Once Upon a Rescue Read online

  Once Upon A Rescue

  A Wishful Meet Cute Romance

  Kait Nolan

  Copyright © 2018 by Kait Nolan

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  A Letter to Readers

  Once Upon A Rescue

  Sneak Peek A Lot Like Christmas

  Other Books By Kait Nolan

  About Kait

  A Letter to Readers

  Dear Reader,

  This book is set in the Deep South. As such, it contains a great deal of colorful, colloquial, and occasionally grammatically incorrect language. This is a deliberate choice on my part as an author to most accurately represent the region where I have lived my entire life. While this particular book contains little swearing and no pre-marital sex between the lead couple, most of my work does, as those things are part of the realistic lives of characters of this generation, and of many of my readers.

  If any of these things are not your cup of tea, please consider that you may not be the right audience for this book. There are scores of other books out there that are written with you in mind. In fact, I’ve got a list of some of my favorite authors who write on the sweeter side on my website at https://kaitnolan.com/on-the-sweeter-side/

  If you choose to stick with me, I hope you enjoy!

  Happy reading!

  Kait

  Once Upon A Rescue

  “I heard we could get up to three inches!”

  “I know! I had Rick go pick up the kids from school, since they closed at eleven. I don’t know why they didn’t just call things off this morning and save everybody the trouble of a midday pickup.”

  Brooke Redding listened to the exchange in the middle of the aisle of McSweeney’s Market and tried not to roll her eyes as she waited for the two women to recognize someone was trying to get by. Neither of them looked her way, apparently not realizing other people had things to do in the face of the oncoming winter storm.

  “Well you know the superintendent caught all that flack for using up those snow days last year when the predictions came to nothing. They had to add days to the school calendar to make up all those standardized tests.”

  All around them, patrons hustled at an uncharacteristic speed, trying to beat their neighbors to the last of the toilet paper, bread, and milk in the store. Shelves were decimated, and lines snaked back from the checkouts like Black Friday at a Walmart. Everybody else was too busy stocking up on supplies to talk, as if Wishful were about to face the zombie apocalypse instead of a prospective few inches of snow.

  Southerners were not known for calm in the face of anything resembling true winter weather. They simply didn’t get snow in Mississippi. Snow days were a rarity and more often got used for ice storms. The first time Brooke had ever used the sled her grandparents bought on her seventh birthday was when she’d been sixteen. She and some friends had taken it down the big hill behind the fire station, when the road had been coated in a sheet of ice and the trees had clinked together like blown glass sculptures. Turned out sledding wasn’t near as much fun on ice as it had been in the snow on her grandparents’ farm in West Virginia. She’d ended up with a broken wrist for her troubles.

  As she didn’t want a repeat performance when the roads froze later today, Brooke cleared her throat and tried for a polite smile. “Ladies, could I get by you, please?”

  “Oh! Sorry.” The one with the kids shot her a look of apology before beginning to push her buggy again…at the pace of an arthritic tortoise. “—Chloe started third grade this year, and I just can’t believe how much homework they’re sending home! And how are we expected to be able to teach our kids the stuff they clearly aren’t getting to during the school day when they’ve gone and changed to some off-the-wall, non-standard form of math? What the heck is wrong with normal long-division, I’d like to know?”

  Brooke’s patience snapped. “Ma’am, this is neither the time or place to discuss theories of pedagogy. There is a winter storm bearing down on this town, and approximately ninety-nine point nine percent of the population has no idea how to drive under such conditions. Some of us would like to get home and off the roads before people start sliding.”

  As Chloe’s mother stared in open-mouthed shock, her companion finally moved her buggy back and aside enough that Brooke could get by.

  “Thank you.” Brooke slid through, reaching across Chloe’s mom’s buggy for the packet of chili seasoning she needed before heading for the nearest checkout.

  She wanted home and fuzzy slippers and the world’s biggest vat of three meat chili. But she wasn’t about to get it. As soon as she got out of here, she’d be headed straight for the shelter to see how Shelli Goff, her part-time assistant, was getting on with the evacuation. It wasn’t the impending snow that had Brooke worried. It was the coinciding dip in temperatures. Forecasts were predicting lows in the upper teens for the next couple of days. Absolutely unheard of for Mississippi. The open-air kennels that made up the majority of the Wishful Animal Rescue were fine three hundred sixty days a year. But every once in a while, they had freakishly cold weather and no amount of tarps and heaters could keep the animals warm enough. That meant finding temporary foster homes for all of them until temperatures rose. If luck held, some of those temporary fosters would turn permanent placements when the hosts fell in love with their charges.

  As she waited for the line to move forward, Brooke sent a text to Shelli. How goes the search for fosters?

  Two more people had been checked out before the answer came back.

  Shelli: Not great. Nobody wants to get out in the mess.

  Brooke: It’s already started?

  Shelli: Haven’t you looked outside?

  Brooke: I’m still stuck in line at McSweeney’s.

  Craning her head, she tried to see past the crowd to the front windows overlooking the parking lot. Even from here, she could see the spitting sleet.

