Abby exhaled softly. “You’ll do great.”
“Do you think so?” Her eyes pleaded with Abby for reassurance. “I’m excited and nervous all at once.”
“You love kids and dogs and you’re a quick learner.”
“Jamie says most of the kids we’ll see have issues like learning disabilities, autism, anxiety. She’s given me a bunch of material to study but I already know plenty about anxiety.”
She gave a little self-deprecating laugh that tugged at Abby’s heart. To joke about it like this showed how much confidence she’d gained, how much she’d grown.
How right Abby had been to come to this place.
“Maybe,” Quinn continued, “I can become a dog trainer myself one day.”
“One step at a time,” Abby said, passing her a mug of tea. “If you start spending all your time in the kennels, Daphne will have something to say about that.”
“Jamie warned me about that,” Quinn said with a laugh. “Don’t worry. I can handle the housekeeping and do this, too. Besides, Olivia says that Tyler is going to start helping with the cleaning during the busy season.”
“He is, is he?”
“He’s out of the system, which means he’s staff now, like the rest of us.”
Abby suspected the youth, who’d worked in the stables up until now, didn’t expect to be placed on the cleaning roster. But Olivia believed in cross-training. She also believed in teaching headstrong young men that there was no such thing as women’s work and men’s work. There was only work, period.
“So,” Abby said, “you’ve got two exciting things coming up. Dog training and Tyler training.”
Quinn laughed. “I guess you’re right. I think I know which one I’ll enjoy more.”
Abby thought about the way Tyler watched her pretty sister. Perhaps she’d have a conversation with Olivia about the wisdom of throwing these two young people together.
* * *
Jon couldn’t stand being away from Abby. When she was too busy to come to the house, he went to the ranch. Today, she wasn’t in the kitchen or the greenhouse or the garden and Daphne was too busy arguing with a supplier on the phone to talk to him. He remembered the place where she liked to go when she needed to think, the little area down from the gardens, where the blackberries grew, overlooking the water. He picked his way over the deer path, carefully avoiding the thorny vines this time, and found her sitting on the grass, her back against a large rock.
The greens and browns of before had turned into a pastel profusion of blooms. Little white flowers in low mounds, tall stalks with waving orange-tipped fronds, spiky purple swaths here, yellow bunches there.
“Hey,” he said.
That slow smile he loved bloomed over her face as she turned to look at him. “Hey yourself.” She motioned to the ground. “Pull up a seat. How’s Roman?”
“Crabby. Sleeping. I’m hoping he wakes up in a better mood.” He lowered himself to the fragrant carpet of green. “I sound like I’m talking about a toddler.”
“And how are you?”
When Abby asked, it wasn’t a perfunctory query. He got the sense that she really cared. The thought warmed him more than it should. He hadn’t enjoyed a woman’s company like this for a long time, if ever, but he told himself not to get his hopes up. After the kisses they’d exchanged, he’d felt her pull away from him, creating emotional distance, as if the earlier closeness was a regrettable lapse.
“I’m okay,” he said. “A little worried about you, as a matter of fact.”
“Me?” She looked at him in surprise. “Why?”
He shrugged. “We haven’t really talked in a while. You seem preoccupied.”
She gave a little laugh and looked off toward the water. “I’m fine.”
He elbowed her gently in the side. “Does that mean I’m boring you again?”
Her posture softened. When she looked at him, there was anguish in her eyes. “I’ve had stuff on my mind, I guess.”
“What stuff?”
She shook her head. Tears filled her eyes. “It’s nothing. Forget I said anything.”
“Oh, man, don’t cry, Abby.” He took her hand and brought it to his lips. “Makes me feel like I’ve done something wrong. Have I?”
“No, no.” She squeezed the bridge of her nose, flicked the moisture off her cheeks and managed a shaky smile. “There. I’m okay. Is that better?”
Not really. But he’d take it.
“I’m so glad you’re here this summer,” she added.
He lifted his eyebrows. “Yeah? Why’s that?”
