The soft pitter-patter of paws sounded outside her room, and she cracked her eyelids open.
A scratching came on the door. It creaked open a crack, and Macavity — that was what Maeve had called the cat this afternoon — poked his head around the door. His eyes glowed yellow in the thin beam of moonlight coming through the window. He stared.
Baker growled, but the cat didn’t hiss or try to pee on anything this time. Instead, he wandered back out of the room and disappeared.
That was the way of cats — confusing.
But he had opened the little door that separated Baker from the rest of the house. Maeve hadn’t clicked the lock into place.
Now nothing was stopping her from exploring the house.
But would Maeve get mad if she found her somewhere else?
She’d better stay here.
Baker tried shutting her eyes, but a soft yelp forced them open again.
What was that?
She got up and nudged the door open with her nose so she could poke her head out, lifting her ears to listen.
There it was again, coming from the living room. Like a hurt puppy, crying for help.
Baker left her blanket room behind and walked down the hall, stopping every few steps to listen. The closer she got, the more she wanted to whine at the sound.
She stopped in the living room doorway.
It was Maeve.
She lay on the sofa, lights off except for the flat black TV on the wall. It flashed white-blue pictures, quietly.
Maeve had her hand thrown over her eyes, and her chest shook. Every now and again, she would swallow. Her lips parted.
“Please, God, please help me get through this. Help me get what I want so I can … I don’t know, eat? Live my dream? Please, please, let me make the right decisions. I’ve done so many stupid things lately. With David and with the cookies and now, with my clients. Please.”
She broke into the quiet yelps again.
How many times had Baker yelped like that?
She stepped forward, claws clicking on the wooden boards.
Maeve stopped talking and lifted her arm off her face a little. She looked over and met Baker’s eyes. She didn’t shout or chase her off, but the sharp scent of her fear made Baker sad.
Baker was doing everything she could to show Maeve she wasn’t going to hurt her.
Kind of like Leslie and Emma had done for her.
And even Maeve had been so careful not to do anything to scare her, it was getting easier and easier to believe she was really nice.
How could Baker convince Maeve that she was nice, too?
She walked to the sofa’s side, turned in a circle and lay next to it, hind legs spread out nearest her head. She sighed, a big huffing breath.
Maeve shifted on the couch. Her hand came down and rested on Baker’s back. She stroked her fingers through the fur.
Baker tensed and waited, but nothing else happened. She petted her, fingers massaging away the fear.
Soon, Maeve stopped yelping, and they both fell asleep.
Chapter Thirteen
Last night, Maeve had decided that the roly-poly cake with raspberry preserves was officially the way to go. Today’s mission was to figure out how to make it the most delicious roly-poly cake ever baked. With vegan ingredients.
She grabbed the grocery bags from the trunk of her car and carried them into the house, depositing them on the kitchen counter. Yesterday’s experiments had used most of her vegan ingredients, so she’d gone back to stock up on everything.
This was how life was meant to be lived. On the edge. That, or she was slightly hopped up on natural fruit sugars and vegan-approved sweeteners from all the sampled raspberries. She sighed, grabbed a fresh shirt from the bottom drawer, and put it on.
Then she rubbed her palms together.
Baker sat in the doorway of the laundry room.
Maeve had a vague memory of lying on the couch, petting her while she sobbed all over her throw pillow about how she kept messing her life up. She remembered her fingertips touching warm fur, and crying harder, but also somehow feeling better.
But when she woke up this morning, there was no dog, and she wondered if she’d dreamed that.
Baker whined softly and looked down the hallway toward the back door.
Maeve let her out, barely shivering as Baker walked past her into Mom’s garden. All day yesterday, she’d kept her distance, wagging her tail when she talked to her, sniffing whatever she put in front of her, and lying peacefully on her blanket the rest of the time.
She hadn’t bared her teeth once. Or done anything even vaguely threatening.
