Baker's Dozen

by Lori R. Taylor

  Baker settled herself in front of the sofa, sitting upright, just as Maeve said, “Shoot, I almost forgot the treats.”

  She rushed out again, passing Macavity, who leapt onto an armchair and promptly proceeded to lick himself in the most indecent places.

  He looked up, eyes wide, as if he could feel Baker’s attention on him. What?

  Baker turned away. A truce didn’t make them friends.

  Maeve was back in no time, carrying the bag of doggy treats and a bowl of salty, buttery popcorn.

  She gave Baker a treat, then ate a handful of fluffy white popcorn, making a lot of crunching sounds.

  “I never watched this with David. He wanted me to, but I said no dogs, no matter what.” She smiled. “But maybe he left it here for a reason.”

  Baker thumped her tail against the sofa. No, it wasn’t bad at all. Even with Macavity massaging a cushion on the armchair and purring too loudly.

  Maeve grabbed a piece of black plastic with very chewable buttons from the coffee table and pointed it at the TV.

  “Ready, Baker?”

  Baker licked her knee, tentatively.

  Maeve giggled. “That tickles!”

  Then the TV did that thing where it turned into a window. But a really weird window — when they looked through it, it didn’t show the backyard like it should.

  Baker ran to the other window, to make sure Maeve’s garden was still there. It was.

  Then she ran back to the couch to look at the weird window, which looked out onto a house that definitely wasn’t in Maeve’s garden. A boy and two adults stood in the yard, talking.

  “It’s not a window,” Maeve said, laughing. She did something with the buttons and the people froze. “This is the movie.”

  Macavity glared down from the armchair. Stupid dog.

  Baker sat next to Maeve and licked her knee again.

  Now she got it, this was what TVs did. Through it they watched a sad boy meet a really smart collie — they became friends, and the collie saved the boy from a wolf. But then the boy thought the collie had died and he was so sad, Baker couldn’t help whining when he cried.

  Maeve reached out to pat her on the head. “It’s okay, Lassie isn’t really dead.”

  And she was right, because Lassie came back to surprise the boy.

  Baker was so happy, she jumped up and barked and ran in a circle.

  Maeve laughed. A lot.

  Macavity went back to licking himself.

  After Maeve had finished her popcorn, she lay back on the sofa and dropped her hand onto Baker’s back.

  Lassie had protected the sad boy from a wolf, just like she’d protected Maeve from the mean girl with her teeny dog. She’d found a home by making the boy happy again.

  Maybe that was all Baker had to do: make Maeve happy. Then she’d be allowed to stay.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Was she really doing this?

  Maeve had spent a lot of time thinking about it last night after the movie — lying on the couch after laughing so hard her stomach hurt — she hadn’t laughed like that in a long time.

  Not since before her mother died.

  She thought she was happy with David, but he never once made her laugh like that.

  At the time, she’d blamed it on the Leroys, and on her love-hate relationship with running her own graphic design business.

  She’d loved design when she started playing around with online tutorials in high school, but as soon as she needed to do it for a living so she could stay home and take care of Mom, she’d grown to hate it.

  Mom had made her promise that after she passed, Maeve would quit freelancing and start her own bakery.

  But after the funeral, Maeve had been in a daze, too numb to do anything but tackle new orders as they came in. That daze lasted until she met David — but he always said it was crazy to walk away from a thriving business that brought in enough to pay for expensive vacations and all the other things they did together. Normal couple things.

  Honestly, Maeve had wanted to lose herself in what felt like a normal life. Normal had left her forever the moment Mom got her diagnosis.

  But last night she realized that she didn’t want normal.

  She wanted happy.

  And last night, she’d actually felt happy. Thanks to Baker.

  How could Maeve take her back to the shelter, to live in a cage, waiting for someone to love her enough to adopt her?

  Assuming that she would be adopted at all.

  No, she couldn’t risk it.

  Baker deserved a real home, and Maeve wanted to give it to her.

