Was it because she really wasn’t interested in pursuing relationships or was it because she was afraid? She’d had friendships with guys when she was younger, and look what it had gotten her. When she got this far along in her thoughts, she backtracked, and convinced herself she was content being by herself. Why did she need to fight off guys on the prowl and listen to her female friends plot and seek ways to snatch a guy from some unsuspecting friend only to lose both in the end? She liked her life just the way it was, thank you very much.

She looked down at her watch. If she wanted to, she could go to the SPCA and rescue a dog. She tried to talk herself out of doing it, unsure if her timing was right or wrong. What if the dog got sick in the car? What if the motels she stopped in wouldn’t allow a dog? What if…a lot of things. An animal lover friend of hers had once lectured about how many dogs and cats were destroyed every year because their owners had either lost them or just didn’t want them anymore.

She had never been one to spout ideals or get involved with causes. She had more or less skated through life after the accident, keeping to herself and doing her own thing. But the idea of saving a dog was suddenly very appealing.

Cadwell Sophia Jordan, named after her maternal and fraternal grandmothers, never made a decision until she talked it to death, made a blueprint, then ran it up an invisible flagpole to see if it was a decision worth saluting. It was always better to err on the side of caution. Predictability was her philosophy. It all came down to that one word again, fear.

Cadwell Sophia Jordan, a.k.a. Cady Jordan, ignored her own credo for the first time in her life and climbed into her four-by-four. Her destination, the SPCA.

Thirty-five minutes later she was staring into the dark eyes of a mangy, filthy, scrawny German shepherd named Atlas. “I’ll take him.”

“Good choice. He’s about three years old. He was picked up on the street. He was wearing a collar that was little more than a string, and his name tag was matted into his coat. That’s how we know his name is Atlas. He’s a good dog,” the young boy said. “Once he’s cleaned up and a vet checks him over, I’d say you got yourself a great dog. Give him a good life, and he’ll love you forever. That’s fifteen dollars for the leash and five dollars for the dog.”

Cady handed over a twenty-dollar bill. The dog cowered when she reached out to him. She dropped to her knees and whispered softly. “I know how you feel. If you trust me, we’ll be okay. I’m just going to put this leash on you, and we’re going to a vet I know. It’s okay, Atlas. I’ll never hurt you.”