She blushed and rolled her eyes. “For your dad, of course. You’re more relaxed than you were when you arrived. I think Oregon agrees with you.”
He gave her a quick side glance. “You might be right, though I’m not sure Oregon gets all the credit.”
“Oh, come on. All this fresh air and open space. The quiet. The greenery.”
“Is that why you stay at Sanctuary Ranch?” he asked.
She nodded. “That’s part of it. It’s a wonderful place for me and Quinn. Peaceful and secure.”
Interesting answer, he thought. People valued the things they believed were at risk, or in short supply. Or things they’d never had but always wanted.
“Safety is important to you?”
“Of course.” She reached down to a clump of glossy leaves at her boot, and came up with a long spike with several elongated buds at the end. “See this?”
“Yeah. What is it?”
“Monkshood. Wolfsbane. Aconitum is the proper name. It’s about to bloom. It’ll be a pretty blue-violet color.”
“Nice. Does it smell good?” He didn’t know much about flowers and had never really noticed them, other than as something that made the front of a house look nice.
She waved it gently in front of his face. “What do you think?”
A slightly acrid, bitter odor wafted over. “Ugh.” He drew back. “That’s a no.”
“Used for color, not smell. Those regal blue spires make a lovely blue backdrop in a shady garden.”
“Do you have some in yours?”
She shook her head and tossed the stem into the wilderness. “It’s toxic enough to hurt a dog or a kid if they ate it. Poisonings are rare, but I won’t take the risk.”
“What kind of kid would eat something that smelled like that?”
She laughed. “I’ve read that it tastes even nastier than it smells, but there’s always some kid who can’t resist a dare. Not to mention golden retrievers. They’ll eat anything. Mother Nature’s quite something, isn’t she? The flowers must be beautiful enough to attract pollinators, without attracting animals like deer and rabbits. Beautiful and lethal at the same time.”
“How do you know all this stuff?”
“I read. In Ancient Rome, Livia, the wife of Emperor Augustus, poisoned several members of her family with monkshood. Now there’s a recipe I’d love to see. How the heck did she cover up the taste, I wonder?”
Jon couldn’t help but laugh. “You’ve got people to off, do you?”
She gave him an innocent look. “Academic interest only. I adore trivia. Here’s another bit for you. Juice from monkshood root was commonly used to poison the tips of arrows before battles. The other name, wolfsbane, came about because ancient mythology claims that it repels werewolves.” She frowned. “Or causes wolves to turn into werewolves. Reports are unclear. My guess is that some starving wolves once ate it in desperation and someone saw their death throes and thought they were turning into monsters. A quarter-inch piece would kill in about five minutes. What?”
She’d been so engrossed in her story that she hadn’t realized how he’d been watching her.
A flush rose in her cheeks. “I go on a bit sometimes. Ignore me.”
He hesitated before speaking. He could be way off base, but he had to know. “You seem happy here, Abby. But is this really what you want to do?”
“Of course. For now.” She looked away again, to the horizon.
“But what would you do? If you could do whatever you wanted, and money was no object?”
She shrugged. “You’re talking fantasyland. I’m a pragmatist. Brighten the corner where you are, and all. This is where I am, it’s a beautiful place, with kind, trustworthy people. What more could I ask for?”
She wouldn’t meet his eyes and he wondered what she was thinking about, what had happened to make her lose her ability to dream. “You like working at the ranch that much?”
“I like this ranch. I’m good at gardening. I love baking. It’s great being surrounded by animals. Especially for Quinn. She’s always wanted pets and we could never have one before.”
His journalistic instincts told him to back off. But his male curiosity couldn’t let it go. He wanted to know more about her. What made her the woman she was today? What did she want out of life? “But where do you see yourself ten years from now? Don’t you ever think about that?”
She stiffened. “Maybe I’ll still be here. Is there anything wrong with that?”
“Of course not.”
He let the silence hang.
