Shelter me, p.9
Shelter Me, page 9
Nathan worried me most in those days. He smelled like death. The kind of smell when somebody had given up on life. I had more experience than most dogs in recognizing that stink from my time back home overseas. Soldiers got that smell right before they decided to eat a gun or step into the line of fire on purpose. When I was playing ball with Nathan and Mike, every time I picked up the ball after the kid threw it, I caught a whiff of him on it and I knew. The boy was in trouble.
One step at a time, though. I’d only been here a couple of days and I’d accomplished a lot. I would lie low, go 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
“SORRY 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 iPad from her pal. “How far into the future have you planned?”
“Say the word and you, too, can be set up with a matching organizer and lunch bag.” Mary Hannah tipped her head to the side. “I’m thinking pink and purple floral would suit you best. If I toss in a matching lanyard, we can work in a monogrammed saying. Maybe a Sigmund Freud quote like, ‘Time spent with cats is never wasted.’ Or if you’re set on a literary approach, ‘I dwell in possibility’ would be appropriate.” She winked.
Sierra laughed along with her. “Hmm . . . gotta appreciate the Emily Dickinson approach to life even if I’m not sure I’m dwelling anywhere near possibility these days.” She shook her head. “I’ve missed talking to you.”
“You need a girls’ night out when you can find a breather from juggling all those balls. And speaking of balls again . . .” She crinkled her nose, tucking the stress mints back into her bag. “How’s Mike, really?”
She choked on her answer. “Excuse me?”
“I was trying to lighten the mood before asking you something heavy. Guess my humor needs . . . fine-tuning.”
“Oh, your meaning came across just fine. I was just surprised.”
“Thank you. So, how’s Mike handling the return from his deployment? You were really worried about him going again—before you two broke up.”
So much for lighter conversation. “Mike’s been helpful. He took care of cranky Mrs. Hammond, totally epic and so welcome.”
But then there was that kiss . . . so good and so complicated. She still hadn’t figured out how things had accelerated so fast. She wanted to blame her mess of tangled emotions, but she knew it was about more than that. That attraction wasn’t going away.
Mary Hannah’s perceptive eyes narrowed. “I saw the photos in the paper and all over the Internet of that homecoming. I saw the way you two looked at each other.”
“Photos? What photos? I don’t know what you mean.” The media had taken a few group photos along with some close-ups of the dog.
“Seriously? You haven’t been Googling yourself?” Mary Hannah snatched her iPad back and started tapping an Internet search.
“I barely have time to sleep and pee, much less Google myself. Hey wait, you Google yourself?”
“I’m OCD.” Mary Hannah waved aside the question. “Of course I Google myself and my friends. And my enemies, for that matter, because you never know when—”
“You have too much time on your hands.”
“I’m organized, and I never sleep. But you’re not going to divert me.” She tapped along the iPad. “The media was all over those deep, meaningful looks the two of you exchanged when he got home.”
Mary Hannah held up an enlarged photo of Sierra with her hand in Mike’s as he’d helped her to her feet after Trooper flattened her. No question, her heart was in her eyes. The steam between them all but smoked from the screen. With each image that Mary Hannah scrolled through—and there were a lot—the attraction crackled. The cameras had homed in on the connection between her and Mike, with romantic captions.
No question, it made for good news.
“The coverage is more extensive than I expected.” She’d seen people whispering and pointing when she’d stepped on campus today, but she’d just chalked it up to media footage about the dog’s arrival. “My father would be glad to know Trooper stirred up so much attention and support for other animals.”
Mary Hannah smacked closed her iPad cover. “That’s a nice speech.”
Her OCD friend was far too perceptive.
“Don’t you have papers to grade? Or patients to counsel?” Mary Hannah was a grad assistant, too, teaching intro to psychology classes as well as pulling time seeing clients in the counseling center.
“I have nothing more to do than talk to you.” Her friend tucked her paisley-covered iPad into the matching bag.
“That’s right. As the most organized human on the planet, you have plenty of spare time.”
Her brown eyes sparkled with self-deprecating humor. “Life is better with a calendar app.”
