Shelter Me by Catherine Mann Page B

slow and steady. I had my people all together. Life was chill for now, playing fetch, meeting new dogs that didn’t fight me for food, and landing a clean, fluffy place to sleep.
    There were even car rides. After the bitch and her beta boy left, Lacey told me we were going on a trip tomorrow. I figured that would be a good time to work on her friend problem.
    All was on target. Except for a tiny language barrier I hadn’t foreseen. When the guys overseas talked about vets, they meant military veterans. So I was completely unprepared for what awaited me when Lacey said we were taking a ride to see her pal Ray Vega—the vet.

PART 2

No one told me that coming to the United Steaks of America meant I had to give up my balls . . . and I don’t mean the tennis kind.
—TROOPER, NEUTER DAY

Six
    “S ORRY I’M LATE, Mary Hannah.” Sierra thrust her hands into her hair and dropped into a deep chair in the university writing lab by her best friend. “I had to drop off Trooper at the vet this morning. Mom had a crisis with a litter of bottle-fed puppies, so she couldn’t take Trooper to get neutered. I don’t know how many more balls my family can juggle—so to speak.”
    Mary Hannah Gallo hiccupped on a laugh, her sense of humor more rowdy than her buttoned-up appearance would indicate. She perched on the edge of her seat with an iPad in her lap, sweater set and pencil skirt coordinated with her green and blue paisley satchel—which also happened to match her iPad cover.
    Mary Hannah was so organized it could be annoying, except for the fact she had one of the biggest hearts ever. She was getting her master’s in Social Work, returning to college after her divorce from a man she only talked about if she had two glasses of wine, which seldom happened. “I’m sorry to hear about the puppies, hon. And about having the extra carpool duties, but that’s nothing new around your house. What’s got you so stressed today?” She passed a tin of breath mints. “Have one. They’re stress mints. Completely homeopathic.”
    Sierra knew better than to argue and popped a “stress mint” into her mouth—which just tasted like peppermint to her, but whatever. She leaned in so none of the other grad assistants in the lab full of tables and computers would overhear. “In answer to your question, it’s Mike again.”
    “Mike Kowalski?” Mary Hannah angled closer, her shoulder-length bobbed black hair gliding in silky sync. “As in your ex-boyfriend? The hottie soldier, Mike? Heartbreaker Mike? What’s he done now? I’ll kick his butt if he’s hurt you again.”
    Kick his butt how? By pounding him over the head with her paisley binder? Sierra suppressed a smile. Then remembered the reason for her splitting headache. “He’s moving into my apartment.”
    Mary Hannah frowned in confusion. “You two are moving in together? I knew there was still chemistry, but wow, that was fast.”
    A brief vision of unlimited sex with Mike flashed through her mind, a futile thought. “Not together. He’s moving into my apartment and I’m staying in my house. I’m a twenty-three-year-old still living with my mother.” She made an L with her pointer finger and thumb and thumped her forehead.
    Mary Hannah pulled Sierra’s arm down. “You’re helping your mom,” she said, using her oh-so-reasonable counselor voice. “She wouldn’t be able to keep your grandfather at home without you.”
    “Intellectually, I know that’s true . . .” Just some days selfish humanity interfered with her intellect.
    “How did he end up taking your apartment?”
    “Nathan blabbed about all the broken things in the house, and Gramps was, well, Gramps. So somehow Mike is staying in the barn’s studio apartment helping us out for a while. It’s really generous of him, actually.” She shook off the self-pity and tried to push the conversation back on lighter ground. “I only wish I was half as organized as you are about life.” She tugged the