No Gentle Giant (A Small Town Romance)

“Seriously, though, we do need to think of somewhere safer to put it than a wood pile at the inn,” she says.

No argument there.

“That’s been on my mind for a while,” I mutter. “My house isn’t exactly bank-grade secure.”

“Wait, I have an idea.”

Oh, no.

Okay, just hear her out.

Then tell her no way in no uncertain terms, no matter what it is.

Because I have a feeling this idea of hers is just going to get Ember tangled in deeper. And when she opens her mouth a second later, I’m proven right.

“We can keep it at The Menagerie,” she says cheerfully.

“Are you insane?” I stare at her.

“Only a little,” she retorts.

“Your clinic?”

“It makes sense.” She rushes out quickly—and she’s doing that finger thing again, counting off her points. “One, no one will think to look in a veterinary office. Two, are you forgetting my husband’s ex-military? No one’s going to try to sneak around him. He’s got eyes like a hawk. Three, I know you’re fussing so it’s a way to keep it away from the kids and my house. And four...” Her eyes nearly sparkle with mischief. “Once again, are you forgetting my husband is ex-military, highly tactical, and had a high-security vault installed during the rebuild—one that nobody can access without our keycard?”

I don’t say anything.

She looks at me like she just won a poker game with a royal flush.

And she kinda did, because I can’t think of any counterpoint without telling her the truth about everything going on—and if I do that, she’ll just insist on getting more involved, endangering her whole family. Especially if I tell her my mother—her aunt—is on the line.

Damn it.

Groaning, I close my eyes and thud my head back against the seat. “You don’t have to look so smug about it.”

“I’m not smug. I’m happy. You’re always trying to do things by yourself, even while you stick your neck out for everybody else.” She sighs. “I just want to be able to return the favor for once, that’s all.”

“You can help by keeping an eye on the gas station.”

“I’m watching. It’s not sprouting legs and going anywhere, Fel.”

“I don’t know how I’m related to such a smart-ass,” I hiss.

She bumps me with her elbow. “Yes, you do, because you’re one, too.” Then she sucks in a breath, perking up and leaning forward. “Hey, look!”

I look.

Just as the lights over the pumps shut off, followed by the glow spilling out the front windows of the gas station.

They’re closing up.

Which means as soon as the night clerk is gone, I can go raid that trash can.

Except as usual, I’m not going to get quite that lucky.

Because the clerk—in the garish orange and green uniform of the station—makes a beeline right for the can, knocks the lid up with one elbow, hauls out the bag, and drags it off.

The whole time he’s looking at it with an expression of dismay, his entire body listing to one side with the extra weight, and although I’m too far away to hear, I can still imagine the little oof he makes when his lips puff out.

“Crap,” Ember sputters, craning forward to peer out the window as he disappears around the corner. “Where’s he taking it?”

“Dumpster’s on the other side of the building,” I tell her. “Let’s wait.”

We both shift restlessly, listening to the distant clang of the dumpster lid falling, and then the sound of a car door opening and closing. The growl of an engine. Finally, headlights sweep across the lot, and a beat-up old Tercel pulls out.

All clear.

“Go!” I cry, already bolting for the driver’s side door.

We go scrambling out like our butts are on fire, darting across the front of the gas station and whipping around to the other side.

No security cameras that I can see.

Pretty sure this place was last updated in the eighties. I still keep my head down and pull the collar of my shirt up like that can hide me as I scurry after Ember into the alleyway and dart for the dumpster.

It’s kind of like an adventure.

A very smelly, very gross adventure.

I’m as delicate as I can be, flipping the dumpster’s lid up and reaching inside.

Only to go scrambling back with a shriek.

A pair of glowing yellow eyes lunge at me, and something makes a noise like a drunk snake.

“Whoa, calm down!” Ember just barely catches me as I stumble, grabbing my shoulders and pushing me upright. “It’s just a raccoon.”

She’s right.

A fat, ornery raccoon huddles there like the king of trash hill, glaring at me for interrupting his seven-course dinner. I exhale sharply, struggling to settle my pulse, and scowl at the critter, flicking my hands at it.

“Shoo,” I growl. “Go on, get!”

The raccoon snarls at me again before letting out a disgruntled chittering sound and darting off, bounding over the crinkling trash bags and the side of the dumpster.