  “We’re going on a trip,” she said, clipping Baker’s leash onto her collar.

  The dog wagged her tail so hard, she accidentally whacked it against the wall. But if it hurt, that didn’t stop Baker from looking up, eager, as Maeve grabbed her tote and led her outside.

  Even though they’d never gone anywhere in the car together before, Baker jumped onto the back seat and lay down. Strapping her in was a little tricky, but she held still as Maeve fumbled the seatbelt around her.

  At one point, their faces were next to each other’s, and a flicker of old fear stoked in Maeve’s belly.

  Then Baker licked her chin.

  This was absolutely the right thing to do.

  But was she really ready to be a dog owner? What if it all went wrong?

  Maybe she was making a bigger deal out of this than it was, but it felt huge. Like a life decision.

  Maeve didn’t have a great track record when it came to making life decisions.

  Baker barked, and Maeve glanced at her in the rearview mirror. She sat straight, pressing her nose to the back window, smudging it. She wagged her tail. For the entire ride, Maeve could hear the swish-swish-swish as it swept back and forth across the vinyl seat.

  “We’re almost there.” They pulled into a parking space in front of the shelter and got out.

  But as soon as Baker was out of the car, she lifted her nose to the air, sniffing hard.

  Then her entire body seemed to droop, as she understood where she was again.

  Maeve grabbed the leash. “Come on, girl. I promise, you’re going to like what happens next.”

  But as she took a step toward Pretty Paws, Baker planted her butt on the ground, looking up with those big, brown puppy dog eyes. She whined.

  “Don’t worry, Baker,” Maeve said, and stroked her head and ears. They were silky soft. “After today, you’ll never have to see this place again.”

  That got Baker walking again, reluctantly.

  Maeve led her through the front door. Her tail was low and tucked between her legs, obviously unhappy.

  Maybe she should’ve come in to make it all official without Baker, but she hadn't wanted to leave the dog a long in the hot car.

  Funny that it only crossed Maeve’s mind now that she maybe could’ve left Baker at the house. But she’d never even considered that option.

  The receptionist — a redheaded woman, not the pink-haired teen from before — smiled at me. “Hi there. Can I help you?”

  “Hi, yeah, I’m here to—”

  “Oh hey, Maeve!” Emma called from the passageway leading to a door in back. “You brought Baker? What are you guys doing here?” Emma was clearly in the middle of dog-washing duties. She held the leash of a big black dog who’d been brushed until its coat appeared glossy. Rottweiler, I guessed.

  “Yeah, I just came to—”

  The Rottweiler barked loudly, baring its teeth.

  Baker barked back.

  Emma said something, scolding the big black dog. It lunged forward, and Emma’s feet slipped out from underneath her.

  She fell backward, throwing her hands up. The black dog streaked into the lobby.

  Maeve screamed and dropped the leash, backing away, but the Rottweiler wasn’t interested in her. It dove for Baker.

  Both dogs erupted into a flurry of barks and bites, lunging and dodging, sometimes rising onto their hind le
gs. Teeth flashed, and the round whites of their eyes showed. Growling and snapping filled the lobby, louder than the elevator music coming through the tinny speakers. Baker yelped as the dog bit down on her back.

  “Hey! Leave her alone,” Maeve yelled, forcing herself forward. “Emma!”

  Emma was already on her feet, rushing toward the dogs, as was the lady at the reception desk.

  Maeve grabbed hold of Baker’s leash again and pulled on it, trying to drag her away from the black dog. “Stop. Please, stop!”

  Blood trickled from the torn flesh on her back as she shook and strained against the leash, trying to get at the other dog.

  Maeve shook, too, with adrenaline and fear and fury at the black dog.

  Baker hadn’t been doing anything, and he attacked her. She’d only been defending herself.

  Emma grabbed the other dog by the hips and dragged it back an inch or two. Both dogs still snarled at each other, saliva flying, their hackles raised.

  “Baker.” Maeve touched her back, trying to comfort her.

