Still The One. Michelle Major

with Pita’s rope for several beats before glancing over her shoulder. An older couple walked toward her along the sidewalk; otherwise, the street was empty.

      Balancing the bag of food on one hip, she opened the back hatch of her SUV. Pita jumped up and plopped onto the navy canvas dog bed Lainey had bought at a pet store outside Memphis.

      The dog whined as Lainey opened the paper sack and pulled out two hamburgers, breaking them into pieces over a plastic food dish.

      “Look at the mess you’ve gotten me into.” Lainey’s fingers trembled as she unscrewed a bottle cap and poured water into another bowl.

      When Pita finished the food and water, Lainey piled the two dishes into a corner of the cargo space and closed the hatch. By the time she climbed behind the steering wheel, the dog waited for her, perched on the passenger seat.

      “I hope that was worth the trouble.” Lainey turned the key and hot air blew from the dash. She sank back against the leather and drew in a ragged breath.

      Pita nudged the crook of Lainey’s arm.

      “Slobber isn’t helping.” But she reached for the dog, letting the rhythmic petting soothe them both. “Give me a minute to pull it together. I didn’t expect …”

      What? For the man who broke her heart to be the first person she ran into in Brevia? For the “could have been” chorus to drown out the “for the best” refrain she’d told herself for ten years the very moment she saw him? She shook her head. Enough already. Geez. The dog was not her therapist.

      She wasn’t strong enough for too many hometown walks down memory lane. From the moment her sister Julia had called three days ago, Lainey hadn’t let herself think about anything beyond getting here. Otherwise, she never could have forced her foot onto the gas pedal.

      She flipped down the visor and grimaced into the tiny mirror. She’d showered at the dumpy roadside motel, but that was it. She hadn’t applied a stitch of makeup or bothered to tame her crazy hair.

      Ethan looked better than ever, his body strong and muscular underneath the T-shirt. She’d never been in his league. Why would a decade away change anything?

      Pita’s tongue flicked her bare arm like a salt lick. “I know. I’m a sweaty mess.” Lainey didn’t have the energy to push her away. “You act as disgusting as I feel.”

      Pita barked in response.

       Chapter Two

      Fifteen minutes later, Lainey pulled into the parking lot of the hospital. As a rule, Lainey avoided hospitals. She brought Pita in with her, needing the distraction and companionship the dog offered. After a quick lecture about the importance of therapy dogs in rehabbing patients and a crisp twenty slipped to the young girl at the desk, she and Pita walked down the narrow hall, the clip of the dog’s nails on the linoleum floor the only sound.

      The entire building smelled of ammonia and something sweet—like those hard butterscotch candies she’d find buried in her Nana’s purse. Lainey climbed the steps to the third floor and stopped at Vera’s door. As if sensing something unusual, Pita tugged at her leash. “We’re both stuck here,” Lainey whispered.

      Lainey heard her mother before she saw her. Vera’s breath came out in raspy puffs, not quite a snore but in a rhythm that announced sleep. Sunlight filtered through venetian blinds on the other side of the bed.

      Lainey approached, her grip tightening on Pita’s leash until her nails dug half-moons along the inside of her palm. Vera lay on her back, the left side of her face drooped noticeably and one arm curled at an unnatural angle as it rested on the covers.

      Her mother was a force of nature, a whirling dervish who accomplished more before noon than most people did in a week. She looked tiny and frail in the big bed, her skin as pale as the white hospital sheets.

      “Oh, Mama.” She’d whispered the words but Vera’s eyes flew open.

      “You came,” she began, her voice garbled. Only one side of her mouth moved, and it was an obvious struggle to form the words.

      Lainey inched forward, wrapping her fingers around Vera’s tightly clenched hand. “I got here as soon as I could.” She kissed Vera’s sunken cheek, the skin paper-thin against her lips. “Don’t talk if it’s too hard.”

      With her good hand, Vera tapped the leash looped across Lainey’s palm.

      It took her a moment to realize what her mother meant. “I’ve got a dog. For the moment.”

      As if on cue, Pita jumped onto the foot of the bed and carefully made her way to Vera’s side.

      “Pita, off,” Lainey said in a harsh whisper.

      The dog wasn’t huge—blue heeler mixed with more random breeds—but she was no lapdog. Instead of climbing down, she sniffed the covers then curled into a ball, resting her head against Vera’s hip.

      “Pita, no.” But when Lainey pushed at the animal, her mother’s good hand swatted at Lainey then settled on Pita’s back. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. The dog sighed and snuggled closer.

      Lainey shook her head. Vera’s way with animals was legendary. It’s what propelled her how-to book on training shelter dogs into a national bestseller. Even Oprah had called for help with a spaniel adopted from a puppy mill raid.

      Rescuing and rehabilitating unwanted animals had become her mother’s great passion after Lainey’s father died. Lainey knew that would be the hardest part of the stroke, putting her work on hold until Vera regained her strength—if she ever did.

      They sat in silence as Vera petted Pita. Her voice seemed stronger when she finally spoke, although her speech was still halted. “Good you’re here. Need you.”

      Lainey squeezed her mother’s hand. “I’ll work on arrangements for your therapy, call the insurance—”

      “Adoption fair …”

      A trickle of dread rolled down Lainey’s spine at the mention of the marquee event the animal shelter hosted each year. “What?”

      “So much to do.” Vera’s eyes fluttered shut and her breath came out in shallow gasps. “I can’t …”

      Pita whined and Lainey sat up straight. “Mom, calm down. The adoption weekend will be fine. Julia can take over—”

      “No.” Vera smacked her good hand on the mattress. “Can’t do it … baby … need you …”

      Lainey reached for the nurse’s call button the same moment the door flew open and her sister ran to the far side of the bed. “What did you do?”

      “Nothing.” Lainey backed up several steps. “She started talking about the adoption fair and went crazy.”

      Vera prided herself on her “steel magnolia” persona. Her display of fierce emotion complicated things—made her mother seem human. Made Lainey feel responsible.

      Julia ran a hand along Vera’s arm. “It’s okay, Mama. Relax now. I’ll explain to her.”

      Vera’s gaze traveled between her two daughters, but Lainey couldn’t stop staring at Julia.

      Her mouth went dry.

      Julia shot her a tentative smile. “You made good time.”

      “You’re pregnant.” Lainey’s voice came out a frog’s croak.

      Julia pressed a hand to the mound under her floral sundress. “About seven months now.”

      “Baby,” Vera repeated. “Need you, Lainey.”

      It was too much. The last time Lainey had been in this hospital, she’d been the pregnant one. Only one floor up was the room where she’d lost her baby. Ethan’s baby. Where complications from the miscarriage had changed her life