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Ash has peeled off from the rest and beelines toward me.
Before we’d officially met, Ash’s flash of a smile intrigued me. Later, his grin captivated me. But the full-on smile he’s sending my way right now is utterly breathtaking. Already gasping from the smile’s effect, when Ash crushes me in his embrace, I just about pass out from lack of oxygen. His touch makes me feel more alive than I’ve felt since my grandfather died. Intrepid woman that I am, I somehow find the strength to fully participate in that welcoming embrace.
“You gave up your important meeting in Denver to find Julie. You didn’t have to. You should have come back from the hunt instead of sending Taylor.”
Ash pulls back and peers down at me. “Helping you get closure was much more important to me.” My throat clogs with tears of gratitude and something even more precious.
“Besides,” he adds, “During the search for Julie, I phoned in to the meeting, delivered a greeting I’m sure they appreciated, then handed over the rest of the proceedings to one of the other members. I should have done it before now. Next year, I’ll turn the whole thing over to Taylor. He’s wanted it for years, and I’ve been too big a control freak to let go. I should be thanking you—and Julie—for making me realize it.”
His grin morphs into something heart-stoppingly tender. Right before his lips cover mine, I whisper my heartfelt thanks for his finding Julie and bringing her back.
We rejoin the rest of the rescue team in a daze. In the few minutes we were otherwise engaged, all the burgers have disappeared. I hold onto Julie while Jake loads Mack and Nestor into the county truck.
“Thanks for everything, Jake,” Ash says, handing the man a check while I gush my thanks one last time.
Jake glances at the check. “Thank you, Mike,” Jake replies, then tucks it away in his breast pocket before driving off.
“He called you Mike?” I ask, confused.
Ash nods. “My name is Michael Asher. People tend to nickname me Mike. I prefer Ash.” He punctuates it with a quick kiss.
“Mmm,” I hum, savoring the peck, craving a whole lot more of them in the future. “Then so do I.”
Taylor fills the bushel basket with paper wrappers and trash from the Maybach to dump into an appropriate receptacle at the earliest opportunity. He and Ash confer about what to do about the car show.
I check Julie over to make sure she’s okay after her foray into The Great Plains and change her grimy slobber swabber. All the while, I’m also pondering the idea of a relationship Michael Asher. Am I really considering it, or am I rebounding from the scare of losing Julie? I know someone who can maybe help me sort things out.
While he and Taylor continue their discussion, I pull out my phone and call Portia. It’s time to verify Ash’s amazing and inspirational backstory. If Ash is as connected in Sycamore Hill as his story seems to indicate, then mega-lottery winner Portia, who founded our Canine Country Club and runs with the town’s wealthier crowd, will know of him. Come to think of it, considering her fleet of luxury cars, she probably knows all about his secret shop.
“Hello, Charlotte.” Portia’s cultured voice is as rich as melted caramel.
I’m tickled that she refuses to call me Charlie. “Hi. I need to ask you a quick question, okay?”
“Of course. Is everything all right?”
“Yes. Maybe even better than all right. Do you know a Michael Asher?”
“Michael,” the voice on the other end of my phone purrs. “As a matter of fact, Ash was the first person I met in Sycamore Hill. I’ve never regretted it.”
Wow. It’s true? Ash and his rags-to-riches story is the real deal? “You trust him, then.”
“Without reservation.” Her soft laugh caresses the ether. “Let me guess. The car show. You’ve met?”
“You could say that.”
“Excellent. I’ve been trying to set him up for years. He’s a tough nut to crack. Very private. Lives with the dragon who raised him. Good luck. I’ll expect details when you get back to town.”
“Only if I get to hear the story of how you two met.”
“Sounds fair.” She pauses. ‘You know, Charlotte, I said your grandfather would want you to stop grieving and have an adventure or two. Congratulations.”
“Thanks, Portia. You were right. See you next week.” I disconnect and rejoin the guys, a little shell-shocked, but relieved and more relaxed. Maybe even ready for more adventure. After all, this one isn’t turning out so bad.
With a couple of quick goodbyes, Taylor heads out to the Interstate and the faster route to Denver. Ash calls ahead to the car show, and with his sponsorship pull, talks the panel into letting Taylor check me and my Model A in as well.
In the meantime, I open my car’s back door. Drooly takes one look at her backseat hammock and can’t scramble into the Ford fast enough. She’s asleep and snoring as soon as I close the door behind her.
Ash pockets his phone and catches me around the waist. “Alone at last,” he says, one side of his mouth kicked up in a wry grin at a particularly loud bloodhound snore. “Sort of.”
