LITMIR.BIZ

       Chapter One

      The gray-muzzled, three-legged Lab mix gnawing on a chew toy in his kennel at the Furever Paws Animal Rescue sure reminded Matt Fielding of himself. The dog was big, and so was Matt, at six foot one, with muscles honed by the United States Army. Matt wasn’t missing a leg, but he’d come scarily close, an IED injuring him to the point that he’d been medically retired three months ago, spending that time—until yesterday—in base rehab. He had only a slight limp now, but kneeling down in front of the old dog’s kennel had taken a good fifteen seconds.

      I’d take you home in a heartbeat, Hank, he thought, his gaze on the dog’s chart. The ten-year-old was an “owner surrender.” Among the sadder words, for sure. His heart went out to the old guy stuck in this limbo between homes—like Matt was. But his sister would kill him if he walked through the door of her pristine house with a huge senior dog. And getting on her bad side right now wasn’t a good idea.

      The former army corporal had his order—and it was to find his sister’s eight-year-old daughter, Matt’s adored niece, Ellie, a suitable puppy. Suitable, of course, was a relative term. Old Hank might have spoken to Matt’s soul, but he wasn’t here to find himself a dog. Pets required commitment and a solid home, not a guy who had no idea where he’d be a week or two from now. Thirty-six and his life up in the air. If anyone had told Matt, so focused from the time he joined the army at eighteen, that one day he’d be at a loss for what came next, he wouldn’t have believed it. Until three months ago, he was the US Army. Now, he was a civilian. With a slight limp.

      It’s barely noticeable and is symbolic of your service, so don’t let it get you down, his sister had said yesterday when he’d arrived back in his hometown of Spring Forest, North Carolina, for the first time in five years. Little Ellie had saluted him, and he’d swept her up in a hug. But living in his sister’s guest room, despite his adorable niece telling him knock-knock jokes that made no sense but still made him laugh, wasn’t ideal. He needed to figure out what came next.

      Right now, though, he needed to focus on his mission. One thing at a time, one moment at a time, his doc and the nurses at the rehab had said over and over.

      So, back to suitable pups.

      “Hank is one of my favorites,” a woman said, and Matt almost jumped.

      He knew that voice. He turned to the left and looked up, and standing not ten feet away was Claire Asher.

      Claire.

      From the look on her beautiful face, it was obvious she hadn’t realized it was him. For a moment he couldn’t find his voice. All he could do was take in the sight of her, his chest tight and his throat closed. He’d spent so many nights over the past eighteen years thinking about her, wondering how she was, where she was, if she was happy, his memories getting him through some iffy times. And now she stood almost within reach, pale brown eyes wide, mouth dropped open.

      She had a leash in her hand and a big cinnamon-colored dog in a purple polka-dotted harness beside her. A boxer, maybe? Matt wondered, finding it easier to focus on the dog than the woman—who was staring at him with the same shock that had to be on his face.

      “Matt?” she said, wonder in her voice.

      The dog next to her tilted her head, his dark-brown ears flopping to the right.

      He nodded and stood up, which took the same fifteen seconds getting down had. “I’m here to find a dog for my niece.” Going through his mind was, You look amazing. How are you? I’ve thought about you constantly. What are you doing here? I’ve missed you. Thank God none of that had come rushing out of his mouth.

      “Ellie,” she said, surprising him. “I’ve run into your sister a few times over the years.”

      He nodded, his gaze going to her left hand. No ring. Hadn’t he heard she’d gotten married a while back?

      “You look great, Claire.” She really did. Tall and as slender as she’d been back in high school, she was the Claire Asher he remembered—would never forget. Her silky, wavy, light blond hair was shoulder-length instead of halfway down her back, and the faintest of crinkles at the corners of those green eyes spoke of the passage of years. The last time he’d seen Claire she was seventeen. Now, she was thirty-five.

      “Are you on leave?” she asked.

      He shook his head. “I’m a civilian now. Just got back in town yesterday. I’m staying with my sister for a bit. In fact, my sister is why I’m here. She and her husband promised Ellie a puppy for her birthday next month, so I told Laura I’d scout it out. I heard great things about Furever Paws just from asking about pet shelters at the coffee shop.”

      Claire beamed. “It’s a very special place. I volunteer here.” She gave the dog beside her a pat. “This is Dempsey. I’m fostering her until she finds a forever home.”

      “A furever home,” he said, pointing at the rectangular wooden sign on the wall with the message in silver script: Where furbabies find their furever homes.

      She smiled—that beautiful Claire Asher smile that used to drive him wild.

      “If only you’d come in yesterday or this morning,” she said. “Every Saturday and Sunday we hold adoption events here at the shelter. Four puppies found forever—furever—homes, plus five adult dogs and five cats.”

      “So these dogs in the kennels weren’t chosen?” he asked, eyeing Hank, who was still chewing on his toy bone.

      “Not this weekend. But we get a crowd every Saturday and Sunday, and sometimes it takes a while to find an ideal match. That’s the most important part of the process—that the match be just right, for the pet and the adoptive family.”

      He nodded. “Is there a match for an eight-year-old girl whose requirements are ‘super cute, snuggly and won’t destroy a prized stuffed animal collection’?”

      Claire laughed. “Follow me. I think I know just the pup.” She led him down the row of kennels to the end. A puppy was spinning circles in the kennel, chasing her tail and letting out loud yips.

      “My ears,” Matt said with a smile. The puppy sure ticked off the “adorable” requirement. A springer spaniel mix, according to the chart, five months old, she was chestnut-brown and white with long, ruffled, floppy ears. Ellie would go nuts over her.

      “Yeah, that’s why she’s still here. She yipped for twenty minutes straight at both adoption events. Including every time someone came near her kennel. She’s only been here a few days, though. Another volunteer and I have been working with her a bit. She just needs some training. She’s very sweet.”

      And loud, Matt thought. And...active. “Does she ever actually catch her tail and stop spinning?”

      Claire laughed again. “Yes. Peanut butter treats get her to do anything.”

      “Would she be right for Ellie?” he asked. “My sister likes calm and orderly. I think she wants an old dog in a puppy’s body.”

      “Well, it’s important to match temperaments, and puppies can be trained, but puppies are puppies—little kids. They make noise, they’re super active, they eat shoes.”

      “Ellie

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