The sound of Beethoven’s Ninth blasted Jackie’s ears. She reached over and smashed the snooze button. Didn’t public radio know it was seven in the morning and that there were gentler sounds to wake up to? She snuggled back under the covers. Then it hit her. Seven! She must’ve hit the snooze button more than once. She’d called a crew supervisors meeting for seven thirty.
Her coffee spilled a streak down her jeans as she leapt into her truck. She put the dripping mug on the dash and backed out of the drive, flipping on the radio to catch a weather report.
“And for those of you lucky enough to have tickets, there’s that special California Marine Mammal Center Day at the ballpark,” the announcer chirped. “The first ten thousand Giants fans will receive a special tote bag with the Center’s logo on it.”
She wasn’t sure she’d heard right, but of course they didn’t repeat the announcement. She drained her mug in two gulps and accelerated.
Loose gravel skidded in her wake as she pulled in next to Gage’s truck. She nodded to the volunteers and crew members as she hustled toward his office.
She pushed open his door and kicked a crumpled bag of Cheetos out of her way.
“You need a vaccination to come into this room,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Knocking,” Gage said, waving a glazed donut at her before using it to point to the door. “It’s called knocking. Surely it’s still a practice in jolly old England?”
He leaned over the pink cardboard box balanced on his knees and took an enormous bite.
“Want one?” he mumbled, sugar glistening on his chin. “Compliments of Tuesday day crew.”
She waved off the donut box he shoved at her. “Living Ocean Day at the ballpark? I suppose that was your idea?”
“A great one, but can’t claim it,” Gage said as he took another bite. “You seem to have made an impression on one of their players. Somebody with influence who doesn’t mind throwing it around.”
She ignored the dig. Even Gage had tried to get her to use her family’s status to lure donors for the Center. Canadians and Americans had an unfathomable soft spot for the English aristocracy. It baffled her.
“Alex came by yesterday afternoon while I was in Sausalito. Bev told me. Guess he was looking for you.”
“I was with Bradley, at my house. He brought some preliminary reports.”
“Never got why you didn’t go for Bradley,” Gage teased.
“Not your business,” she said, trying not to snap.
“I’ve got some really nice T-shirts you can borrow for game day,” Gage said. The grin on his face told her he was more than pleased with the prospect of a day at the ballpark. “Got one with Alex’s number on it.”
She let out an exasperated breath. “You are impossible to dislike, do you know that?”
“Job security.” He laughed.
She reached into the box and took out a donut, spun around and headed to the door.
“They’ve got Charley ready in the hospital,” Gage said.
“I’ll handle the crew supes,” she said as she took a bite of the donut. “See you in ten.”
In the hospital surgery suite, Charley, the volunteers’ current beloved cause, lay strapped to a steel surgical table. Jackie had already performed three grafts on the young sea lion born with a malformed palate. She donned her gloves and tilted the specialized lights so that they shone in perfect circles on the little sea lion. Then she helped Gage settle the nose cone over Charley’s snout. The sea lion’s body went limp as the gas eased into him. Anesthetizing an animal that could hold its breath for twenty minutes was tricky. Gage was one of the best at it. Once she was sure Charley was under, Jackie motioned to the volunteers who’d been restraining the animal to back away.
She eased a rubber dental wedge into the sea lion’s mouth and peered in. “It’s not taking.” She tried to hide her disappointment, but it bled through into her voice. In a situation like this, it was often best to put the animal down.
She felt the tension rise in the room. Normally she’d ignore it, not let it influence her decision. But today, she couldn’t.
She peered back into Charley’s mouth.
“Let’s try to stitch the graft at the back, put a plaster on it,” she said to Gage. “We can keep him on liquids for another week.”
She turned to the volunteers watching from the back of the room.
“No one is to be in his pen, except for feeding. No one,” she repeated.
She turned to their newest volunteer.
“If Charley becomes accustomed to people, you’ll be signing his death warrant. He’ll swim up to some fisherman expecting room service, and we’ll have him back in here with a bullet through his skull. Got it?”
He nodded. The expressions of the two veteran vols told her they were surprised that she was showing so much emotion. Hell, she was surprised herself.
She used a second rubber wedge to prop Charley’s mouth open even wider and went to work. She didn’t look up until every stitch of the graft was perfect. Then she nodded to Gage. He reached over and twisted the knob to the gas canister, easing it off and watching Charley’s vitals on the computer screen.
“Well done, boss.”
His smile was all the thanks she needed.
“Second Chance Charley,” she heard one of the volunteers whisper to Gage as she walked out into the sunshine.
She believed in second chances. Most of the time. Maybe Alex deserved one.
She shook her head as she walked. Of course he deserved one; he hadn’t been to blame for being late to the gala. When had she become so hard, so unforgiving?
He’d proven he cared about what she cared about—having the floor fixed without any fuss and arranging Living Ocean Day at the ballpark. She grinned. And he had agreed to chair the gala, even if he, unlike her, had found a legitimate out. He’d done more to please her than Brett ever had.
She stopped walking, turned and looked over the Center, at the place that held her heart. Everything he’d done had been deliberately chosen to please her, to help her. She quivered. He knew what was important to her, had chosen to discover who she was and what moved her. No one had ever seen into her so deeply. No one had ever cared enough to look.