He’d walked through the rooms of his Montana house in his imagination so many times, furnishing every square inch, that those rooms had become more real to him than the rooms of his childhood home. He needed to get to Montana and begin work. His old life had been stripped away, and his new start was the only thing left that mattered to him.

But thanks to his inconvenient sense of honor, he first had to keep his promise to Ed Sutherland. Until he made good on that, he’d be stuck here, in the hometown that reminded him a hundred times a day of the worst thing that had ever happened to him.

He let himself inside the building.

No one waited in the foyer. The Furry Tails logo—a stylized dog inside a circle—had been painted in white on the slats of wood covering the wall opposite him. Four chairs surrounded a coffee table. On top of that sat a few small pots of cacti and a stack of ASPCA Action magazines. The air smelled like pears and dog. A baby gate guarded the bottom half of a door that led to a concrete hallway and the distant sound of barking.

Frowning, he tapped the bell resting on top of the magazines. He hadn’t even started his first workday here, and irritation was already infecting his mood.

He waited. No one responded to the bell, so he punched it with his fist. It rang loudly.

“Coming!” a feminine voice called cheerfully from the back.

According to Furry Tails’ website, Finley had started the non-profit eight years ago out of her house while working a full-time day job. Six years ago, a local farmer had donated the use of his barn as her headquarters, and she’d become the organization’s first paid employee. Two years ago, Furry Tails had built and relocated to this facility—

A woman sailed into the room. She was young, beautiful, and dressed like a hippie in a strange felt hat with a wide brim. “May I help you?”

“My name’s Luke Dempsey. I’m here to see Finley Sutherland.”

She smiled. “I’m Finley Sutherland.”

His body tensed in surprise.

She extended her hand. He shook it.

“It’s great to finally meet you,” she said.

How could this be Finley?

“Welcome to the Furry Tails team.” Stepping away, she stuck her fingers into the tiny front pockets of her bell-bottom jeans. Her head tilted. “Were you expecting someone older?”

“Yes.” Much older.

“That’s a common response when people meet my dad before they meet me.”

“He was in his eighties.”

“I was born when he was fifty-two. You’d think that more children would have resulted from all of those passionate love affairs of his.” She shrugged. “But no. He only had me. And fairly late in the game.”