Sierra slouched in her seat, tugging the hem of her simple khaki skirt that she’d worn with a white button-down shirt. She tried to keep it simple for teaching, hair back, canvas slip-on shoes, minimal makeup and hard-hitting academics. She was younger than a quarter of her students but she knew her stuff. “My life doesn’t respect calendars and schedules.”
“Not into florals? Okay, I can deal with that. How about yoga? There’s a hot yoga class in an hour at a place near campus. I’ll loan you something to wear—”
“Hot yoga? Like I’m supposed to put on skimpy thong workout clothes?”
“No, my silly, overworked friend who’s so living in a cave. You don’t know about hot yoga? It’s yoga done in a steaming hot and humid room to increase flexibility, made to simulate the conditions of yoga in India.” She struck a pose and bowed. “We’ll sweat out the stress.”
Sierra would sweat and stretch plenty hosing out kennels and chasing down Gramps when he wandered off again. “Thanks. Sounds like . . . uh . . .” Hell? “. . . fun. But I need to finish this last batch of tests.”
“Your mom can make do without you for a little while . . . unless there’s another reason you’re rushing home.”
Sierra ignored the implication. “Trooper will need extra watching after his surgery today to make sure he doesn’t run off again and injure himself.”
“Put him in one of those cones.”
The image had her grinning, but not for long. “This dog escapes our fence and hides in the back of trucks. I think he can beat an Elizabethan collar. My dad should have named him Havoc.” She gathered up her papers and stuffed them into her canvas shoulder bag. “On second thought, I’ll grade the papers while I’m hanging out with Trooper—aka Havoc.”
Mary Hannah squeezed her wrist lightly. “I’m really so sorry about the apartment. I know you were looking forward to having that space for yourself.”
She shrugged. No use ruminating over what she couldn’t change. “The money will help out—Mike insists on paying even though he’s helping with repairs until he moves.”
“Whoa, whoa, sit back down.” She tugged Sierra’s wrist. “He’s leaving soon? You left out that part. So if you need the money and help, why take in Mike when he will be leaving soon? Why not take in someone more long-term?”
“Trooper kept running away to be with him. We do have broken stuff all over everywhere that would break the bank if we had to call repairmen for each problem. And he gave up his apartment while he was deployed. But since he’s already got an assignment to move, he would have been sleeping on a friend’s sofa or in a motel—”
“Yada, yada, yada. Lots of talking and justifying usually covers something else. Please, Lord, don’t say you’re back together with him.”
“I’m not,” she said too fast.
“You still have a thing for him if those photos are anything to judge by. I would bet money you’ve already kissed him? More?” She tapped Sierra on the forehead. “Not smart.”
“Not more.” She swiped away her friend’s hand. Best friends were a blessing—and sometimes a curse since they knew you too well. “Why do you dislike him so much?”
“Why are you kissing him again after he stomped on your heart?”
“You are nosy and relentless. Quit using those counselor superpowers to peek into my psyche.” Sierra caved. “It was just one kiss. That’s it. Sort of a welcome home kind of kiss. He doesn’t have anyone.” And that still tugged at her emotions in spite of everything.
“I call bull, but whatever. I’m just worried that he’s still in the military with no signs of plans to get out. That has to be tough for you, given what happened with your dad.”
Sierra knew the concern was genuine, and that meant a lot. Friends were a gift. She wouldn’t have made it through the past few months without someone to talk to, unload, not worry about being strong. She leaned in and hugged Mary Hannah hard and fast. “You know I love you, dear friend.”
“Love you, too.” Mary Hannah hugged her back, then stared at her with those super serious eyes behind black-rimmed glasses. “Just guard your heart around him this time, okay?”
“Of course,” she promised, wishing she could feel as confident as she sounded of her ability to keep her head clear around Mike Kowalski.
* * *
LACEY SHIFTED THE old Suburban into park outside the Friendship Veterinary Clinic, right beside a truck in the spot with a sign declaring Veterinarian Parking Only. Violators Will Be Checked for Worms. Dr. Vega was fresh out of vet school, still full of frat boy humor and optimism that he could change the world. In time he would learn like the rest of them that they could barely make a dent in the endless flow of unwanted animals. But with that resignation came a fresh determination never to give up.
