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  Books. Change. Lives.

  Copyright © 2021 by Teri Wilson

  Cover and internal design © 2021 by Sourcebooks

  Cover illustration by Monika Roe/Shannon Associates

  Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  All brand names and product names used in this book are trademarks, registered trademarks, or trade names of their respective holders. Sourcebooks is not associated with any product or vendor in this book.

  Published by Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks

  P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410

  (630) 961-3900

  sourcebooks.com

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file with the publisher.

  Contents

  Front Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Back Cover

  For all the dogs I’ve known and loved

  Chapter 1

  For as long as Violet March could remember, Turtle Beach, North Carolina, had been a one-Dalmatian town.

  Not entirely true, because until the day Violet found Sprinkles at a pet rescue fair in nearby Wilmington and adopted her on the spot—pun intended—there had been zero Dalmatians in her hometown. None whatsoever. A Dalmatian drought, so to speak.

  But now Violet had Sprinkles, Turtle Beach’s total Dalmatian population. Everyone in the seaside town knew the spirited black-and-white dog belonged to her. Violet and Sprinkles were inseparable. If Sprinkles had been a person, they might have been soul mates. But alas, Sprinkles was a dog. An adorable, spotted sweetheart of a dog with an unfortunate penchant for getting into trouble, which made it all the more baffling that someone would have the nerve to try and dognap her in broad daylight.

  “Hey! Hey, you, stop it right now!” Violet flailed her arms and screamed. Sea foam swirled around her ankles as she jogged from the shallows onto the warm, dry sand.

  Bringing Sprinkles to the dog beach, the island’s small dedicated stretch of shoreline for dogs to romp and play, had become something of a ritual on the mornings Violet taught yoga. After an hour or so of chasing a tennis ball and barking and jumping at the waves, Sprinkles could almost sit still until final relaxation pose. Of course, Violet never imagined the dog beach could be a hotbed of canine crime.

  Violet called out again, but the dognapper didn’t even flinch. He just kept walking in the opposite direction with Sprinkles tethered to his wrist by a long red leash. She glanced around, half-expecting her dad or one of her brothers to jump out from behind a clump of seagrass and come to her rescue. They had a tendency to hover. A lot.

  But for once in her life, her personal protection squad was nowhere to be seen. She was on her own, not a blue police uniform in sight. On any ordinary day, this would have thrilled Violet to pieces. Now, not so much.

  “Let go of my dog!” she yelled, sprinting and kicking up sand in her yoga clothes.

  A few heads turned her way, but the early morning crowd at the dog beach skewed older. Geriatric, mostly. The senior citizens of Turtle Beach were well-acquainted with Violet and therefore accustomed to the chaos that surrounded her on any given day. Naturally, they seemed more amused than alarmed when she darted past.

  Their dogs, on the other hand, sprang into action, quickly giving chase. Within seconds, there were half a dozen dogs nipping at Violet’s heels. By the time she made it to the far end of the dog beach, someone had taken a bite out of the hem of her lululemons. Mrs. Banks’s corgi, most likely.

  Perfect. Just perfect.

  “Hey,” she yelled again. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  This time, the criminal stopped. He turned around and arched an amused brow as he took in the sight of her bent over, breathing hard, with a random collection of dogs milling about her feet.

  So he thought dognapping was funny, did he?

  She glared at him, and that’s when she noticed the letters stitched onto the pocket of his charcoal gray T-shirt—TBFD. Turtle Beach Fire Department. Violet felt her eyes widen in horror.

  The dognapper was a fireman, because of course he was.

  Not that Violet had anything against firefighters and their kitten-saving skill set per se. It was complicated, that’s all.

  The fireman’s brow furrowed. “I’m, ah, walking my dog. This is the dog beach, is it not?”

  “Walking your dog? Very funny.” Sprinkles was the only Dalmatian in town. Again, everyone knew that.

  She punched three numbers into her phone.

  “Did you just dial 911?” The fireman cocked his head, and Sprinkles instantly mirrored his movement. They looked rather adorable together—the dognapper and the traitor.

  “Of course I did.”

  “You really don’t need to do that.” He pointed at the silver badge sitting right below the letters stitched onto his shirt pocket. “I’m one of the guys who comes when you make that call. Is there something you need help with?”

  Violet ignored him—manly wide shoulders and all—and gave the details of her whereabouts to the 911 dispatcher. The operator, Patty Jenkins, knew Violet by name. It was a small town, and Mrs. Jenkins sat at a desk approximately ten feet away from her father’s office.

  “Send my dad…or Joe, or Josh. Send anyone, but please tell them to get here quickly. Someone is trying to kidnap Sprinkles.” Violet’s gaze flitted from the top of the fireman’s head to the tips of his polished black boots. “A firefighter.”

  “Oh, dear,” the operator said.