  Shit.

  It took another fifteen minutes to get through the line. As soon as she stepped outside, she flinched at the bite of ice hitting her skin. Of course they’d start with sleet instead of snow. God forbid they get the fun stuff that merited an excuse to play, then come in and eat good, hearty stews and cuddle—or other things—with a naked companion. Not that she had a companion for such activities. She’d been on a man diet for longer than she cared to admit. Didn’t matter. She had way more important things to worry about than her total lack of love life. She needed a miracle to save all her animals.

  Hunching into her coat, she trudged through the parking lot and headed across the street. Knowing McSweeney’s would be a madhouse, she’d parked a couple blocks away in the nearly deserted downtown. The sleet got heavier as she walked, mixing with the first signs of actual snow. It stung her cheeks, clinging to her knit hat. Her hands ached with cold, and she wished she’d remembered to shove her gloves into her coat pocket this morning. Brooke was wet and half frozen by the time her little compact car came into view. Ice was already beginning to accumulate on the town green. She hustled across it, as fast as she dared, skirting by the fountain that was the town’s namesake. And then she paused and went back a few paces.

  This was Wishful. The town where hope sprang eternal. It was in all the brochures and on all the banners marching down Main Street. Brooke didn’t know if she believed all the hype that wishes made in the fountain—fed from nearby Hope Springs—would come true. But she figured she could use all the help she could get to keep her animals safe and in good health.

&nb
sp; Shifting all the bags to one hand, she grabbed one of the coins she’d received as change at the market and fisted it in her freezing hand.

  Please send me a miracle to save all the animals at the rescue.

  It dropped with a musical plink into the basin.

  Then, as if she’d angered the gods, the sleet seemed to double.

  Great.

  Shrugging off the idea of divine intervention, Brooke headed to her car and prepared herself for a long night of hard work.

  “It’s gonna be a Mississippi blizzard.” Chester Harkin made this pronouncement with all the accumulated wisdom of his eighty-odd years.

  From his position behind the register, Hayden Garrow scanned the crowded aisles of the Wishful Feed and Farm Supply. “Everybody else certainly seems to think so. We just sold out of the last of our generators, and I think we’re down to two space heaters.” That didn’t even touch on the run they’d had on kerosene and propane since that morning. He was grateful he’d bought up one of the generators first thing and stowed it in his truck, along with a couple tanks of propane. He didn’t really expect things to get that bad out at the farm, but if it did, he’d be ready.

  At the other register, his boss, Abe Costello, just shook his grizzled head. “Everybody’s running around, actin’ a fool. They’re either convinced it’s gonna be the apocalypse or driving as if there’s nothing at all different from a normal day.”

  “Well, is anything actually gonna happen?” Hayden asked.

  “We’re due up for a good snow or ice storm,” Chester insisted. “It’s been…what? Ten, twelve years since the last one? We usually get about one decent one a decade.”

  “Do you really think this one’s gonna turn into something?” Hayden asked. “I mean, how many times over the past five years have they called for snow and we didn’t get more than flurries?”

  The door opened at the tail end of this, and Corbett Raines, the rookie officer of the Wishful Police Department, stepped inside. “It’s definitely more than flurries. The weather’s getting filthy. The rain’s already turned to sleet, mixed with snow. Temps are dropping and the roads are starting to freeze. I’ve dealt with three accidents since this morning, from people driving like idiots.”

  “See?” Abe said. “Actin’ a fool. They don’t know how to drive in this kind of weather and don’t have the good sense not to try.”

  Brody Jensen, a local contractor, set his purchases on the counter. “There was a guy on a job I worked a few years ago who gave the best advice I ever heard for people who have no experience driving on snow and ice. He said to imagine your grandmama sitting in the backseat, wearing a new Sunday dress, with a crockpot full of gravy on her lap, a tray full of fresh biscuits on the seat, and open jars of sweet tea on the floorboard. Everything has to get to church unscathed.”

  Hayden laughed and began ringing him up.

  Chester considered. “You know, that’s not half bad advice, actually.”

  “I still say people need to get on home and stay there,” Abe insisted.

  “From your mouth to God’s ear,” Corbett said. “Chief’s got all hands on deck while the worst of this rolls through.”

  “I expect they’ll have all first responders on call.” A volunteer fire fighter himself, Hayden was ready and waiting in case he got called out. At just under six thousand people, Wishful didn’t have a full-time fire department—something they were hoping to change in the coming year.

  Chester readjusted his stance, leaning against the counter. “Can’t say I’m sorry not to be worrying over animals this go round. There’s a lot I miss about having the farm, but stressing out over circumstances like this isn’t part of it.”

  Abe shifted his attention to Hayden. “Speaking of animals, if you’re gonna take that dog food delivery to the shelter, you’d best do it, or it might be a few days before the roads are clear enough to get there. This cold’s coming in and sticking.” He jerked his head toward the stock room in back.

  “You sure you’ve got things covered here?” Hayden asked.