“Maybe I’ll become famous for my garden design,” she said eventually. “Maybe I’ll become the Picasso of tulips, travel the world, following Quinn and the kids she’s dying to have. I’ll be the doting Aunt Abby who always has mints. Or, I’ll stay in Sunset Bay and take over Goldie’s bakery. Who knows, Jon? Ten years is a lifetime. I’m happy going season to season. That’s a lot better than going day to day or hour to hour. I’ve lived that way, too. This way is better.”
A tendril of hair had come loose, curling softly at her cheek. He touched it, caressing it lightly between thumb and forefinger, then tucked it behind her ear.
She didn’t move.
“No special someone in that scenario?” He edged closer. “No kids of your own?”
If he leaned over right now, he could kiss her.
“Now we’re really talking fantasyland.” She pressed her hands into her thighs and got to her feet. “I better go. Those deer are probably eating my flowers right now.”
Chapter Eighteen
From Abby’s notebook:
Weeds grow at precisely the rate you pull them out. Best to consider it meditation.
“His name is Ziggy Bigelow,” Jamie explained to Abby and Quinn, holding the leash firmly in her left hand. “He’s a two-year-old retriever cross.”
Quinn’s eyes widened. “How much does he weigh?”
“Fifty-five pounds. He looks big but a lot of that is hair. And he’s extremely gentle.” Jamie fondled the soft black-tipped ears that offset his cinnamon-colored coat. “He was found last week at an abandoned building in Roseburg, tied up in the pouring rain.”
“Oh, the poor thing.”
“He was with his brother, Mr. Bean. We brought him back, too. Bean’s a little smaller, only fifty pounds, and just as gentle. There was a note stuck to the wall, with their names on it and an apology. They couldn’t afford them anymore, apparently.” Jamie’s face darkened. “So they just tied them to a door and drove off, hoping someone would find them.”
“Poor boys,” Quinn said.
Abby couldn’t imagine living with a large dog in their little cabin. Tux might have something to say about that.
“You think he’s got potential to be a therapy dog?” she asked.
Jamie tipped her head to one side. “I do. I can never be sure, of course. But Haylee’s seen him and tested him. She agrees that his temperament is sound. The only thing is, we’ve discovered he’s a chewer, so hide your shoes.”
“He’s a lot of dog for an inexperienced handler,” Abby said.
Jamie smiled at Quinn. “He and his brother might have spent a lot of time scavenging for whatever they could find to eat. It’ll take a while to teach him that he doesn’t have to worry about meals anymore.”
“You poor guy.” Quinn approached him with her hand out, palm out. Ziggy sniffed it and wagged his tail.
“Your main job is socialization, as we discussed. Exposing him to a wide variety of people, places, and things, making sure he has positive experiences.”
Abby wondered if her sister was ready for the responsibility.
But Quinn nodded. “I can do that.”
“He’ll be with you while you work, when you eat, when you sleep. If you go to town, bring him along. If you go to the beach, he comes, too.”
“That’s a lot,” Abby said.
Quinn put her hand out for the leash. “I can do it. Hey, Ziggy, we’re going to have fun together, aren’t we?”
The dog lunged for her, his tail wagging and tongue lolling, but Quinn drew back sharply.
Jamie snapped the leash. “Ziggy, sit.”
The dog whined, but sat, glancing anxiously between Jamie and Quinn.
“Is that a choke collar?” Quinn put a hand to her throat. “I thought those were cruel.”
“They can be dangerous, if not used properly. That’s why we prefer this kind. It’s called a martingale.” She ran her hand under the collar around Ziggy’s trunklike neck. “It’s half nylon, half slip chain. It doesn’t hurt the dog but it does allow for a quick, sharp correction, accompanied by the sound of the metal clinking together. Believe it or not, that sound is just as much of a training tool as the physical check.”
“I wonder if she should start with a smaller dog,” Abby said.
Jamie’s nostrils flared. She gave Abby a long look, then turned her attention to Quinn. “Is that what you want?”
Quinn bit her lip. “I don’t know. Maybe. Do you think he’s too much for me, Abby?”
Abby opened her mouth but Jamie stopped her.
“Quinn, you’re the one who’ll be doing the work, not your sister. I want your opinion, not hers. No offense, Abby.”
