Page 15 of Bluebell Promises

Ben laughed, then turned toward his computer to check the calendar. He didn’t have another appointment for another twenty minutes, which gave him time to post a listing on his website, as well as on the state’s website for missing animals. “We want to make it easy for his owners to find him,” he explained to Wren.

Wren smoothed her hands over his head and cooed, “We’re going to find your parents! Don’t worry.” And then, to Ben, she asked, “But what will happen to him before that?”

Ben considered this. “We have a humane society, of course. I can make a call?”

Wren grimaced. “No. I mean, is it an option for me to take him home until someone calls about him?”

“It is,” Ben affirmed. Again, he remembered how she’d fainted at the Eco-Lodge party and wondered if she was in any health position to take care of another living thing. Then again, sometimes taking care of another living thing gave people the wherewithal to take care of themselves. He knew that firsthand from his marriage—and his career, of course.

“That’s great.” Wren smiled.

Ben took a breath. Was he really going to do this? “You know, I think we know each other?”

“Oh.” Wren’s eyes were steady, but she looked disappointed. “I guess everyone in Bluebell Cove knows each other.”

“No, not like that. I mean, I was gone a long time. I lived in Boston,” Ben hurried to say. He didn’t want her to think he was like everyone else in Bluebell, waiting around here forever, ready to leap on her when she came back. “But my brother is Landon Brooks? Celia’s boyfriend.”

Wren’s smile was generous and gentle and beautiful. “Oh! Of course.” And then she winced. “I guess you saw me at the party the other day? I’d been traveling since early in the morning. Forgot to eat.”

“It happens to me, too,” Ben assured her, although he’d never fainted in his life. He knew it wasn’t normal.

Wren was quiet for a moment, still stroking the dog. “I hope Ivy doesn’t freak out about me bringing a dog home.”

“Should you ask her?”

“Maybe? But we’re having so many problems right now,” Wren said. “I don’t want to give her yet another reason to be annoyed with me.”

“Maybe you can hide him,” Ben suggested.

“Like in an old TV sitcom.” Wren laughed.

“Once, I hid a rabbit in my room for three days,” Ben said. “When my mother found out, she was so angry, but she also fell so in love with the rabbit that she bought him a better cage and good food. When he ran away a few months later, she cried.”

“That’s a great story,” Wren said. “Minus the mother-crying thing, I guess.”

“I like thinking that the rabbit went on to have a very happy life in the woods,” Ben said.

Wren smiled wider.

Ben felt suddenly hesitant. He knew that the Harper sisters had lost their mother a long time ago. Wren had probably been no more than a toddler at the time. Ben had almost no memories of their mother—whose name had now escaped him. Mary? Something that started with M, he was pretty sure. But there had always been rumors about Mrs. Harper, whispers that she was unhappy and maybe even having an affair with someone before she died.

The family was broken, he knew. But most families were cracked around the edges. Even his own. Especially his own.

“Where were you coming from?” Ben asked.

“Hmm? You mean, when I got back to Bluebell?” When Ben nodded, she said, “I flew in from Greece. I’m a travel photographer, so I go wherever the assignments take me. I was hired to take photographs of Bluebell Cove, so here I am.” She reached down for her camera bag, then removed her camera to show off the shots she’d taken that morning and early afternoon. Ben was astounded by her mastery of form, color, and perspective. He wasn’t sure how much to gush about how beautiful it all was. He didn’t want to sound cheesy.

What he said was, “I could never in a million years do what you do.”

Wren laughed and gestured toward the dog between them. “I could never do what you do, either.”

Ben searched the supply closet to find a leash to attach to the Frenchie’s collar, then returned and watched as Wren hooked the little guy up and led him into the waiting room. Ben had the sudden instinct to follow her, to walk them both back home.

“I don’t know what to call him,” she said nervously. “I don’t want to give him the wrong name. What does he look like?”

Ben considered this. “Greg?”

Wren threw her head back. “Greg isn’t a dog’s name, is it?”