The man picked up his phone.

“Fine,” she said tightly. “And wow.” She pulled out her phone to show him he was wrong, but . . . he wasn’t. She was wrong. She’d indeed typed the wrong street number. Thanks for nothing, left fingers . . . With a sigh, she got out.

Hog didn’t. He knew they were going to have to walk.

“Come on,” she said. “It’ll be fun.”

He didn’t look convinced. As it turned out, he was right. It wasn’t fun. She’d skipped her stretches last night and she hurt. The feel of Simon’s extremely capable hands on her aching muscles would’ve been welcome right about now. He’d be both pleased and irritated with her, she knew. Pleased that she’d had any endurance at all and irritated that she wasn’t listening to her body and giving it what it needed. The last few nights while trying to sleep, she’d considered and then rejected the thought of pain meds. It wasn’t the pain keeping her from sleeping. She had other anxieties doing that for her just fine.

Like the fact that she suddenly wanted her Hard-Ass PT, a fact she was trying to convince herself was just her hormones coming back online.

Another problem? Income, or the lack thereof. But being anxious wasn’t going to keep the roof over her head or food in her belly.

Emma walked up the street to Paw Pals. The building sat a block past the end of Commercial Row. Just the one block made a huge difference. Here the lots were bigger and mostly industrial. Once upon a time, the building had actually been a barn. Single story, it sat on an acre of land that backed up to one of the biggest cattle ranches in the area. If you were an early riser, you could still catch the occasional sight of the wild mustangs that ran free through it. Early meaning dawn.

Big surprise that Emma, not a morning person, had never seen one of the mustangs.

The building still had the feel and flavor of an old, beautiful barn and was perfect for a doggy day care. The front doors opened to a reception area, where people signed in, complete with a retail section that sold just about anything people might need for their beloved fur babies. A second set of doors opened to a huge room divided by fencing into different areas. They had big dog and small dog yards, along with a cat sanctuary. There was also a yard for dogs who weren’t feeling . . . friendly. There was always someone watching over all of it, keeping the peace, cleaning up any messes, and adjusting attitudes.

Each yard had two areas, an “outside” pad with artificial turf and a bin of toys, and the “inside” portion, set up like a living room where pets could lie on sofas and watch TV.

In the reception room, Emma stopped to quickly check her email for the hundredth time, hoping to get word from any of her interviews from the week. Anyone.

“Still nothing?” Gabby asked sympathetically, coming out from the back.

Gabby Johansson owned and operated Paw Pals, the only doggy day care in town. She’d been born and raised in Switzerland, came to the U.S. in her twenties for a guy she’d kept around for a few decades while they procreated. Now single, she was in her fifties and very fond of animals, reality TV, and all things chocolate. That’s how Emma could sometimes get the extra hours she needed—she brought chocolate. And not just any kind, but the expensive, imported-from-Switzerland kind. Sometimes Emma’s chocolate fund was bigger than her Uber budget. She shook her head. “Jobs aren’t falling from trees, unfortunately. Sucky week.”

Gabby clicked her tongue in sympathy. “It gets worse. Your client canceled her puppy training. Something about she bought a book and thinks she’s got it covered.”

Emma nodded. Sounded about right. She turned back to the door.

“I could use you for a shift in the back today if you’d like.”

“Really? That’d be great.”

Gabby smiled. “Anything for you.”

And Emma was grateful to have this job at all, as well as the twenty hours a week Gabby could afford to pay her.

It wasn’t that her boss didn’t make a decent living, because she did. It was that she had six kids, and something like twelve grandchildren, and she supported almost all of them. She also had two other part-time employees she was responsible for, Marco and Khloe, but at least among them, the place ran like clockwork.

At the moment, Marco was dividing his time among pens. Later, Khloe would show up and take over. Ever since her accident, Emma either trained clients’ pets or worked the front desk, usually during the heavy drop-off and pickup hours, with Gabby overseeing the day-to-day operations.

At the moment, Gabby was drinking coffee and looking at the new shelves behind the front counter. “Damn, Rico did a great job on these for me.”

Rico was Gabby’s on-and-off—although currently off—longtime boyfriend.

“Are you back together?” Emma asked.

“Not yet. But I think he’s wearing me down. Love’s funny that way.”

“Love is dumb,” Emma said.

There came a raspy snort and she turned to look at the elderly woman in the recliner against the south window, knitting while soaking up the morning sun.

Katerina Johansson was Gabby’s mother. She understood English but spoke only Swiss German. She was somewhere between eighty and immortal and went by the innocuous nickname of Miss Kitty, which she got because she could unsheathe her proverbial claws in the blink of an eye.

Miss Kitty scared the ever-loving shit out of everyone, including Gabby.

She pretty much lived at Paw Pals, usually knitting in that chair and enjoying the warm sun. Gabby often joked her mom came with the building, like it or leave it.

Miss Kitty looked at Emma and said something in her Swiss German.

Gabby translated. “She agrees with you about love being dumb. But for the record, I don’t.” She waved her coffee mug for emphasis. “There’re certain things definitely worth living for. Giant mugs of coffee, having someone to bitch to, and falling in love.”

Emma shrugged with her good side. “I’d settle for some freshly baked cookies and an orgasm. Oh, and a left arm that remembered it belonged to me.”

“Okay, you might be on to something with the cookies and orgasm,” Gabby said. “And hey, you could bundle fixing the arm and an orgasm by sleeping with your hottie PT.”

Emma felt her face heat and give herself away. “How would sleeping with him fix my arm?”

“Let’s just say after a night with him, you might not even notice your arm anymore.”