  She spun around, growling, teeth bared.

  Then she bit Maeve’s leg.

  Maeve screamed as pain shot through her calf. Icy panic raced through her veins, and her vision tunneled until all she could see was Baker.

  She dropped the leash and scrambled backward, up onto the nearest chair.

  The redhead took the Rottweiler by the collar, physically dragging him through the door back to the cages.

  That door slammed shut and Baker shrank back into a crouch. Her fur fell flat against her back again and she tucked her tail between her legs. She pressed herself to the floor and crawled toward Maeve, whining.

  “Get away,” Maeve shrieked, the pain in her leg growing sharper by the second. She looked down, but saw no blood seeping through the denim. Not yet.

  “Maeve, you’re okay, it’s over,” Emma said.

  “She bit me!”

  “She was scared. She panicked.”

  “SHE BIT ME!” Maeve knew she was repeating myself, but she was panicked, too. She'd trusted Baker, who’d seemed sweet-tempered until now.

  She’d trusted Emma, who’d promised me that her fear of being bitten again was unfounded.

  She’d trusted Leslie, who wanted her to believe that she had some sort of special connection with an animal who couldn’t control herself.

  Baker’s been on good behavior all week, but this is who she is.

  And Maeve been about to adopt her.

  Baker whined and wagged her tail, creeping closer and closer.

  Maeve would’ve scooted farther backward, but the chair she’d hopped onto was already pressed against the wall.

  “Maeve, just breathe.” Emma held out a hand, maybe to help Maeve dismount from her precarious perch, or perhaps just for comfort. “Why did you bring Baker in, anyway?”

  Because I’m an idiot who thought a dog could be my friend.

  “Never mind,” Maeve said.

  And bolted.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Bully ruined everything.

  Baker hadn’t meant it. She’d been scared and forgot Maeve was behind her.

  When she’d felt the touch on her back, Baker ahd thought she was another dog, sneaking up from behind.

  She didn’t mean to bite her.

  She tried to say she was sorry, that it was an accident.

  Maeve left anyway.

  Baker was alone again.

  She went to the door that Maeve had run through and scratched at it, but she didn’t come back.

  She stood up and looked out through the glass and whined, but the door didn’t open.

  “Oh Baker, I’m sorry.” Emma’s eyes were watery with tears.

  “He’s back in his kennel,” a woman said from behind, the one who took Bully away.

  “I can’t believe I let him get away from me.” Emma wiped her cheek with the back of her hand.

  “He’s a problem. I’ve been saying it for a month now. Can’t trust him with other dogs.”

  “There are no problem dogs. Only problem people who caused the behavior.” Emma picked up the abandoned end of Baker’s lead. “Come on, Baker, honey, let’s go. I don’t think she’s coming back.”

  No more shredded chicken. No more sniffing Maeve’s creations. No more movies or digging in the garden or splashing in the tub.

  Baker had never had any of that before Maeve. And now she would never have it again.

  Her insides felt hollow. She’d been abandoned by humans before, but she’d never missed any of them before.

  She missed Maeve.

  “This way, girl,” Emma said, sniffling a little. She tugged gently on the leash in the direction of the kennels.

  Baker sat down, whining.

  Maeve had to come back. She didn’t want to stay here anymore. It wasn’t home, and she didn’t belong.

  She kept whining and pulled on the lead. Maeve needed help with her baking.

  She doesn’t want you anymore. You bit her.

  It was a mistake. She hadn’t wanted to hurt Maeve. She loved her.

  But Emma shook her head and opened the door to the kennels. “Come on, I know this sucks, but…”

  The other dogs barked as she dragged Baker into the kennel, and all of their barks sounded like jeering.

  What is she doing here?

  Ha! Her new owner didn’t want her.

  You missed playing with me, didn’t you?

  The last bark was from Bully, who was settled back in his kennel.

  Baker ignored him especially.

  “I’ll get Dr. Dale,” Emma said.

  But even though her back stung where Bully had sunk his teeth in, that was the least of the pain.

