Page 12 of Not Mine to Rescue

And that was proved true once again when Random smiled.

“I’ve got a good lawyer. I’m sure she’ll get me off.”

The last three words echoed in my head.

It was as if he heard them, too, because his eyes dipped to my crotch.

To break the spell, I finished untangling Molly’s leash and spoke. “I should go inside to talk to Lemon about the extra days, right? The contract I signed needs to be revised to full time.”

Random’s jaw worked. “Yeah, the contract. I’ll walk with you.” He pointed a thumb at the house.

Within a few minutes, the deed was done. I had Molly signed up for Mondays through Fridays with a clause in the paperwork that negotiated emergency drop-off on the weekend in case I was needed to bail someone out, or had other emergencies with work or family life.

It was Random who’d suggested that before he went back outside.

Lemon was more than happy to quote me double the hourly rate for those contingencies.

If I didn’t know better, I was being scammed.

But honestly? The facility was nice. Sure, it wasn’t state-of-the-art, but it was homey. The animals were well-cared for. Random and Lemon doted on each one.

And yes, he called the pit-rescue “Dumb Ass,” but it was never spoken angrily. In fact, it was plain to see the dog didn’t answer to any other name.

Or was it that he only listened to Random?

I asked Lemon for insight. “You said DA was a rescue. Are you trying to find permanent placement for him?”

She looked up from what she was doing. “No, he’s Wombat’s dog.”

Hearing Lemon call her brother by his biker moniker struck me as peculiar. “You call him by his nickname?”

“When I’m not calling him something worse, yes.”

“Does he prefer that?”

Lemon stared at me. Then glanced outside where Rand—Wombat played with the dogs. “He’s always hated his name. When Walt called him Wombat, it stuck. He even had the choice to change it once he patched in, but didn’t. All I know is he prefers it, and that’s okay with me. It’s not like he’s the first kid in this family to change their name.”

That was interesting insight. “Who else did?”

“Hal is short for Hallelujah, but she insists on using Hal. And Sonnet went all the way off the reservation. She hated her name for a long-ass time. Whoops, sorry. A long time. Decided she wanted to be called Ella for a while. Then DumDum out there sang that song at her over and over, and she went back to her given name. But honestly? I think she’s still Ella inside.”

Somewhere in those words, my insides froze. I could relate. Before going to school, I loved my name. I loved the way my father shortened it to “Honor.” He made a point to call me “your Honor” as if I were a judge. Maybe that’s why I decided on a legal career. But other variations of the name weren’t as kind. And for the longest time, I’d picked Nora. That didn’t stick, however.

Jim called me Honey.

And that one spread through the firm. Grown-ass men calling a woman Honey in a law firm should know better. It almost took a mandate from HR to stop it. The ones who couldn’t make the shift avoided me or called me Mrs. Crowne. Then the divorce happened, and I was Ms. Ryder with an emphasis on the Ms.

It was almost as if I didn’t have a real name. Not one of my own. Not one I was one-hundred percent comfortable with. I glanced at Lemon, who’d gone as silent as I had. “Did you ever think about changing yours?”

She shrugged. “Maybe once or twice, but I kind of like my name. It’s unique, it’s bright… it’s even sour and sharp when it wants to be. Like me.” Her smile was uneven.

But it was pure.

A cat jumped onto her lap. She petted it until it settled into a curled ball.

“How did you start this business?”

Her laugh unsettled the cat who glared up at her. A few heavy caresses soothed the insult. “It started when I ‘rescued’ a litter of kittens who were born in that barn.” She pointed toward one of the larger buildings. “I didn’t even come inside to eat. Pop-pop sent Wombat out to check on me. He ratted me out, but that was okay because Pop-pop pointed me at some books and said, ‘Those books will teach you how to do it right.’ And that’s all it took. I took over all the farm chores with the animals, and Wombat tagged along because Pop-pop ordered him to make sure I didn’t get hurt. I was five. He gave me veterinary books from a used bookstore geared for medical students.”