Maeve thought maybe Baker was also being careful.
Baker came back inside, then returned to the laundry room doorway and sat, waiting patiently for food.
Maeve had bought dog food, too. And some of those biscuits Emma had given Baker when she first met her.
“Breakfast time,” she said, and Baker backed up to the far corner of the laundry room so Maeve could fill her bowl.
She unpacked the rest of the groceries while the dog ate, and made herself a cup of coffee to go with one of the vegan brownies she’d made yesterday.
Not a bad breakfast, but for some reason, it had a faint metallic aftertaste that she hadn’t noticed when the brownie was warm.
She tossed the rest of the batch and made a note, so she could compare with the results of her other experiments. If she could figure out which ingredient — or combination of ingredients — was causing that, she could avoid it in the roly-poly cake.
Or maybe she could let Baker smell everything and pick whatever the dog liked.
Maeve turned to find the dog staring from the laundry room doorway.
“Ready to do some more baking, Baker?”
She wagged her tail.
“Good. Then let’s get started. The raspberry jam isn’t quite right and the cake is a bit dry. I think that’s because we can’t use eggs, and the flax mix isn’t—”
The doorbell rang.
Maeve went the long way around, through the living room so she wouldn’t have to walk past Baker, and unlocked the front door.
Leslie Durant, the owner of Pretty Paws, stood on Maeve's doorstep, her face shining with a smile. The entire room lit up whenever she smiled, and the rest of the world with it. Maeve couldn't help feeling that Leslie had a good soul.
But that didn’t explain why she was standing on her porch.
“Good morning,” she said, and held out a cup of takeout coffee.
Maeve accepted it, even though she’d just drunk half a cup of her own. “I didn’t expect company this morning.”
“Is that your way of asking what I’m doing here?” Her dark eyes sparkled. She took a sip of coffee from her own takeaway cup. “I don’t mean to bother you, I just wanted to have a chat about Baker.”
“Oh, of course.” Maeve stepped back to let her in, and shut the door behind her. “I didn’t mean to be rude. I’m just — sorry. Please excuse the kitchen; I’m getting things ready for a big baking project.”
She was doubly glad she’d cleaned up after last night.
Leslie clicked her tongue. “You know I don’t care about that. It smells amazing in here.”
They walked to the kitchen, and Maeve set down the gifted coffee. “Thanks for this. I need all the caffeine I can get.”
“Ready for the contest?”
“Nowhere near it, but I will be. I think I’ve chosen my dessert.”
Leslie spotted Baker sitting in the doorway, and smiled at her. “There she is.”
Baker barked and wagged her tail at Leslie.
Then Leslie turned back to Maeve. “I feel bad that Emma forced her on you. I know you’re definitely not a dog person, and Baker’s … wow.”
“What?”
“She looks better,” she said, moving closer to the dog and peering at her. “Like she’s stopped biting at the fur on her legs. The skin is less irritated than usual.”
>
Leslie reached out in slow motion, to let Baker smell her hand.
The dog gave her a sniff, then licked the back of her knuckles.
“Is this even the same animal?” Leslie asked.
“Unless aliens snuck in last night and replaced her.” Maeve forced a chuckle. “Baker’s been helping me sniff out the best dessert for my contest entry.”
“Incredible.” Leslie looked almost dazed, but then she shook her head. “Listen, I wanted to offer to take her off your hands, if she’s too much. Emma really shouldn’t have done that to you.”
“Oh.” Maeve licked her lips, glanced at Baker, whose ears had started to droop. That shouldn’t have bothered her, but it did. “But, I mean, Emma said you’re really crowded.”
“Well, yes, but I don’t want you to feel obligated to anything…” Leslie let her voice fade, and something came into her expression that Maeve didn’t know and wasn’t sure she was meant to recognize anyway. “Would you like to keep her a while?”