  “Exactly.” Violet would have identified which fireman in particular was trying to abscond with her four-legged best friend, but she didn’t recognize him. So she ended the call, crossed her arms, and pinned the offending man with a glare. “The police are on the way. Don’t even think about running.”

  “I wouldn’t dare,” he said drolly.

  His utter shamelessness after being caught red-handed was really beginning to get on her nerves. As was Sprinkles’s nonchalance. Didn’t she realize she was in danger?

  The dog le
t out a squeaky yawn and plopped into a down position at the fireman’s feet. Violet sighed as Sprinkles closed her eyes and rested her chin on the toe of his boot.

  Seriously?

  Sprinkles had developed Stockholm syndrome in a matter of minutes. Maybe it was a Dalmatian–fireman thing. Or maybe it had something to do with her kidnapper’s charmingly mussed dark hair and his startling green eyes. Bottle-green, like corked glass floating in the ocean with a secret love note hidden inside.

  Not that Violet had noticed those things.

  Much.

  The dogs that had joined her on the chase down the shore definitely seemed to notice. They sniffed at the fireman’s feet, wagged their tails, and in general fawned all over him. When he crouched down to pet the corgi, the collective tail-wagging went into overdrive.

  Honestly, the whole tableau was beginning to look like a page from one of those sexy firefighter calendars. Violet was aggressively annoyed.

  “Just give me my dog, okay?” She sighed, hating the tiny hint of desperation in her voice. Clearly this man had no idea how much she loved her pup. “If you do the right thing now, maybe you won’t get arrested.”

  “Arrested?” He stood, much to his canine fan club’s disappointment. Tails drooped. A poodle mix sporting pink bows on its ears let out a mournful whine. “Yeah, that’s not going to happen.”

  Good grief, he was smug. She couldn’t wait for her dad or one of her brothers to show up and slap a pair of handcuffs on him. His perp walk was going to be a thing of beauty. Maybe she’d video it and put it on YouTube. Or TikTok, or Instagram stories, or whatever social media site the kids were using these days.

  Violet herself wasn’t ancient. At twenty-eight, she was technically a millennial. But she taught gentle yoga at the senior center, which meant most of her closest friends used walkers. Naturally, she’d developed something of an old soul herself.

  She glared at the firefighter, who looked light years from needing a walker. He could probably downward dog all day long without tipping over once. They held each other’s gazes for a beat or two—just long enough for Violet’s cheeks to go warm. Her insides were suddenly full of butterflies, which she attributed to the fact that she was currently the victim of a crime. Then the wail of a police siren pierced the loaded silence.

  Violet shot the fireman a triumphant smile. “Not going to happen, huh? Keep telling yourself that, Cruella.”

  ***

  Never in his life had Sam Nash been likened to a Disney villain.

  On the contrary, people typically slotted him nicely into the Prince Charming camp. Sam wasn’t particularly fond of that label either, but he had to admit that it was preferable to being compared to a sinister diva with a fondness for Dalmatian fur and an unfortunate two-tone wig.

  “Look,” he said to the obstinate woman who seemed intent on having him thrown in jail, “this is all nothing but a misunderstanding.”

  But she didn’t appear to hear him because she was too busy waving wildly at the two uniformed police officers who’d just crested the dune and were headed in his direction.

  Common sense told Sam he should be relieved at their presence. Maybe now he’d have an opportunity to explain himself. Between the three of them, maybe they could talk some sense into his accuser. But some strange instinct made him feel like his trouble was just getting started.

  Sure enough, as the officers drew closer, Sam could see the scowls aimed squarely in his direction. The two cops had apparently already chosen a side in the Dalmatian war and it wasn’t his. His only supporters appeared to be the lingering dogs. A Lab mix nudged its head beneath his hand, angling for a scratch behind the ears.

  With a sigh, Sam acquiesced.

  He’d thought long and hard before picking up his life and moving to Turtle Beach. Everyone at his station back in Chicago thought he’d lost his mind. You’ll die of boredom, they had said. The only actual fires you’ll see are sparklers on the Fourth of July.

  Sam hoped they were correct. He could use more boredom in his life. He craved it, actually. All he wanted was a quiet little existence in a quiet little seaside town. How had things managed to go so wrong so quickly?

  He shifted his focus back to the flailing woman. She was the reason. No doubt about it.

  His temples throbbed with irritation, and somehow the fact that he found the troublesome woman attractive irritated him even more. Not that he was remotely tempted to do anything about that attraction. Ever. It was just kind of hard not to notice the way the waves lapped at her feet as if she were some kind of furious moon goddess.

  “Joe! Josh!” She let out a high-pitched squeal and threw her arms around the nearest cop. Sam had a sudden vision of himself behind bars. “Thank goodness you’re here.”