Abby lifted her chin. “None taken,” she lied.
When Haylee had first broached the subject of Quinn working with the dogs, Abby had assumed they’d have her start slowly. She hadn’t expected Quinn to be tossed into the deep end.
“What will happen to him if I don’t take him?”
Jamie shrugged one shoulder. “Then I’ll do it. But I’m focusing on his brother, Bean. We’re already pretty crowded, with Honey and Blake, when he’s here. I can’t have three big dogs.”
Jamie’s boyfriend Gideon had his son every other week and the boy had fallen in love with a standard poodle they’d rescued the previous year.
“He’d have to stay in the kennels, which is okay. It’ll just take longer to get him prepared for serious training. They progress fastest with consistent, one-on-one attention from someone they trust.”
Abby thought about the training Jamie had done with Roman and Chaos, and how hard it had been on Roman. But Jamie hadn’t let up. It was no use, she always said, for Chaos to learn to obey her, when Roman was the one who needed him.
It had been a challenge to nurture the bond between Jon’s father and the sweet dog, but Jamie never stopped badgering, and as Chaos learned to help his master, Roman came around.
She knew he still grieved for Sadie, though.
Suddenly she wondered what would happen to Chaos, when Roman was gone. Would Jon take him? He’d purchased the puppy in the first place, but only for his father.
She felt a sudden lump in her throat. Soon, not only would Roman be gone, but Jon and the dog, too. Roman’s beautiful hideaway would be sold. Someone else would move in and just like that, a chapter in her life would be over.
She couldn’t bear the thought.
She crossed her arms over her belly and hugged her elbows, wishing she’d never agreed to support Roman through his final days. It was going to hurt, more than she’d thought. Worse, she would be there to witness Jon’s pain.
She had a feeling that she’d never be able to go back to the simple contentment she’d found at Sanctuary Ranch before becoming friends with the Byers men.
Is that what Jon was? A friend?
She didn’t know. She cared about hi
m. They spent a lot of time together and had grown increasingly comfortable in each other’s presence. Roman made no secret of the fact that he wanted them to become a couple.
He wanted his son’s future settled before he died.
It seemed like a lot of pressure to put on two people who barely knew each other. But how did you deny an old man his dying wish?
She looked at Quinn, smiling now as she walked the big dog in a circle, keeping him neatly at heel. His stubby tail wagged and his tongue lolled out of gaping pink jaws. He looked like he was in love.
It would be good for Quinn to have this. She’d changed, grown, and Abby had to face that. She was finally blossoming out of the frightened stage she’d been stuck in for so long.
Changes, changes, everywhere. Quinn didn’t need her anymore. Once Roman was gone, Jon wouldn’t need her. Olivia and Haylee could hire anyone to do Abby’s work. She wasn’t indispensable anywhere.
She needed something to fill the void they would leave behind. She had to prepare herself, like a vaccine, for the emptiness that was coming.
She inhaled, uncrossed her arms, and turned back to Jamie and Quinn.
“I think you’ll be fine, if you want to do this, Quinn. I’ll help, too, Jamie. I assume I’m one of the people, places, and things that a dog like him needs to be comfortable with.”
She squatted next to the big, panting dog.
“Hi, Ziggy,” she said, letting him sniff her hand. “What do you think? You want to move in with us for a while?”
The smile Quinn gave her would have melted the sun.
* * *
Jon looked at the pages laid out on the table in front of him. So much research to sort through, so much information. He owed his dad for printer ink.
He took a cookie from the plastic container Abby had brought over earlier.
He had transcripts from six women who’d filed complaints against Richard Arondi, everything from grabbing buttocks to demanding sex from women who wanted roles. But one in particular stood out.
Typical story. Twenty-one-year-old Carly Cassidy worked in craft services while taking acting lessons, networking and hoping for the best. She got tapped for a bit part in an upcoming movie. Said she was told to go to the hotel where he was staying. She expected a conference room, so was surprised he answered the door in swimming trunks.
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