worry about them right now.
He had to get to Spirit.
He raced toward the barn’s front door, but intense heat pushed him back. Ashes rained down on his head like snow. The fire was deafening now, a crackling roar that blocked out all other sounds. He circled the building, searching for another way in, but the flames licked at every window and doorway.
Finally, a small window caught his eye, its glass shattered and blackened from the fire, but there were no flames dancing beyond it. Without hesitation, Donovan sprinted towards it and hurled himself through the jagged opening, slicing open his arm on the glass. He was in the conference room where he attended group therapy every week. The smoke hit him like a physical blow, threatening to overwhelm him, but he gritted his teeth and pressed on through the lobby to C-wing, where all the dogs who needed a bit of extra love were housed.
The entire backside of the building was engulfed now, and the roof creaked ominously overhead. As he approached the kennels, a sense of dread filled him. What if he was too late? What if—
But then he saw a flash of gold fur in the first kennel. Matilda. The poor dog had already been badly burned once before and was tucked into the corner, pressed against the wall, her high whine barely audible above the fire. This was going to set her rehabilitation back by months.
He grabbed a leash and opened the kennel, but Matilda wouldn’t move. He gave up on the leash, picked her up, and draped her over his shoulders.
Dante, in the next kennel, was growling, his dark fur standing straight up along his spine. Shit. He’d need the muzzle, but he didn’t have time to wrestle it on the dog.
Spirit stood in the middle of her kennel, eerily silent. She was usually a vocal dog. He opened her kennel and called her, but she didn’t move. Her tailed tucked between her legs, and she crouched low, flattening her ears to her head.
