“My land.” He stepped closer, and I caught his clean, woodsy scent. “I own this land. The clinic leases a small portion of it, with very specific terms. Terms that don’t include turning it into a three-ring circus.”
My stomach dropped, but I didn’t let it show. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware?—”
“Clearly.” His eyes raked over me, taking in the dog hair on my jacket, the dirt on my jeans, the clipboard covered in scribbled notes. “Who are you?”
“Peyton. I’m the volunteer coordinator.”
“The volunteer coordinator.” He repeated it like the title was somehow beneath him. “So you’re the one directing all these people onto my property without authorization.”
“I’m directing them to help animals in crisis.” I straightened my spine, refusing to be intimidated. “Over a hundred dogs were rescued from a puppy mill this week. They need medical care, shelter, and placement. Dr. Hanson offered her clinic as a staging area. If there’s an issue with the lease, you’ll need to take that up with her.”
“I intend to. But she’s unavailable, as you’ve mentioned.”
His gaze locked onto mine, and I felt the impact of it like a physical thing. Intense. Searching. Angry, yes, but something else underneath. Something that made my pulse kick up in a way that had nothing to do with fear.
We stared at each other for a long moment. The activity continued around us—volunteers calling out, dogs barking, trucks rumbling—but it all faded into background noise. Therewas just him, and me, and the strange electricity crackling in the space between us.
“This operation is in violation of at least four provisions of the lease agreement,” he said finally, his voice lower now. “Traffic limits. Use restrictions. Liability clauses. I’ve spent years building a relationship with the town council, and one unauthorized circus could undo all of it.”
“Then help us do it right.” The words came out before I could stop them. “Instead of shutting us down, help us figure out how to make this work within your terms. These animals don’t have anywhere else to go.”
His eyebrows rose slightly. Surprised, maybe, that I’d pushed back.
“I don’t recall asking for suggestions,” he said.
“You didn’t. But you’re getting one anyway.” I held his gaze, heart pounding. “We’re not trying to cause problems. We’re trying to save lives. If there’s a way to do both, shouldn’t we at least try to find it?”
The silence stretched between us. His jaw worked like he was chewing on words he didn’t want to say.
“I’ll be back tomorrow,” he said finally. “To speak with Dr. Hanson directly. In the meantime, keep the operation contained to the designated lease area. No expansion. No additional vehicles beyond what’s already here.” He paused, his eyes dropping to my mouth for just a fraction of a second before snapping back up. “And get my number from the vet. If anything changes, I want to know about it.”
He turned and walked back to his truck without waiting for a response. I watched him go, my heart still racing, my mind spinning.
The truck door slammed. The engine roared to life. And then he was gone, leaving nothing but dust and the lingering scent of cedar.
“Who was that?” Joel appeared at my elbow, staring after the retreating truck.
“The property owner, apparently.” I let out a breath. “And I think he’s going to be a problem.”
A big one. The kind of problem that showed up in an expensive truck and looked at you like he could see straight through to your soul.
I turned back to the “circus,” as he’d called it, forcing myself to focus. We had dogs to save. That was what mattered.
But I couldn’t shake the feeling that my life would never be the same.
2
WARRICK
Ididn’t sleep.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her. Dirt on her cheek, fire in her eyes, standing in the middle of my property like she had every right to be there. Telling me to help instead of threaten. Looking at me like I was the problem.
MaybeIwas the problem.
By three a.m., I’d given up on rest and started making lists instead. Lease provisions that had been violated. Potential liability issues. Talking points for my conversation with Dr. Hanson. Logical, practical things that had nothing to do with a volunteer coordinator who smelled like dog hair and wildflowers.
By five a.m., I was at the feed store in Hartsville, loading my truck with supplies I had no business buying. By 7:30, I was pulling into the lot, my truck bed packed with fifty-pound bags of dog food, stacks of blankets, and a dozen collapsible crates.