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It was true, theTake A Chanceshelter was getting busier. People now called her when they found an injured or stray animal. But she needed help, which is why she now advertised for a volunteer. She wasn’t a people-person but as much as she hated to admit it, she couldn’t do it all. However neither could she afford to pay anyone.
She continued to count out what was good. “Justine and Blake…”
She didn’t like people but Blake, the new sheriff of Citrus Pines, had worked his way into her good graces, along with his fiancée, Justine. When Blake first came to town, Rebelle hadn’t trusted him one bit. But he’d looked out for her, shown up when she needed him. He believed her about Marcus, had trusted her in turn and worked to rid the department of corrupt officers.
Justine was someone Rebelle had gone to school with and was the town psychologist. Although Marcus had died and effectively released Rebelle from her nightmare, she still had lingering anxieties, dreams and flashbacks that she couldn’t shake. Rebelle had started having sessions with Justine in order to try to get some help to lead a normal life. She had only had two sessions with Justine so far, needing time in between each one to recalibrate, but she could feel a change happening within herself.
“…and this candle, which you can’t afford to keep burning.”
Rebelle had little to no money. She didn’t eat much and walked everywhere to try and save on gas money for the truck. She preferred to use the small income she received from the vets to look after the animals. She had minimal possessions: her two photographs and a few clothes which she had stolen from the laundromat’s lost and found box. She had splurged on the candle, thinking now the nights were drawing in and getting cooler, she should have some lighting.
With a sigh, she blew out the candle and plunged herself into darkness. Alone with her memories she tried to drift off to sleep and as she did, she wondered how the hell she was ever going to survive this life…
*
The next morning, Rebelle got out of bed, rolling up her sleeping bag and tidying it away, stepping behind the curtain that blocked off the storeroom from view.
She dressed in her tattered, borrowed jeans with holes all over and the belt loops torn off. The straps on her tank top had snapped but she managed to tie them together so she could wear it a while longer. The soles on her tennis shoes had torn away and flapped each time she walked but they kept her feet dry which was the main thing. No bra today, she only had one, it was a little on the big side given that it was from someone who was two sizes bigger than her, and she was trying to make it last as long as possible. She wasn’t going into town so didn’t feel like she needed to wear it. At least she had clean panties, that was a miracle in itself and she already knew it would be top of the list in hercount what’s goodsession tonight.
Rebelle fed the animals, the dogs howling away for their food while the cats appeared disinterested, but she knew they were hungry really.Me too buddy, me too.When had she last eaten? She couldn’t remember whether it was breakfast yesterday morning or dinner from two nights ago. She would be fine for another day at least and then she would need to eat.
She was due to start taking some shifts at the local bar, The Rusty Bucket Inn soon and she was looking forward to getting a tiny bit more money coming in so she could eat more and get the dogs some new enrichment toys.
Once they had finished their food, she let the dogs out of the building to run around together, sniff at trees and squirm in the dirt while she cleaned out their kennels. She took a break, feeling lightheaded from lack of food and sleep. She paused for a moment, wiping her hand across her sweaty forehead and then she heard it: gravel flicking up as a car came up the path towards the shelter.
Rebelle’s heart pounded in her chest, her pulse throbbed in her ears. She always panicked whenever people came to the shelter. She had recently been the victim of harassment from some of the officers in town who were loyal to her dead husband.They’d come up here, trying to scare her, and boy, had it worked. Blake had saved her and locked them up, and she hadn’t had any issues since. But that didn’t stop the fear.
The dogs were barking wildly and she stumbled outside, the sun blinding her, and she wrangled the animals inside before they knocked over the visitor. When she finally turned around, she lifted her arm to shield her eyes from the sun, fear pounding through her once again.
It’shim.
The man she had seen at the bar once. He was tall, hugely built, his white dress shirt pulled tight across his wide chest, his arms corded with muscles and his black pants, held up by suspenders, clung to thighs almost thicker than her hips.
Rebelle hated muscles. All they were was evidence that someone had the strength to hurt you.
His shoes looked like they cost more than the building behind her and don’t even get her started on his fancy midlife crisis car, gleaming red in the sunshine. The sun bounced off his hair, strawberry blond and swept to one side, baring his forehead which was creased with faint lines. She could see tattoos crawling up his chest and wrapping around his neck, running down the forearms that were being revealed as he rolled up his shirtsleeves. Expensive-looking sunglasses shielded his eyes but she didn’t want to see them.
She wanted him to leave.
Now.
He was a mountain of a man and she had faced men like him before. He terrified her, her fear rooting her to the spot. That fear didn’t dissipate even when he pulled off his sunglasses, revealing his bright eyes, one green and one blue. Didn’t dissipate when his mouth split wide with a smile, exposing straight, white teeth that practically sparkled in the sun.
In fact, as she took him in her fear only grew, even more so when he opened his mouth and his deep voice, so thick, somale,rumbled from him.
“Well, hello there beautiful, fancy seeing you here.”
Chapter 2
Will Crawford looked around the small cabin he’d been staying in for the last two weeks, taking in the cramped space filled with wooden furniture that contained numerous chips and cracks. The refrigerator that hummed far too loudly and the leaky bathroom faucet that either ran far too hot or far too cold.
Damn, he was gonna miss this place. It wasn’t the Ritz or the Four Seasons or any of the luxury hotels he regularly stayed in, it was far better than that. He was loath to say goodbye but alas, duty called.
“Constantly,” he huffed, glaring at his buzzing phone before silencing the damn thing again. He sighed deeply, running his eyes over the place for one final look, trying to commit the cabin to memory. He scrubbed a hand over his chest where it started to ache at the prospect of leaving.
He had come to Citrus Pines for a friend’s wedding. He hadn’t meant to stay as long as he had, but the second he got to town he couldn’t bear the thought of leaving. The townsfolk welcomed him, eager to pull him into their loving fold. He didn’t usually have a problem getting people to like him: he was a celebrity, a big one too, like Chris Hemsworth or Kardashian-famous. But this felt warmer, more sincere somehow, like they actually cared about him.
But it wasn’t just the people, it was the town itself. The fresh crisp air that carried the scent of lemons on it. The great spruce trees that lined every road and stretched towards the sky like they could reach the sun. The blanket of pine needles that carpeted the ground, cushioning every step. The quaintbuildings in town were like something out of a movie and he was immediately attached.
