Abby put a hand on her heart and turned toward him. He could practically see her heart beating, a hectic flutter of pulse in her delicate neck. “How in the world…? I mean, how did Griff fall into your pool? My aunt has a pool; none of the cats have ever fallen in. They’re all very pool-savvy.” She took a breath. “I can’t imagine why on earth Griff would fall into your pool. Did you see it happen?”
Quinn waited for Abby’s nervous prattle to subside, then shrugged. He deliberately avoided glancing toward the pissed-on wrench that lay somewhere between the pool pump and his stadium chair, looking instead into Abby’s trusting hazel eyes. “I have no idea.”
* * *
Abby’s restful weekend wasn’t fated to last long; a child’s birthday party was scheduled for the afternoon. Then, after another week of nonstop school field trips, she should be done hosting events at Bayside Barn for the rest of the summer. Though a group of scouts or homeschoolers might book an outing, or a family might book a birthday party, the summer months, at least on paper, looked to be blessedly free of commitments.
If Abby could just get through the next week, she’d be home free, with nothing to do but care for the animals, lie by the pool, fill out online job applications and send out résumés. Office manager jobs were few and far between—especially when she couldn’t get a reference from her cheating ex, Blair—but she had three whole months to find something. Reva had offered Abby a full-time job helping around the farm, but Abby knew that Reva couldn’t really afford it, even if she kept half to cover room and board. Nope; Abby couldn’t rely on Reva forever. She had to find a real job.
First things first, though. She had a birthday party to get through. She planned to give the farm tour and let the kids pet the animals, then leave the group on their own for a couple of hours to have their party in the pavilion and swim in the pool, or even the pond. The party participants had all signed waivers of liability and were free to swim as long as the party organizers provided supervision.
She moved the benches to the edges of the pavilion and set up several picnic tables. Then, with an hour to spare before the group arrived, she decided to go for a swim herself.
Or maybe just a float.
She set her phone’s alarm so she wouldn’t accidentally fall asleep, then stretched out on a pool float and closed her eyes. The goats and sheep bleated softly from their pasture, happy sounds of contentment and communication with one another. Abby made a mental note to chop some carrots for the birthday-party kids to feed them.
Celery too. The stalks she had in the fridge were beginning to go soft. And goats with limp celery fronds hanging from their mouths would make great photo ops for the partygoers.
As Abby floated, her mind floated, too.
She thought of Reva, who must be busy because she still hadn’t called, though they’d been texting a lot.
She thought of the wolf dog, who had dragged two of Reva’s cooking pots into the forest. Great that he was eating the food Abby put out, but she’d have to figure out another, less-expensive container to use. As she thought of the poor stray, she realized he must be thirsty, too. Then she thought of the neighbor’s pool. Green and slimy it may be, but at least it was wet. The dog probably drank there; the warped and battered gate to that property was permanently rusted open.
She thought of the good-looking neighbor, who—
A phone rang, and Abby nearly turned the float over reaching for hers before she realized the sound came from next door.
“Hey, Sean!” Quinn answered. He sounded delighted, and also desperate. Like whoever had called was a loved one who had spurned his advances and was now doling out phone calls the way a prison guard might hand out moldy bread to a starving prisoner.
“That’s…that’s wonderful, son. I’m glad to hear it.”
Son. Oh, right. Abby remembered him saying he had a kid. After that heartbreak with Blair, Abby had promised herself that she would never again get involved with a man who had children.
Never, never again.
“I can’t wait for you to see this place,” Abby heard Quinn say. “I have your room ready, and the bathroom renovation is almost done…” His voice trailed away; he had been interrupted and was listening now. “Yeah, only one bathroom, but…”
Interrupted again. His son must be a little jerk. She wondered how old he was. Probably a teenager. By the sound if it, she’d have no chance of falling in love with Quinn’s bratty kid, as she’d done with Blair’s daughter. Cranky teenage son put Quinn back in the running. It also took him out. No way did she want to be a stepmother to a terrible teenager.
