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Sighing softly so Dylan wouldn’t ask her what was bothering her, she followed him to the pet store and he pulled open the door. They entered, enjoying the cool breeze from the store’s air conditioning.
“Ah, the Wendons,” Pete said as he looked up from the binder he had open at the register. “How are Canville’s wolf people?”
“Stuffed,” Brandy said.
“Eat breakfast at Rosie’s?” Pete nodded toward the diner across the street.
“Eat isn’t the right word,” Brandy said. “More like feast.”
“Like wild animals,” Dylan added with a giggle.
“Hanging around with those wolves too much.” Pete, a big bear of a man, came around the counter and pretended to spar with Dylan for a few minutes before giving Brandy a hug.
She always felt tiny next to Pete, which was an unexpected feeling. At five feet eight inches, Brandy didn’t feel tiny often.
“How are you, Pete?” She stepped back to look up at his round, bearded face.
“Great. Business is always good in the summer with locals and more tourists hanging around.” Pete gestured to the customers milling about the store. “Are you doing any tourist events at Silver Moon?”
“The July Full Moon Wolf Walk at the end of the month and then the Growls and Grub Picnic at the sanctuary in August.” Both events had brought in tons of cash for the sanctuary in the past and had become annual summer events in Canville for locals and tourists alike. They were simple enough to orchestrate and Brandy always managed to nab a few dedicated donors who would support Silver Moon throughout the year. She received federal funding through her continued research efforts and liaison with the university, but these events allowed her to do the little extras that made the sanctuary the success it was.
“You put me and Pearl down for both and you know Pearl will be happy to help out foodwise.”
Brandy put her hand on Pete’s forearm. “You two have VIP reservations. Always.”
“Excellent.” Pete turned to look for Dylan who had wandered deeper into the store. “What are you two shopping for today?”
“We have a new wolf at the sanctuary and Dylan wants to get him a surprise.” Brandy lowered her voice. “With his own allowance money.”
“Aww. He’s a great kid, Brandy. You’ve done a right good job with him. Done your sister proud.” He squeezed her shoulder.
“Thanks, Pete.” Her throat tightened. She often imagined Diane looking down at her and wondered if she approved of Brandy’s parenting. It was nice to hear someone say she was doing it right.
“Excuse me, sir?” a small voice asked.
“Duty calls.”
Pete tended to the customer as Brandy found Dylan by the more rugged dog toys. A tall, broad-shouldered man was in the aisle as well. His hands were stuffed into the front pockets of his blue jeans, and a hunter green T-shirt stretched across a fit chest.
Very fit.
Brandy shook her head and focused on her son. “Find anything worthy of the regal Alator?” She could have sworn the man took a step closer.
Dylan had a thick, orange tire-like toy in one hand and a long, skinny tennis ball launcher in the other. “It’s between these two.” He held the items up to her. “The tire looks like it can stand up to his teeth and would be fun to roll around the field, but the tennis ball launcher would mean lots of running. Alator loves running.”
“Both good choices.” She could easily picture the wolf playing with either one if only to please the kid.
Dylan chewed on his lower lip and Brandy waited. She never rushed him when he was problem solving. He needed chances to work through decisions himself.
“I think I’ll go with the tire because it’s different. I can always throw a tennis ball like I already do. The tire might make him curious.”
“Stimulate his brain. Nice reasoning. Very scientific.”
Dylan beamed from ear to ear. He loved hearing that he thought like a scientist. “Okay. Let’s pay and get home to the big, bad wolf.”
Brandy accompanied him to the register where she added a few rope toys to their purchases, paid, and left after bidding Pete good-bye. As they walked past the diner and toward their SUV parked at the end of Main Street, Brandy caught sight of the tall man again. He must have exited Pete’s at the same time they had, but she hadn’t seen him in line behind them.
He leaned against one of the rustic lampposts, his muscled arms folded across his chest. A short, black beard lined his jaw and thick black hair sat a little wildly atop his head. His face was turned down toward the street so she couldn’t see his eyes, but the head-to-toe picture was pretty damn beautiful.