No. Surely not. She’d only taken her in because Emma had implied that refusing was a death sentence for Baker, and she couldn’t stand the thought that the poor dog might be put to sleep.
Except, it had been nice to talk to her while she was baking.
And she hadn’t tried to bite. Hadn’t even growled when Maeve got too close by accident.
And the brownie. She’d noticed that the brownie smelled off, even though Maeve had thought it tasted fine right after it came out of the oven.
And there was that maybe-dream that she’d come to the couch while Maeve was crying and let her pet her until she felt better.
When she thought about how quiet the house would be if Leslie took her…
“Baker’s been really helpful, actually. With my … baking stuff.”
It sounded like a lame reason, even to her own ears.
“I see,” Leslie said, a small smile playing around the corners of her lips. “Why don’t you keep her for another week? Give that skin on her legs a chance to heal up.”
“Yes, totally! I wouldn’t want her legs to get worse.”
“That’s a relief. We’ve just had another dog come in who could use her space. A real cutie, I’m sure we’ll find an owner for her in a few days.”
“Yeah, of course, no problem. I’ve got the dog food and stuff anyway, might as well use it up.”
Leslie took another sip of her coffee, and the gesture was almost pointed, like it meant something more.
“Dogs are sensitive souls. They form bonds with the humans who take them in and care for them.”
“What do you mean?” Maeve asked, glancing at Baker. Her ears flicked, and she tilted her head to one side as if she could understand what Leslie was saying.
“We have the best shelter in the area, and possibly one of the best vets in the state, but even he couldn’t get Baker to stop chewing on herself, or to willingly leave her cage. Yet you’ve got her sitting calmly, right there in the doorway, sniffing your baked goods to help you win a contest. What do you think that means?”
“That dogs like things that smell good?”
“Think bigger,” Leslie suggested. “What do you think it means in the grand scheme of things?”
“What are you saying?” Maeve asked, not exactly ready to buy soul bonds between humans and dogs just yet. Or at all. Baker was sweet, but she was a dog, and Maeve was still herself. “That this is fate or something?”
“I’m saying you two are meant to spend time with each other. I’ve seen just about every type of dog come through my shelter. I’ve watched owners find the mutts that make their life complete. There’s always something special that happens when a person finds their dog.”
“I don’t know—”
“I specialize in rehabilitating psychologically-damaged dogs. I couldn’t make progress with Baker in months, but one night with you and she’s significantly better. What does that tell you?”
“That I give her loads of shredded chicken when she helps me out?”
Leslie chuckled, and Baker barked a second time, wagging her tail again.
“You can pretend you don’t see it, but I can tell you feel that connection with her,” she said, at last. “Poor Baker’s been through a lot.”
“Like?” Maeve drew closer, lowering her voice, as if she shouldn’t talk about it in front of Baker, as if it would upset her. Don’t be ridiculous. She can’t understand, not really.
Still, she wouldn’t have liked it if two people stood around talking about her and David, or the fact that she’d totally failed at opening a bakery of her own for the past five years, or how she'd lost a lot of work because of her obsession with the oven.
Leslie bit her bottom lip, then gestured through the doorway. “Let’s talk in the living room. It’s rude to chat like this in front of her.”
So, clearly, Maeve wasn’t the only crazy one who wanted to spare Baker’s feelings.
Leslie chose Mom’s favorite overstuffed chair. Maeve plunked herself on the couch, and had a brief ghostly sensation of fur against her fingertips.
That was a dream, she told herself. If Baker had really appeared next to the couch in the middle of the night, you would’ve freaked out.
“Baker’s been through a lot,” Leslie said. “More than most of the animals I’ve seen come through the shelter. She’s been beaten, starved, left out in the cold, abandoned on multiple occasions. That poor dog has had more bad owners than good.”
“That explains it.”
“What?”
“How jumpy she is sometimes. Not that I’m one to talk. I was bitten by a dog when I was young. I had to get stitches on my cheek. See? You can sort of see the scar when I turn like this.” Maeve tilted my head. “So I’m jumpy, too.”