Abby sighed. She needed to get over her tendency to see a cute guy from a hundred yards away and start planning a life with him. That’s what had gotten her into trouble in the first place. All the other women who worked in the dentist office knew to stay away from their charming asshole boss, Dr. Blair White, a.k.a. Dr. Blaring-White Teeth.
And yes, his teeth were as beautiful as the rest of him.
Abby was the only one in the office who had to learn firsthand that while the dentist was gorgeous on the outside, on the inside he was as rotten as a cavity-riddled tooth.
Abby had started out as the office manager and carried on as the dashing dentist’s live-in lover and surrogate mother for his precious daughter who, to hear him tell it, had been abandoned by her drug-addicted mother. Abby had learned only after she’d lost her job, her home, her self-respect, and the child she’d come to love that the story had been nothing more than a compelling fabrication. Emily’s mother had been forced out, made to believe that she would never be able to compete with Blair’s ability to provide for their daughter. Too afraid to stand up for herself and her daughter, Emily’s mother had drifted away instead.
Nope. No matter how cute Quinn was, Abby would have to give him a pass.
Her phone’s alarm hadn’t buzzed yet, but Abby realized that when it did, Quinn would hear it and realize that she could also hear his conversation with his son. She quietly swam to the pool’s edge, used the towel to dry her hands, then turned off the alarm. Reva had left a text message, so she clicked to open it.
Having so much fun! (Photo of Reva holding an old, repurposed messenger bag full of baby possums.)
Abby replied: Sweet!
“Make sure you bring your swimsuit when you come next weekend,” she heard Quinn say. “I fixed the pool pump today, and I’m at this very minute pouring in chemicals to clear the water.”
Chemicals. Oh, well. Abby would remember to take a bucket of water out to the stray tonight when she took his food. A five-gallon horse bucket of water should be too heavy for him to move or tip over. Meanwhile, Abby hoped the stray wolf dog would be smart enough to avoid the chemical-tainted water next door.
* * *
Wolf sat on his haunches next to the frog pool, but it wasn’t a frog pool anymore. A strong chemical smell rose from the clear water, and a thick layer of brown gunk floated near the pool’s bottom. A few bloated toads bobbed belly up on the surface.
Thirsty enough to try the water, at least, Wolf stuck the tip of his tongue in, but changed his mind before lapping some up. It hadn’t done those toads any good; it wouldn’t be good for him, either.
A new swarm of screaming young humans had invaded the farm next door, ruling out the possibility of finding water there today, even though the gate by the road had been left open. Lifting his face to the wind, he sniffed. The ditches around here had all dried up. The only clean water he could access would be down the hill in the bay, or in one of the marshy inlets that fed it.
He trotted through a tangle of overgrown weeds and shrubs, then encountered a stretch of open land that someone had recently mowed. Feeling exposed, he ran until he reached the tall marsh grasses between the hills and the water.
As he stood among the upright blades of tough grasses and plants that cloaked him in their
concealing shadow, cool mud sank beneath the pads of his feet. The scent of water beckoned now. The smell clung to the roof of his mouth, and he knew that the water would taste rich with nutrients imparted by sand, soil, and plants.
The mud got deeper, softer. His paws sank farther down with each step, tearing through tender root systems before plunging into a bottomless slurry of mud mixed with water. Half walking, half swimming, he surged leap by leap through the shoulder-high muck toward the sandy beach he had seen from the hills above.
A low growl filtered through the leaves, seeming to come from all sides at once. It sounded like a dog’s growl, but Wolf knew it wasn’t. This deep, bellowing growl came from the throat of something much bigger than any dog Wolf had ever seen.
And whatever it was, it was growling at him. His hackles rose at the unseen threat.
The growl moved closer, and Wolf could tell now that it was coming from behind him, accompanied by the silky, swishing sound of something big slithering through the mud, somehow staying on top of it instead of being swallowed by it.
