Page 31 of Wrecked for Love
“Well, you can start whenever you want,” he said, his tone surprisingly softer.
“Really?” I asked, not quite believing my ears.
“That’s the closest anyone’s gotten to Oscar,” he admitted.
“Thanks, Mr. Gunn. I won’t let you down. So…about that week of free rein?”
I half-expected him to tell me I was pushing my luck, but he nodded, perhaps trying too hard to let his grumpy expression linger.
By the endof that free-rein week—after wrestling with Mr. Gunn and constantly reminding him that I had his permission—I finally pulled it off. We set up Buffaloberry Hill’s first-ever “Adopt A Friend” day at the town’s park. It wasn’t easy getting him to agree to everything, but once it was in motion, even Mr. Gunn couldn’t grumble too much. And best of all, he didn’t have to spend a penny. I covered all the expenses.
He rolled his eyes when I started grooming the dogs, muttering something about “fancy city treatment.” The dogs fell into two camps: the rebels who wanted nothing to do with being pampered and those who embraced it, prancing around like they were unleashing their inner Tinkerbell from Paris Hilton’s purse. By the time I was done, every single one looked like they were ready for a portrait. I was confident that most of them would go home with new families by the end of the day.
All the dogs and cats were lined up and ready for rehoming except for Oscar. Mr. Gunn was still hesitant, worried the Boxer was too aggressive for a new owner just yet. But I convinced him to bring Oscar along, secured safely in a cage, just for exposure. We both agreed it could help him get used to more people, so long as we kept a close watch. At the first sign of distress, we’d take him back to the shelter.
With the sun offering an unseasonably warm day, curious families filled the park. The park was the heart of town, home tofairs, concerts, and holiday parades. Towering ponderosa pines and quaking aspens lined the walkways as the Buffaloberry River meandered alongside.
At the center, the white gazebo still bore the remnants of last week’s Duck Derby & Fishing Rodeo—a stray rubber duck lodged in the rafters, a battered “Biggest Catch” banner hanging crookedly, and a faint chalk scoreboard still ghosting the wood where kids had tallied their fish.
I had high hopes that today would be a turning point—not just for the animals but for Mr. Gunn too.
“He seems okay,” Mr. Gunn said, nodding toward Oscar.
“Maybe he’s closer to being ready for adoption than we thought,” I replied, glancing at Oscar. He lay calmly at the back of his cage, his usual tension replaced by a quiet contentment.
A sudden influx of visitors swarmed me, most of them eyeing the succulent pot pies courtesy of Mama Berry from the town’s harvest shop. She’d baked them for free so the shelter could keep every cent of the proceeds.
I turned back just in time to see a boy approach Oscar’s cage. My instinct was to step in, but something stopped me. The boy reached out his hand just outside the bars, and to my surprise, Oscar didn’t growl or retreat. Instead, the Boxer crawled slowly to the front of the cage, his body language soft and curious—no sign of aggression at all.
“He likes you,” I said, more to myself than the boy.
But just as quickly as the moment happened, he bolted.
“Hey, wait!” I called.
But he kept running across the park, and then he snatched up his bike from where it was lying in the grass and pedaled away. I’d seen him before, back at The Willow the first time I was there.
“Do you know who that boy is?” I asked Mr. Gunn, watching the space where the boy had just been.
“Which boy?” Mr. Gunn was distracted, not having noticed the brief encounter.
“Never mind. He’s gone,” I said.
A familiar voice called out from behind me among the cheers and barks around the park. “Claire!”
I spun around and recognized Logan Pierce instantly. I’d invited him to the event, but nothing could have prepared me for the person who stood behind him. My heart stalled, and my brain went into a full-on hamster-wheel sprint. There he was—the man I’d rehearsed a hundred scenarios for. Now, there were no walls to hide behind. I knew I’d run into him someday, but not today. Definitely not today.
“Claire, you’ve really outdone yourself here,” Logan remarked, completely unaware of the category five meltdown brewing behind my face.
“Thanks. We’ve got three dogs and two cats adopted out so far.”
“Great! Love the T-shirt, by the way.”
I glanced down at its design: a cartoon dog with floppy ears chasing a mischievous kitten tangled in yarn. “It’s from Annette,” I said. The so-called birthday gift she’d planned turned out to be a T-shirt with Rosie the Riveter on it. Then, knowing about the fundraiser, she decided to give me both. She even joked that I should save Rosie for the town’s next “Strong Women Competition,” as if I might take home the trophy.
“It suits you,” Logan added.
I gave a slight shrug, subtly glancing past him to the brown-eyed cowboy staying put behind him. “Take a look around. You never know who might steal your heart.” I extended my arm toward where the animals were.