“Seems to me like you and Baker have a lot you could work through together. You’re sure you don’t mind keeping her a little while longer? No pressure. I can take her back anytime you’d like.”
Maeve hesitated, teeth gnawing at her bottom lip. Yesterday, she would’ve jumped at the chance to let Leslie take Baker away. But now, the sad-melty feeling around her heart started up the second she imagined the dog leaving.
If she did keep Baker, what would that mean for the future? Maeve wasn’t about to suddenly transform into a dog person, no matter how sweet that dog was.
Was she?
“Just for a little while longer,” she said, at last. “Until her legs heal.”
Chapter Fourteen
Maeve’s garden wasn’t big, but there were lots of new smells out here, from the blooming flowers at the end of the garden, to the creeping vines along the back fence and the bugs that flitted about inside them. The dirt smelled so good, Baker got excited and started digging a hole in the corner, even though she didn’t have anything to bury there yet.
Then she wondered if Maeve was going to get mad that she'd ruined her grass?
But Maeve just sat on the back porch, sipping on a drink, occasionally smiling or tilting her head back so the sun shone on her face.
“Isn’t it a lovely day?” she asked. “Nice to have a break. We’ve been working so hard.”
Baker barked and carried on digging up the dirt.
Maeve kept her distance. That was good, but sometimes Baker wished she’d pet her.
She buried her nose in the dirt and snuffled it. There was a smell below, something strange and damp. She chewed on the dirt and scratched some more. What was it? Something tasty.
“Oh, hello Macavity,” Maeve said.
The cat sat on the fence, glaring. Baker lifted her snout and barked at him, shaking her rear-end this way and that, leaping and pawing the ground. Do you want to play?
Macavity turned away, lifting his tail into the air. Play with this, peasant.
Annoying creature. But that was fine. Baker could handle a cat, as long as he didn’t do anything stupid, like peeing on the fence or attacking Maeve.
Then she would have to chase him up a tree. Which would be great
fun, but she wasn’t sure how Maeve would feel about it.
Baker scraped her paws through the dirt, but she couldn’t find the source of that thick, moist smell. Finally, she gave up and trotted back to the steps.
Maeve stiffened for a moment, then relaxed and smiled. “Look at you. If you keep making a mess, I’m going to have to give you a bath.”
She shook herself, splattering the porch with dirt. A glob of it landed in Maeve’s cup.
She gasped and stared into it.
Baker tensed. The shouting would start. There was a stick nearby. What if she—?
But Maeve burst out laughing. “Now, you need a bath, and I need a shower.”
Baker didn’t like baths. The water was always too hot or too cold, and the soap stung when it got in her eyes. And when she struggled, people would tie her up so she couldn’t run.
But maybe it would be different with Maeve.
“All right, I bought some stuff to wash you with. Be right back.”
Baker wandered around the garden, sniffing at things while Maeve was gone. Macavity planted his furry butt on the top of one of the fence posts.
I’m the king of this castle, he meowed.
She barked back. A king who steals chicken and tries to spray things.
Macavity turned his head away.
Why don’t you come down here and say that to my face?
He didn’t respond, but lifted a paw and set about cleaning his claws. Somehow, he didn’t lose his balance and fall off the fence, because of course he wouldn’t. Baker couldn’t run through the yard without tripping over something — of course the cat would be impeccably balanced and graceful.
“It’s cleaning time!” Maeve called, as she dashed out of the back door and onto the porch, holding a large metal tub. She grinned and nearly tripped over the bottom step. “Whoops!”
She dumped the tub on the grass and lifted a bottle of red liquid out of it. Then she fetched a hose, nearly tripping over that, too.
Once the tub was filled, she turned the water off and said, “Can you please get in the basin?”
Baker snorted. Maybe a bath wasn’t such a good idea.
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