  The officer who wasn’t currently being bear-hugged narrowed his gaze at Sam. “What seems to be the problem here?”

  The retirees at the other end of the beach were now watching the scene with rapt interest.

  “He’s got Sprinkles.” The woman pointed toward the spotted dog at the end of Sam’s leash. “He stole her when I wasn’t looking, and now he won’t give her back.”

  “This isn’t your dog,” Sam said. It seemed important to get that little nugget of information out in the open before the discussion went any further, especially in light of all the police PDA.

  The two cops glanced at the Dalmatian, whose name was Cinder, not Sprinkles. She’d been Cinder since the day Sam adopted her from the city pound.

  “She definitely looks like Sprinkles,” one of the policemen said.

  The other officer nodded. “And Sprinkles is the only Dalmatian in Turtle Beach.”

  “Exactly.” The woman glared at Sam and held out her hand. “Give me the leash.”

  “No,” Sam said.

  “No?” Officers Joe and Josh echoed simultaneously.

  “No,” Sam repeated, more firmly this time.

  The nearby corgi snorted his displeasure at hearing one of dogdom’s least favorite words repeated in such rapid succession. The retirees were now headed their way, a few of them leaving winding trails in the sand from the wheels of their aluminum walkers.

  “Sprinkles, wherever she is, isn’t the only Dalmatian in town. Not anymore.” Sam nodded toward his dog, still maintaining a perfect down position beside him despite the epic level of the surrounding chaos. “This is Cinder. She belongs to me, and my name is Sam Nash. We’re new to Turtle Beach.”

  “And you’re a…” Officer Joe looked him up and down. “A fireman?”

  One of the senior citizens—an old man wearing suspenders and a newsboy cap—shook his head in apparent disgust.

  Sam had no clue why fireman seemed to be a dirty word all of a sudden, but he had no intention of sticking around to chat about it. He didn’t want to be late for his first day on the job, plus he had a beach house full of moving boxes that needed unpacking.

  He nodded. “I’m the new fire marshal. Cinder is my partner. Check the name on her tag.”

  The policemen peered at Cinder and then back toward Sam’s nemesis, which was somewhat of a foreign concept for Sam since he’d never had a nemesis before. Not even close. But if he had to have one, at least his nemesis was nice to look at, with waves of tumbling strawberry-blonde mermaid hair and eyes the color of sea glass.

  She was a mess, though. Clearly. A brazen, beautiful mess.

  “Please.” She rolled those lovely blue-green eyes so hard they practically rolled right out of her head. “Are you saying I can’t recognize my own dog?”

  Sam shrugged one shoulder. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

  “Impossible.” She tucked a lock of her mermaid waves behind her ear.

  One of the cops cleared his throat. The other one’s lips pressed together in a slight grimace. The retirees glanced back and forth between them. Officers Joe
and Josh seemed conflicted, which made Sam feel like he might just walk away from the dog beach a free man.

  “Violet,” Officer Joe said in a measured tone, “do you think maybe…”

  Before he could finish his thought, a blur of black-and-white spots leapt into their midst and shook itself, spraying all those assembled—human and dog alike—with seawater.

  Correction: not just seawater, but some horrible combination of seawater and whatever fishy substance the spotted troublemaker had recently rolled in.

  Senior citizens fled as quickly as they could in all directions while dogs barked at the ensuing panic.

  “Oh my God.” Officer Joe covered his mouth and nose with the crook of his elbow.

  Officer Josh choked out a gagging sound.

  Violet’s cheeks went as red as a fire hydrant. She shot a sheepish glance at Sam and then quickly looked away.

  “Sprinkles, I presume?” Sam arched a brow while the newest Dalmatian on the scene writhed around on its back in the sand, pleased as punch to be the center of attention.

  “Yep.” Officer Josh nodded and stepped out of range of the flying sand. “That’s definitely her.”

  The dog was an even bigger mess than her owner. Why was Sam not surprised?

  “Sprinkles, stop. Stop it right now,” Violet said.

  Sam had zero faith that the dog would obey, but miraculously, he was wrong. At the sound of Violet’s voice, Sprinkles hopped into a sit position and stared up at her, wild-eyed, pink tongue lolling out of the side of her doggy mouth.

  It might have been cute if the animal hadn’t smelled like she’d just crawled out of a whale carcass.

  The stench was beyond horrendous. Sam’s eyes watered. “I take it I’m free to go now?”

  The officers nodded, again in unison. “Yes.”

  Now that Sam was no longer bracing himself for life in prison, he took a closer look at the silver bars pinned to their uniforms. The same last name—March—was engraved on both of them.

  Interesting.

  He wondered if Violet’s last name was March as well. That would explain the bear hugs. But Sam didn’t have time to stick around and ask questions. Besides, he wanted to get as far away from Sprinkles as he possibly could.