Panting, floundering in the ever-deepening mud that sucked at his feet with every swimming step, Wolf struggled toward the smell of the clear water beyond the marsh. His front paws struck something hard and slick, something hidden deep under the muddy surface that the reeds seemed to grow on top of rather than sending roots down. Wolf scrabbled to get all four paws on the shifting platform, then pushed off and leaped forward…only to land in an even deeper pool of mud.
No bottom. No bottom. He went down, down, down. The mud closed over his head.
Eyes closed, mouth closed, knowing better than to inhale the muck that clogged his nostrils, Wolf swam, all four legs moving in unison but getting him nowhere. Was he going up, toward the surface, or farther down to an unknown bottom from which he would never escape? He couldn’t tell.
Whimpers rose in his throat; he could hear them, pitiful sounds that reminded him of puppyhood, of being taken from his mother with no explanation, no chance of turning back or saying goodbye.
Something slammed into him, shoving him up out of the mud. He rolled, his eyes too covered in mud to blink, his nose too clogged to inhale. He gasped, shook his head, and opened his eyes just enough to see past the dripping mud that covered his face.
The thing roared and its log-shaped body lunged forward, its huge mouth open wide. The soft pink abyss of flesh was surrounded by enough teeth to fill the mouths of a dozen dogs.
All but blinded by the gritty mud that dripped into his eyes, Wolf leaped away, but his back legs collapsed under him. The thing’s teeth sank into his side, snagging fur and skin. It held on to him, slinging him back and forth the way he’d once played with the squeaky toys of his youth.
He scratched and bit, but the thing’s flesh wasn’t flesh at all; it was as hard as wood or bone. Wolf’s teeth couldn’t penetrate it.
A small toy in this monster’s mouth, Wolf went limp. The thing slung him sideways, his skin ripped, and he tumbled into the bay.
He swam, feeling clumps of mud fall away in the dark water, knowing that the monster would be right behind him, its big mouth opening wide for a bigger bite, a better grip. With a desperate surge of energy, Wolf veered back to the sandy beach, looking for a safe path to high ground.
But there was only the water, this small strip of sand, and the deep, muddy bog that had swallowed him whole. He was trapped.
Chapter 7
The birthday party folks had a fine time. Abby was glad to see them arrive, glad to show them around, and glad to see them go. The whole time, she’d been strangely distracted by thoughts of the stray dog. She’d planned to take a bucket of water across the street later this evening, but worried that she should’ve done it already.
What if he got so thirsty that he decided to go out in search of water and got hit by a car?
What if he’d been without water for too long already and was suffering from heat exhaustion?
What if he died?
All day, flashes of imagination haunted her. Visions of the stray popped into her head whenever she let herself relax between tasks. She saw him struggling through grassy weeds in search of water that remained out of reach.
What if he got hurt because she hadn’t helped him?
When the last car drove away, Abby wasted no time in filling a five-gallon bucket of water and carrying it across the street. The bucket was almost too heavy for her to carry, and water sloshed all over her boots. But she knew the stray would turn over the bucket if he tried to drag it into the shadowed forest. She hoped to avoid that by filling it so full that it would be bottom-heavy, and by setting it just inside the sheltering overhang of the draping vines.
Georgia sniffed the bucket, then ventured into the forest and came back unsatisfied. She whined at Abby and looked past the old estate to the intersection, where Winding Water Way crossed the potholed track that led down to the landing.
“I know,” Abby said, though she hadn’t clearly understood what Georgia wanted. “I hope he’ll come back, too.”
Georgia lifted her face and sniffed the air, then whined again. She trotted toward the intersection, then turned around and came back, her earnest brown eyes imploring Abby to understand.
But she didn’t.
“I’m sorry, girl. I don’t know what you want.”
Georgia sat in her ball-playing cattle-dog position, down on all fours, front feet pointing forward. She whined again, then looked toward the intersection.
