Terri Reed - A Sheltering Love

He was at a fork in the road, literally. Which way to turn? How far could he go to outrun the past? Where would he find peace? What had he done to deserve such punishment? How could he leave the blonde so unprotected?

“She’s not my problem!” he shouted.

The words swirled around inside his helmet until they were sucked out by the rushing wind.

“Here you go, little Nick.” Claire set a plastic bowl full of water on the linoleum floor in the kitchen area. “Nick?”

The puppy had been sniffing around the kitchen floor moments ago. Now the little scamp was out of sight. Claire walked into the open area of The Zone. She looked under the Ping-Pong table that the Jordan family had donated, and behind the brown corduroy sofa she’d found at Goodwill. “Nick, here boy. Where are you?”

She wasn’t equipped to care for a puppy. She needed dog food, a collar and a doghouse. Whew, the list was endless and could be expensive. She shrugged. Whatever was needed, she’d find a way to provide. She couldn’t turn the dog out any more than she could a human.

“Ah, there you are.”

The little fluff ball was snuggled up against a bright yellow beanbag chair. Claire scooped him up and he licked her chin. “Thank you for the kiss. I wonder who you belong to. I’d sure be upset if I’d lost such a cutie.” She snuggled her cheek into his soft fur. She’d have to make flyers and post them around town. Surely Nick’s owners would be looking for him.

And if no one claimed him?

She would keep him.

She carried him back to the kitchen and set him down in front of the bowl. His black nose sniffed at the plastic rim and then, apparently deciding it was okay, he lapped at the water.

“Thirsty boy.” Claire smiled at the ball of fur. Tenderness tightened her chest. She’d never had a dog before. She was excited by the prospect, but her internal monitor quickly warned not to expect to keep him. Somewhere out there were the little guy’s owners.

She found a blanket in the closet under the stairs and made a cozy bed on the floor in the kitchen.

“Here you go, Nick,” she said, picking up the puppy and setting him on the blanket. He walked in a circle, sniffing at the material.

A bump sounded from beyond the wall of the kitchen. Nick paused; his ears perked up. Claire walked to the window over the sink and peered out. Nothing on the grassy yard stretching to the woods that edged the property. She twisted her head, craning to see left, then right. Nothing.

“Probably a squirrel,” she muttered to Nick. “You’ll like chasing those when you’re older.” She wagged a finger at the dog. “I don’t think you’ll ever catch one, but if you do, don’t bring it home. Wherever your home ends up being.”

Nick plopped down in the middle of the makeshift dog bed and rested his head on his paws.

“Look at the size of your paws.” She shook her head. “You’re going to be a big one, aren’t you? Just like your namesake.”

The image of the tall, dark man sitting on his gleaming motorcycle made her flush again. He was the stuff dreams were made of. A modern-day knight coming to the rescue. But she didn’t need to be rescued. She could take care of herself.

What was his story? Where would he end up?

There was something compelling about his dark eyes. She’d seen pain and intelligence, rage and mischief there. The way he’d smiled at her when he’d said his name was enough to make any woman’s knees weak. The man was too handsome. But not in a pretty boy way or even a GQ way. The angle of his nose, the jut of his whiskered chin and the planes of his cheeks could have been sculpted by a master’s hand.

She gave a wry laugh. Well, he had been, you dolt. God had done a nice job on Mister Nick. On the outside to be sure, but on the inside…?

A man who stepped in when he saw trouble was a rarity indeed. A man who carried a Bible with him out in the open even rarer. Was he a man after God’s own heart?

She’d never know. He was long gone now, just a wonderful memory of a guy on a bike who’d offered his help and wanted nothing in return. Definitely a rarity.

A man like Nick would be hard to resist. Good thing she wouldn’t face that temptation again.

With a quick glance to make sure the puppy still slept, Claire headed for her office—a small room located in the front of the house. It was an ideal spot to work and still be able to keep an eye on the main area of The Zone.

The bedrooms were all upstairs and she’d taken the largest of the five bedrooms at the far end of the hall. Gwen’s room was at the top of the stairs while the other three rooms were in various degrees of readiness for taking on more teens. Not that Gwen was a teen any longer. She was a college student now with a part-time job—a far cry from the strung-out, skinny orphan Claire and Aunt Denise had first brought home.

Having Gwen come into their lives solidified Claire’s desire to start a shelter. She’d decided to open it here in Pineridge because no such facility existed in the area.

But there would be soon.

Claire sat at her desk and rummaged through files and notes. There was still so much to do before she could officially open. More government hoops to jump through, the community to convince and teens to build trust with.

And a puppy to care for. She compiled a list of needs for Nick. Just in case she was unsuccessful in finding his owners, she wanted to be prepared. Then she went to work on her plans for The Zone.

The clock ticked by another hour.

The hairs on the back of her neck raised and chills raced down her spine. Something wasn’t right.

The loud shrill of three fire alarms pierced the quiet. Heart pounding with dread, she jumped from the chair and raced into the living room. A gray haze hung in the air, stinging her eyes and burning her lungs.

Fire!

“Nick!”

She raced toward the kitchen. Smoke billowed from beneath the crack in the back door and through the open window over the sink, filling the room with frightening quickness. She heard the puppy whimper, but she couldn’t tell from where.

She dropped to her knees like she’d been told to do in elementary school. She crawled across the floor toward the kitchen. The heavy smoke swirled around, making it difficult to see.

The puppy’s blanket was empty. She crawled out of the kitchen. “Nick!” she called again, taking in smoke. She winced as her lungs spasmed. In the laundry room she found the puppy huddled in a corner, its little body shaking.

“Here, boy.” Claire scooped the pup up and cuddled him close.

Claire crawled toward the front of the house while holding Nick in one hand. She breathed in. Coughed. Her lungs burned. She caught her hand on the leg of a chair and went down on her elbow, her knees scraping on the floor. Nick yelped as she tried to catch herself with the hand that held him.

The smoke became dense, more intense. The front door seemed a mile away. Somewhere in the closet under the stairs was a fire extinguisher. She’d get Nick out, come back for the extinguisher and put out the fire.

She crawled forward again, laboring to breathe. Tears streamed down her cheeks. The puppy whimpered.

“It’ll be okay, Nick. Dear Lord, please let us be okay.”

She coughed, her breaths coming in short, shallow gasps. Her stomach rolled. She paused, waiting for the dizziness to pass. It didn’t. She forced herself to continue on despite the effects of the smoke. Her survival instinct pushed her, urged her to keep crawling away from the source of the smoke.

Her wrist gave out, forcing her weight down hard on her elbow, sending pain up her arm. Her head fell forward to smack against the hardwood floor. Spots of light popped in front of her eyes.