Grace snorted, “Keyword: little.”
“Before you get started, let’s just agree to disagree.”
Grace laughed. “By the way, I heard from Cindy Harrington over at the sheriff’s office that you and Doc rescued a puppy last night and that Doc asked Mitch to put the word out.”
Cait’s stomach clenched. “Really?” Jack hadn’t mentioned he was going to do that this morning. Was Jamie too much for him last night?
“I think it’s wonderful that Doc is taking the time to see if the poor little thing is a stray.”
The feeling in her stomach eased. “His name is Jamie.”
“Do tell, Sis. What else happened while you were helping Doc take care of the little guy?”
More than I’m ready to tell anyone. Her life had changed irrevocably yesterday…and in more ways than one. Knowing her sister would keep at her until she told her something, she told her about Jamie shredding the paper towel.
They were laughing when Grace had an incoming call and had to go. “Talk to you later.”
“Bye, Gracie.”
She never had a chance to ask her about Mrs. Doyle or what Mr. Sweeney needed. She’d have to ask Grace when she stopped by the shop after lunch. Guaranteed, she’d need more supplies for those two new jobs—the car just didn’t have enough room for all of her tools and repair parts for a full day’s worth of jobs.
Focused on a new day with new expectations, she was already looking forward to lunchtime when she’d need to swing by Jack’s house to check on Jamie. She should have a few minutes then to text Grace and get her the list of parts she planned to take with her—just in case Grace was away from her desk when Cait got to the shop. Lord help her if she didn’t tell Grace before she took the parts from their inventory. Thinking of the numerous trips she’d have to make back and forth from the job sites to the shop had her sighing. But she’d have to get used to tucking stuff in the trunk and backseat of the car she’d be driving for the next little while.
Crossing over the railroad tracks, she turned right onto Route 13. Mentally going over how she’d need to replace the broken window at the back of the Apple Grove United Methodist Church, she was ready when she pulled into the parking lot.
“Good morning, Caitlin!”
She looked up and smiled. “Good morning, Reverend Smith. Am I late?” He usually wasn’t waiting outside for her when she arrived on the job.
“Not at all. It’s a glorious day, and I was communing with nature and my boss.”
She grinned at his reference, and from the way her pastor was smiling back at her, it was just the reaction he had intended. Her gaze swept the parking lot and the grouping of shade and fir trees arcing around the back of the church in a protective sweep of green. “How’s Mrs. Smith feeling today?”
His smile slipped. “Better.”
Relief filled her. “She’s nearly finished with her chemo, isn’t she?”
“One more to go, next week.”
“She has everyone in town praying for her.”
He reached out and patted her hand. “We’re both so grateful.”
“So,” she said, hooking her arm through his. “Which little rascal knocked the softball through your office window this time?”
He grinned as he launched into the tale of how little eight-year-old Danny Jones had confessed his crime. “They hadn’t meant to break my window.”
Caitlin laughed. “He’s just acting out because his dad’s overseas and his mom has her hands full.”
“Which is why I’m not going to go too hard on the boy,” Reverend Smith said. “Besides, he has his uncle, Deputy Jones, lending a hand whenever he can so I know he’ll probably have a chat with his nephew as well.”
“My dad always complained about raising three girls, but I’ve seen what Mrs. Jones goes through with those four active, little boys.” Cait shook her head. “The poor woman is always tired.”
“But doesn’t complain.”
Cait grinned. “I probably would if I were her.”
Her pastor was smiling as he opened the door to the manse—his home for as long as he was assigned to their church. “I cleaned up the glass and put up a piece of cardboard…didn’t want any wildlife taking up residence in my office.”
His reference to a similar repair she’d made a few months ago had the both of them chuckling. “The look on Beatrice Wallace’s face whenever she tells the story about that poor little raccoon is worth the tongue-lashing that usually follows for reminding her of that awful day,” Cait said.