Читать книгу Shelter of Hope - Margaret Daley - Страница 8

Chapter Four

Story:

When he saw her tears, Nathan covered the space between them. Wanting to comfort but not sure how. “I understand. Loss takes something from you. There have been a lot of losses this past year for the people of Hope.”

Would his life ever feel normal? He wasn’t the only person asking that question in town, but if it hadn’t been for his daughter, he wasn’t sure what he would have done after his wife died. Though taking in all the stray animals had helped appease some of the guilt.

“How can someone hit an animal and not even stop to check how badly it’s hurt?”

“You saw it happen?”

She nodded, wiping her eyes. “Really, I don’t cry much.”

“If I’d seen the person drive away, I’d have probably gone after him. Your way was better, though, because the dog got help immediately.” He was trying to remember what he knew about Zane’s secretary. He’d been at a few gatherings that she’d attended, but he usually didn’t stay long at those things. He had his hands full being a single dad and taking care of so many animals—his own zoo. This past year there had been little time for anything social. Which was exactly the way he liked it. If he kept himself busy, he didn’t have time to think about the past.

“I couldn’t even get a license-plate number. It was covered with mud. Very convenient, if you ask me.”

“Daddy!”

When he heard Carly’s shout, he whirled around and rushed inside. “What’s wrong?”

“She moved. I think she’s waking up.” Carly pointed at the black-and-white dog, perfectly still. “Really, she did.”

“Probably a nervous twitch.” Nathan clasped his daughter’s shoulder. “She isn’t going to wake up for a while. In fact, if I remember correctly, a little girl about six years old has a room that needs to be cleaned up.”

“I’m not little no more. I’m gonna be seven real soon.”

“Big girls clean up their rooms, too.” His daughter’s idea of cleaning up was sticking everything under the bed or into the closet.

Carly’s mouth twisted in a pensive expression, and she cocked her head to the side. “Do you have to clean up your room, Miss Fayard?”

“If I didn’t, I would never find anything I needed.”

His daughter tapped her chin with her forefinger. “Mmm. You know, I’ve been looking for my stuffed monkey. I wonder…” She didn’t finish her statement but flew out of the building and raced toward the house.

“I think she knows where her monkey is,” Susan said with a laugh.

“I hope so. If I’d let her, she would live in a state of disarray all the time. And I can hardly get her to bed without that monkey.”

“I wish you the best with that battle.” Susan opened her purse slung over her shoulder and dug around inside it. She produced a piece of paper—the back of a sales receipt—and wrote a series of numbers on it. “This is my cell number. Please call me if there’s a turn for the worse. Otherwise, I’ll be back out here tomorrow after church.”

His mouth dropped open. “But you don’t even know the dog. Are you sure you want to get involved so much?”