She stepped out the back door and immediately felt as though she’d been transported through time. Of all the places she’d have imagined a young, rambunctious Caleb and a young, careful Spencer growing up, a tulip farm and dog ranch an hour’s drive north of Seattle wasn’t it. They seemed like the type to have had doctors or lawyers for parents—well-to-do and well educated, living in suburban bliss. The wide, expansive sky set against the Cascades was blissful, but for entirely different reasons.

“They’ll be out in the kennel, hon,” Spencer’s mom called from the open window behind her. “There’s no getting between a boy and his puppies. Eva’s kids are big fans, too.”

Ruby couldn’t help grinning. Mrs. Wilson—Justine, she’d insisted Ruby call her—hadn’t expected something for nothing. For every bit of information Ruby had shared about Caleb, Justine had reciprocated with something about Spencer.

Fact one: He’d been the most easygoing baby in the world—never crying, never making demands, always looking out for his brother. Fact two: He hated Halloween, but it had always been Caleb’s favorite holiday, so he always made an attempt to make the biggest and most elaborate costume possible. Best of all was fact three: He used to sleepwalk out to the kennel at night and wake up in a pile of dogs. It got to be such a habit with him that they put a cot out there so he could be comfortable.

The idea of Spencer Wilson—her Spencer Wilson—being unable to prevent his inner self from cuddling with puppies in his sleep was too delicious for words.

She thanked Justine for the information and trotted down the steps toward the long, low building located a short distance from the house. She wasn’t sure what to expect as she pushed open the door. Instead of the gated sections and sterile smell she associated with most animal shelters, what she found was a cozy-looking rec room with worn couches, half-eaten beanbag chairs, and a big-screen television attached to one wall.

There was also a cot in one corner, which she assumed was Spencer’s infamous nocturnal retreat. Where the cuddling happens.

“That’s funny,” she said to Spencer’s broad back. He stood looking through a window at the opposite end of the room. “I expected there to be more dogs inside a dog kennel.”

At the sound of her voice, Spencer whirled around. He didn’t look particularly pleased to see her, his mouth set in a grim line and crinkles of worry etched around his eyes. It was such a departure from the Spencer he’d been when they first arrived—that laughing, almost boyish man enjoying a homecoming—that she inadvertently reached out for him.

He didn’t reach back.

“What did you tell her?” he demanded. “What did you say?”