  “The crazy’s slowing down. And either way, we’ll be out of cold-weather supplies in an hour, if not before.”

  “All right then. In that case, I’ll load up and clock out.”

  “Take some care, will you? I noticed there were more damaged bags in this shipment than usual.” Abe shot him a bland look, and Hayden realized he knew.

  The farm supply had a standing arrangement with the Wishful Animal Rescue. Rather than taping up and selling off torn open bags of dog and cat food, they donated them. As the number of animals at the shelter had been higher than usual lately and donations from the rest of town had been down, Hayden had been rather rougher than necessary when handling the latest shipment to make sure there was sufficient food to go around.

  Feigning innocence, Hayden shrugged. “Oops.”

  Abe just rolled his eyes. “I’m sure Brooke will appreciate your sacrifice.”

  Okay, yeah. It wasn’t just about the animals, but about their stalwart champion with the pretty green eyes. Brooke Redding was passionate, big-hearted, and completely oblivious to Hayden’s interest, same as she’d been back in junior high school. He wasn’t even sure she realized they’d gone to junior high together. He’d been bone skinny and short back then, and his family had moved away before he got up the nerve to really talk to her. Well, he might be taller and broader these days, but some things hadn’t really changed.

  Saluting his boss, Hayden headed into the stock room and slipped into his winter gear, such as it was. The thermal vest and scarf didn’t do much to slow down the wind and sleet slapping him in the face as soon as he opened the back door. Damn. It really was worse than he’d realized. He made quick work of backing the truck into the loading dock, then piling the bags of food into the bed, alongside the generator and propane he’d grabbed that morning. Covering the lot of it with a tarp and securing it as best he could, he climbed into the driver’s seat and headed out into the storm.

  “Avery, I need you.” Brooke looked down at the list of animals she still needed to place for the next few days and rubbed at the ache starting in her temples.

  “For what?” Avery Cahill’s tone was full of wariness.

  “I think you know what.”

  “Brooke, I really ca—”

  “Before you say no, let me remind you it’s just temporary. Until the weather warms back up. I’ve even got the smallest dogs picked out for you.”

  “It’s not a matter of size.”

  “Then I can give you the laziest. You could keep Mulligan. He’s practically a cushion with legs.”

  “That overweight basset hound? Good God. He’s a fart factory.”

  He was, but that was beside the point.

  “Avery, I need you to take a dog or two or I’ll be forced to take drastic measures.”

  The line went silent with tension. “You’re calling in your favor for the Everclear incident.”

  “Yes. Yes I am.”

  “Is this really worth calling in that chip?”

  “Two days of puking,” Brooke reminded her.

  Avery swore. “Fine. Do you have any border collies or Aussie shepherds at the moment?”

  “I’ve got a pair of border collie-lab mixes. But they’re still puppies. More than you probably want to deal with.”

  “You know and I know that whoever I bring home, we’re going to end up keeping.”

  Yeah, Brooke was banking on that.

  “Dillon wants dogs. He just hasn’t let himself admit it yet. He’s got some timeline in mind. God knows why.”

  “If he gets mad, blame Mother Nature and pull out the saving a life card.”

  “I take these puppies, we’re even.”

  “More than,” Brooke agreed. “I’ll even send you home with kibble.”

  On a defeated sigh, Avery said, “I’m on my way.”

  Brooke put a check next to the names of the puppies. “I love you.”

  “Yeah, yea
h.”

  “Be careful. The weather’s horrific.”

  “See you in a bit.”

  Her next half dozen calls didn’t go as well. While she did manage to convince her friend Cecily Campbell that her husband Reed really did need a bookstore cat at Inglenook Books, Cecily couldn’t actually get to the shelter to pick one up. The answer was the same for everyone else she called. With more than twenty animals left, nobody was willing to brave the roads to come get them. The ache had turned to a full on pounding.

  Across the room at the other battered desk, Shelli looked just as dejected. “Any more luck?”

  “Just one. Short of going through the phonebook one-by-one, I think we’ve called in every favor we were owed and we’re out.”

  The exterior door was yanked open, letting in a gust of frigid wind and a tall form with two fifty-pound bags of dog food balanced on broad shoulders. “Special delivery.”

  “Hayden. I can’t believe you got out in this slop.” Brooke rose from her desk and tried not to notice the ease with which he shrugged the heavy bags to the ground.

  “With the weather turning, it was now or way late, and I didn’t think you had enough food to cover everybody until then.”

  “You would be correct. Thank you. How bad is it?”

  “Bad. The weather station’s already recommending people get off the road and stay that way.”

  As director—dubious distinction that it was—this was her call to make. Brooke turned to Shelli. “Okay, you’re done. Get home while you still can.”

  “But what about you? What about the rest of the animals?”

  “I’ll figure something out. We’re not gonna both get stuck here. Go on. Scoot.”

  Shelli didn’t need to be told twice. She grabbed up her purse. “I’m sorry I can’t take any of the dogs. My landlord said after last time, if he caught me with another animal in my apartment, he’s going to evict me.”