A Forever Home. Lynn Patrick

wondered. “Well, uh, if someone threw something into the area covered by—”

      “Not an object. That’s not what I meant.”

      “Then...what?”

      “I saw something last night.” Cora wrapped her arms around her middle as if trying to protect herself. “At least I think I did.”

      Rick was getting a weird feeling about this. “Go on.”

      “It was a figure. Male. It looked like a small wiry man with red hair standing on end—”

      “Looked like? What is it you’re trying to say, Cora?”

      “I thought I saw Red Flanagan.”

      Silence. Part of Rick wanted to laugh at her imagination. But he didn’t want to insult Cora. She’d been stressed about whatever was going on around the mansion at night for weeks now. Perhaps it had become too much for her.

      “You don’t believe me,” she said, her words almost whispered.

      “Red Flanagan has been dead for what? Half a century?”

      “I know that! I just said it looked like him. Like the portrait in the rotunda.”

      “Hey, easy. I’m on your side. I just don’t know what to think.”

      “What if Flanagan Manor is haunted?” Cora asked.

      Rick could see that she was serious. “I can’t say that I believe in ghosts.”

      “I didn’t think I did, either. But after all that’s happened in the past several weeks...”

      “If you did see Flanagan’s ghost, why now? What made him come back? Before all these curious events, did something significant happen on the estate? Some big change?”

      “I—I don’t know. I’ll have to think on it.”

      Rick didn’t believe in ghosts and he started to say that he’d never heard of one leaving footprints or breaking equipment by standing on it. But he was distracted by the sound of an engine. Both he and Cora turned to see a silver sedan pull up to the mansion. The driver’s door opened and a distinguished, silver-haired man exited.

      “Oh, David—I mean Mr. Guildfren—is early.”

      The man advanced to the trunk of his car and pulled out two suitcases.

      “A guest.” Apparently one she knew by name.

      “Yes, a regular. He’s an antiques dealer who appreciates the history of this estate. He’s been coming here for the past three years for a few weeks in the summer and again during the winter holidays.”

      Color flushed Cora’s cheeks, and her avid expression suggested a certain fondness for the man.

      “I can take it from here,” Rick said. “If you have other things to do.”

      “Are you sure?”

      “Positive.”

      “All right then. Call me if you need me.”

      Rather than waiting for his response, she whipped back into the drawing room, a changed woman from the tired, nervous one of a few minutes before. The spring to her step informed him of her affection for the guest. Rick wondered if the feeling was reciprocated, and if so, if they had ever done anything about it. Cora had said the man was a regular, visiting the bed-and-breakfast twice a year. She hadn’t been able to hide her excitement at seeing him.

      He needed to get to work. Luckily there was an outlet nearby, providing a source of electricity.

      As he set the camera in place, he felt hollow. He’d never had a long-term relationship with any woman. Being military for nearly all his life, he’d never been in one place long enough. His on-and off-again romance with Megan had been the closest he’d gotten. And being part of a special ops team had brought him to some pretty grim places. None were so grim as the last. Once he’d landed back here in the States, he hadn’t known what to do with himself. The army had always been his home. Giving civilian life a chance had its own difficulties.

      He’d been back for several months now, but no woman had even interested him.

      Not until he’d met Heather Clarke.

      * * *

      TAYLOR COULDN’T BELIEVE Mommy could be so mean. First Daddy never came home like he promised. Now Mommy was going to give away Kirby.

      “He’s my dog!” she said with a sniffle as they approached the counter. Dogs were barking and cats were meowing, too. She looked around and tears filled her eyes. “You can’t put poor Kirby in jail!”

      “Sweetheart, he’s not your dog,” Mommy said. “And the Sparrow Lake Animal Shelter isn’t a jail.”

      “Then why are all the animals locked up?” Tears slipped down Taylor’s cheeks.

      Addison took her hand and squeezed hard. “They’re so sad!”

      “Not so sad, honey.” The white-haired lady behind the counter smiled at them. “The animals don’t all get along with each other, so we keep them separated for their protection. But they all get some time out of the cages every day. We have several volunteers who come to take care of them and play with them. The animals here are treated very well.”

      “Then I want to volunteer,” Taylor said.

      “Me, too,” Addison added.

      “I’m sorry, girls, but you’re too young.”

      Her mom held up the rope she’d used for a leash. “We found this dog yesterday, and I was hoping you could take him and either find his owner or find a new home.”

      “I’m very sorry, but we’re full at the moment. Actually, we’re usually full. So many animals lost or thrown away.” She sighed and shook her head. “But we can put him on a waiting list. You never know when one of our dogs will get his forever home. Here’s a form to fill out.” She slid a piece of paper over the counter. “We’ll also add him to the list of newly lost animals in case anyone is looking for him.”

      Mommy started scribbling, and Taylor got down on her knees and hugged Kirby tight. “You don’t have to come here yet,” she whispered. “So you’re still mine.”

      “What’s a forever home?” Addison asked.

      The white-haired lady smiled again. “That’s what we like to say when we place one of our dogs or cats with a new family. That they’ve found the home where they will live and be happy forever.”

      Taylor thought Kirby had already found his forever home. Now if only she could make Mommy change her mind...

      She’d already lost Daddy. It wasn’t fair if she had to lose Kirby, too.

      * * *

      HEATHER ARRIVED AT Flanagan Manor early after dropping off the girls at school. She got out of the SUV, brand-new leash in hand, and the dog rushed for freedom. It took all her strength to keep Kirby from wiggling past her.

      The dog, she corrected herself. She didn’t want to think of him by name, didn’t want to get too fond of him, no matter how sweet and lovable he was.

      “Hang on a minute,” she muttered, meaning to clip a lead to the collar she’d bought him after she’d learned there was no room at the shelter.

      Yet.

      He was on a waiting list to get in, and in the meantime, Heather would try to find him a good home herself.

      “Okay, come on out.” She gave the leash a small tug.

      The dog lunged out of the SUV and, in his excitement to stretch his legs, nearly jerked her arm out of her shoulder socket.

      She slammed the door, yelling, “Hey, slow down!”

      Having checked