Sanctuary Cove

CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ONE (#u276d3288-08b9-5d3c-9d86-5b07a3deeb7c)

RAIN BATTERED THE sidewalk as Emma paused under the canopy by the entrance to the post office. She pulled the hood of her windbreaker low over her forehead and made a quick dash to the parking lot. Even so, she was drenched by the time she climbed into her SUV.

Poetic justice, she thought, that the sky had burst open while she’d been inside, arranging to send the signed agreement of purchase and sale back to Richard. That last tenuous link to her former fiancé was now irrevocably severed. As of the end of the month, the house she and Richard had planned to live in after they got married would belong to someone else.

Emma had picked up the envelope containing the documents just a couple of hours earlier, while weak rays of sunshine were still fighting their way through the thickening clouds. Richard had sent only the agreement—no note, no transmittal letter. What had she expected? “So sorry it didn’t work out? It was fun while it lasted?”

There was no personal connection whatsoever.

Perhaps it was better, more honest that way.

Emma shoved back her hood, splattering water everywhere, including on her copy of the agreement, which she’d left on the middle console.

“Great. Just great.”

She wiped off the moisture before tossing the document on the passenger seat. In a gesture she knew Richard would’ve said was indicative of her inability to control her temper, she tugged the elastic band from her ponytail and pushed her sopping hair back from her face. When she started the engine, the sudden blast of cold air against her damp skin had her fumbling to shut off the air-conditioning.

What a difference a few hours and some miserable rain made.

Her wipers swished wildly as she pulled out of the parking lot. By the time she turned off the highway onto Otter Creek Road, her headlights were useless through the dense sheets of rain and swirling fog. The plump drops of water caught and tossed the light back at her.

Out of deference to the dismal weather, she kept her speed to a crawl as she wound her way along the gravel road toward her cottage.

With the next swipe of the wipers, a flash of color caught her attention.

She’d just convinced herself that her eyes had been playing tricks on her when she saw it again.

“Oh, my God,” she whispered, as she eased her SUV to the shoulder behind the gray-and-red form sprawled at the side of the road.

Yanking the hood of her windbreaker back over her head, Emma hopped out of the vehicle and rushed toward the animal. A low growl had her slowing her approach.

She couldn’t be sure if the animal was a dog or a wolf, but she knew he needed medical attention for the deep gash in his hind leg and by the odd angle at which that leg protruded from his body.

“Shhh. It’s okay. I’m here to help. I won’t hurt you,” she murmured.

The animal pawed the ground with a front leg and twisted his head toward her. Keeping her distance, Emma stepped forward in an arc and eased into his field of vision.

She knew she couldn’t move him, not only because of his size, but also for fear of aggravating his wounds. With the persistent growl, weak as it was, she wasn’t certain he’d let her get that close.

But she had to do something to help him.

She reversed, slowly at first to avoid startling him, then ran back to her SUV. Grabbing her cell phone, she searched for the contact information for the local veterinarian she’d saved in case she needed it for her Alaskan malamute, Max. She found the after-hours emergency number and pushed Send.

Heedless of the rain, she paced impatiently beside her vehicle as the phone rang and rang. “Come on, come on. Pick up your phone.”

On the sixth ring, her persistence paid off. A deep male voice answered.

“Is this Doctor...” She had the number programmed under veterinarian and couldn’t remember his name. It didn’t really matter. “Are you the veterinarian?”

“Yeah. Doctor Whitmore,” he responded. “Joshua Whitmore. What can I do for you?”

“My name’s Emma Meadows. There’s been an accident. A dog—or possibly a wolf. He’s been hit. He’s bleeding and his leg’s broken. But he’s alive and he’s in a lot of pain.” She knew she was babbling, but she couldn’t help it. Animals were her soft spot. She walked back toward the dog as she spoke, and with a sinking heart noted that the feeble growl had been replaced by whimpers and shallow breathing.

“Where are you?” The veterinarian’s voice had an edge to it.

“Otter Creek Road. Just south of the highway.”

“I’m on my way. I should be there in ten to fifteen minutes. Stay with him. Try to keep him calm but do not, do not,” he repeated, “touch him or get too close to him. Injured animals can be unpredictable.”

* * *

JOSH DISCONNECTED BEFORE the woman had a chance to respond. He hoped she would heed his caution. If she was negligent enough to hit an animal, she might be foolish enough to put herself at risk, too, he thought unkindly.

Having been in the shower when she’d called, Josh ran a hand through his wet hair.

It wasn’t often he was in a bad mood, but after the long and grueling day he’d just had, topped off by Crystal playing more of her catty little games, all he’d wanted was a hot shower and a cold beer.

It didn’t look like he was going to be getting that beer anytime soon.

He silently cursed the woman for more than likely driving carelessly in the rotten weather and causing a helpless animal to suffer the consequences. Josh tossed the phone on the bed and dropped the damp towel that had been wrapped around his waist on the bathroom floor. He tugged on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, pulled on a rain slicker and jammed a New York Yankees baseball cap on his head.

Hurrying downstairs, he paused to ruffle the fur of the yellow Labrador retriever stretched out on the rug in the kitchen. “I’ll be back as soon as I can, Winston,” he said to the dog. “Hold down the fort, will you, pal?” he added as he grabbed his keys off the hook at the back door and rushed out into the dreary night.