After a thousand jabs of “You could be cut out to be a real doctor, not a car doc like your dad,” from his family, Gabe entered college with the intent of sticking it out through med school. But by the time junior year rolled around, he was losing steam for college life and switched from biology to emergency medical services. He spent a couple years as a firefighter and EMT before switching gears again and enrolling in vet school. Despite the time commitment and cost—and despite the jabs from most of his family—now Gabe couldn’t imagine wanting to be anything else.

The parking lot of the repair shop was half full, and Gabe parked in an open spot facing the building. Samson woke from his doze as soon as the engine shut off.

“Stay here, bud. I won’t be long.” As his dad often commented, Gabe had grown quite comfortable talking to Samson. Maybe too comfortable. Considering Gabe preferred Samson’s company on weekends over any other’s, maybe he was right.

Even this far south, it was still raining. Gabe jogged through the rain to the cover of the wide awning out front. Off to the opposite side at the edge of the awning, a young mechanic was smoking a cigarette a few feet from a redhead who seemed entranced with something on her phone.

“We closed at two,” the mechanic called as Gabe reached for the door. “Can I help ya?”

Gabe froze with his hand paused a couple inches from the handle. A stunning redhead, actually. A stunning redhead, and immediately on her other side, two crates were lined against the brick building.

Oh, hell no, she wasn’t getting in his truck. Damsels in distress weren’t on his to-do list. At least, not anymore.

“Yeah, I’m here to pick up those.” Gabe pointed at the crates.

The girl looked up, relief washing over her face. She was tall and had long, wavy hair that called to some instinctual part of him to lose his hands in it as he pulled her against him. He was fairly certain she had a remarkable figure to complete the package, but he did his best not to let his gaze stray south of her face.

“You’re one of Deedee’s rescue drivers?” she asked, her tone hopeful.

“Ah, no, but I’m guessing you are. I got a call that I needed to pick up a couple crates here.”

Her shoulders sank, and her eyebrows knit together. “I thought… There must be some confusion. I was told the person they’re sending is giving me a ride to New Madrid where the dogs are being held. My crates, too, I guess.”