  Dogs barked and pressed their noses against the bars of their cages as Baker passed.

  The cacophony hurt. Baker hung her head, her nose overwhelmed by the smell — urine and kibble and disinfectant.

  Emma stopped in front of the only empty kennel and swung the door open. The blankets were in there, neat and clean.

  “It’s not so bad,” Emma said, but she hiccupped and pressed her fist to her nose. “In you go, Baker. Just for now. I’m going to try and figure this out.”

  Baker whined once more and dragged herself inside, then lay down on the blanket. There was nothing wrong with it, but the blanket didn’t smell like roses and vanilla, like the one at Maeve’s house.

  Emma closed the door and secured the latch with a metallic click.

  “What’s going on?” Leslie’s voice rang out. “What’s Baker doing here? Oh, honey, what’s wrong?”

  “Maeve left her,” Emma said.

  “What? The last time I saw them together—”

  When Emma explained what happened, Leslie’s lips drew into a thin line.

  “This is all my fault. If I’d just grabbed Dom in time, Maeve would have adopted Baker.”

  “Adopted her?”

  “I think that’s what she was coming here to do,” Emma said. “Finalize the adoption. But now it’s all ruined. Poor Baker.”

  Each time she heard Maeve’s name, Baker’s insides got hollower. It wasn’t hungry pain — she was plenty familiar with that — but a deeper one that wouldn’t go away. It didn’t matter how she shifted position or how she breathed. It stayed.

  “I’m going to call Maeve and find out if she’s okay,” Emma said.

  “You do that. I’ll get Dr. Dale.” The women walked off together, their voices fading.

  Then it was quiet except for the odd bark or whine. The brown-nosed dog across from her wagged its tail. Hello.

  Baker didn’t wag back.

  She closed her eyes. Maeve had proven that loving her was impossible.

  For the rest of her life, Baker would always be the dog that nobody wanted.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Maeve stood in the kitchen, heart ka-thumping in her chest, and pressed her palms to the counter on either side of her miniature roly-poly. The contest deadline was just
days away, but she was no longer sure that what she’d chosen as her signature product dish would work.

  She’d made dozens of versions, but without Baker’s sensitive nose, she couldn’t tell which was best.

  Her calf throbbed as she remembered the fight between Baker and that other dog, the flash of teeth as Baker had turned on her when Maeve tried to calm her. The pain was all memory — Baker’s teeth had only grazed her skin, leaving pink marks that faded soon after she left the shelter.

  Left Baker. Even though she was clearly hurt.

  Left her in a place where that big black dog could bite her again.

  She bit you.

  But maybe Maeve was the one who’d betrayed her.

  She’d burst into tears as soon as she made it to her car, then cried all the way home.

  Harder than she’d cried when Jassie stole the boy she knew Maeve had a crush on.

  Harder than she’d cried when she found out David was cheating on her.

  The only time in her life that she’d ever cried that hard was the night Mom died.

  That was the last time she’d felt like her life was over.

  How could she be this broken up over a dog she’d known for barely a week?

  A dog who attacked her — out of panic, yes, and after she’d been attacked herself — and okay, maybe Maeve should’ve known better than to touch her before she felt safe.

  Somehow she’d come to trust Baker, and she’d just assumed the dog trusted her back.

  She took a breath.

  She'd thought she was ready to adopt Baker, but clearly she wasn’t. She didn’t know the first thing about handling a dog, especially one that had been traumatized. The first time something went wrong, all the trust Maeve thought they’d built evaporated, and Baker reacted like Maeve was a stranger trying to hurt her.

  Her calf throbbed again in phantom pain, sharper than before.

  But the bite wasn’t the worst hurt. Much worse was the thought of Baker being afraid of her.

  The dog might even have realized what she was doing and stopped herself — she could have sunk her teeth in deep, torn a chunk out of Maeve’s leg.

  Instead, she barely left a mark. A warning nip. Don’t touch me right now, I’m freaking out.