She hefted up the plastic dog carrier with the motherless pit puppies inside. Three were healthy. For now. Two were struggling—Pinocchio and Thumbelina. She should have known better than to be so whimsical as to think that a fairy-tale name could somehow inoculate them. She just hoped Doc Vega would have something stronger to offer them.
Sunlight stung her gritty eyes. She’d barely managed to take a quick shower before pulling on jeans and one of her son’s black concert T-shirts. All the more ironic since she could only find an old pair of red heels to wear. The stilettos click, click, clicked toward a simple brown-brick building wedged between a gas station and a thrift store. The sign out front blinked the slogan of the month: Wednesdays, No Hump Day, 20% off Spay/Neuters. She had other animals to check on. A neglected poodle that had seven teeth pulled, now groomed and on meds for a skin infection with a foster mom due to pick him up today. A Chihuahua and two cats being boarded until she could find foster families because her own house was packed to the gills. The German shepherd puppy would be ready for a foster home tomorrow.
And of course, she had Trooper.
Her bill was skyrocketing even with the deep discounts. Saving lives had become an almost frenetic mission for her now in an effort to keep ghosts at bay. Self-awareness didn’t always help change the behavior.
Heavy crate thumping against her leg, she pushed open the front door, chimes launching fresh waves of barks in the waiting area.
The new receptionist was all of twelve—okay, probably twenty-five, but sheesh, she was perky in every sense of the word from her scrubs with cartoon puppies and kittens on them to her golden-tipped pixie haircut. She had the slim kind of body that said she hadn’t pushed out a baby yet.
And when had she started feeling petty?
Uhm, since looking at crow’s-feet in the mirror this morning and realizing that her underwear had seen far better days.
“Trooper’s already in a room waiting for you,” the new girl squeaked.
Lacey forced a smile on her face and thrust out her hand. “I’m Lacey from the Second Chance Ranch Rescue. I heard you were starting at the clinic this week, but we haven’t met yet. We’ll be seeing a lot of each other.”
“That’s what I hear. I’m Maisie.”
“Glad to meet you, Maisie.” She was trying. Truly. “Sorry to be running late.” Perpetually.
“No problem, Mrs. McDaniel.” Maisie said it as if Lacey was ready to apply for senior benefits. “The poor pup’s still pretty much out of it. Here’s Trooper’s cone. He will need to wear it for at least a week to make sure he doesn’t lick or chew his incision.”
Lacey took the plastic cone, still flat for now. She would thread Trooper’s collar through it later. She tucked the plastic under her arm. “I know the drill.”
“Yes, ma’am, I hear you do.”
“I really need to get these puppies seen if you could show me on into the room?”
“Sure thing, right. Just this way.” She pushed open a door into an exam room. “I’ll go tell Dr. Vega you’re here.”
Maisie’s featherweight voice kicked up a notch higher when she mentioned the vet’s name, her cheeks blushing pink like a freshman with a crush on the professor.
Lacey tried hard not to roll her eyes. Bad enough the attraction between Sierra and Mike announced itself every time they were in the same room together. Lacey did not need any more pheromones added to her day.
Grateful for the escape of the exam room, she found Trooper curled up in a dog bed in the corner, and he looked peacefully drugged. She let out a sigh of relief. She’d known he would be fine. But still. She knelt to trail a hand along his bristly fur before standing. She hefted up the carrier full of mewling puppies onto the gleaming silver exam table. Senior vet tech Ghita walked inside and with a quick smile, reached into the carrier, pulling pups out one at a time.
Lacey liked Ghita, a farmwife who had a sense for the animals as good as any vet. She was all business, too, no wasting time, but there for the animals. She wore simple blue scrubs. The only hint to her outside life came from the occasional flash of tattoos, one featuring a prime-time vampire show hero and the other a family tree with her grandchildren’s names. They didn’t have to make small talk. They just got work done. Puppies weighed. Temperatures checked. Fecal samples taken. Updates given on other Second Chance patients.
The door opened again quickly and the vet stepped through. The newest vet, the one who worked with her most often. Dr. Vega had joined the practice eighteen months ago.
The two senior vets said their contribution was allowing their space to be used. Dr. Vega took charge of the actual care since he wasn’t a partner in the practice—in spite of the fact that he wore a T-shirt that declared Top Dog. She could see the appeal for Maisie, even if the girl was too young for him in more than just years.