“You want us to go there?”
Georgia leaped to her feet, her expression one of excitement and approval. She must feel like she was playing charades with a very dim-witted person. But at least she didn’t lose hope that given enough clues, Abby would eventually catch on.
“Okay, fine.” Abby walked back to close the gate and dummy-lock it, then clapped her hands. “Lead the way.”
Georgia leaped up a couple of times, doing a good imitation of the Snoopy dance. Then she ran out in front of Abby, her tail a happy curl of triumph over her back. Abby had to jog to keep up. At the intersection, Georgia paused a second to make sure Abby knew they were turning toward the bay.
“Yes, Georgia. I’m right behind you.”
Abby wondered if Georgia was leading the way to Wolf, or simply bored with staying at the farm. Reva often took Georgia for walks; maybe Abby should, too.
The unnamed dead-end road to the old landing bordered the new neighbor’s land, and Abby wondered what Quinn was doing. Maybe she should…? No. Scratch that thought. She should not invite him for a walk, or anything else, for that matter.
The jungle of overgrown plants and vines that covered most of Quinn’s estate transitioned to reedy marshland close to the water. All the estates on this road were the same: fertile high ground tapering down to a wide strip of swampland on the way to the bay.
Reva’s husband, Grayson, had tried to purchase the acreage behind them in order to preserve the lovely view of the bay and the valuable feeling of seclusion and privacy that the wide strip of marshland provided. But the bank declined to offer a loan for land that was prone to flooding, and the owners declined to allow Grayson to pay in installments.
Abby stood near the boat ramp while Georgia noodled along the overgrown bank. Abby couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to build anything out here in the boondocks. Who would drive all the way out here when there were much nicer recreation areas closer to town?
Although there was a shiny, jacked-up crew-cab pickup truck with oversize tires parked on the grassy verge, along with a big boat trailer hooked to the tow bar and secured with a padlock. So maybe there was some lure to these backcountry places.
The ratty, cracked-concrete launch was tucked into a shallow slough that hid the view of all but the opposite bank. With dead trees fallen into the water and vegetation draping low, it looked pretty fishy around here. And snaky. Probably
alligatory, too. She looked back at Georgia—who had disappeared.
Abby panicked. “Georgia!”
The little dog gave a yodeling barroooo from the depths of the marsh grasses. Abby could just imagine an alligator snapping her up. And then, good God, she heard the bellow of an alligator from farther down the bank. Way farther down—the sound carried a long way—but still. Where there was one alligator, there were probably five more. “Georgia…?”
No way was she going in there after the fool dog. “Come back here, now!”
The bad critter emerged looking like a black-stockinged cancan dancer, her legs covered with mud. She also smelled like dead fish, even from ten feet away.
“Great. Now I have to give you a bath.” Abby turned toward home. “See if I take you walking again, you bad girl.”
* * *
Quinn slowed his truck at the intersection—he rarely came to a complete stop. But he did stop when he saw Abby and that little dog walking up from the boat ramp. He rolled down his window. “Hey. How’s your waterlogged cat doing?”
She came closer. Her honey-brown hair glowed with golden highlights in the afternoon sun. Her skin glowed with a golden tan. Her eyes… Shut up, he told himself. Stop looking at her.
“Griff?” She shrugged. “Fine, I guess. I haven’t seen him since he went swimming in your pool. He’s probably hiding out somewhere.” She narrowed her eyes at him, and Quinn wondered if she suspected him of having something to do with the cat’s impromptu swimming lesson. Then she put a hand up to shade her eyes from the sun. “What are you doing out and about? I thought you’d be working on your pool all day today.”
“Hardware-store run. Needed more chemicals. Got the pump running, though.”
“That’s good.” She nodded. “Hey, have you seen that stray dog lately?”
“Nope. Sorry.”
Warm Nights in Magnolia Bay Page 8
