Sit. Stay. Love.

by Karis Walsh

  Her accommodations were still included in her salary, but Chip had given her a key and directions to a rental home less than a mile from the lodge rather than a room in one of the wings. He had intended this as a perk for the position, because of the house’s size, privacy, and distance from the noise and mess of construction, but Alana wasn’t sure what she’d do with extra rooms and a large yard. Luckily, he had told her the place was furnished, because all her worldly belongings fit into the carry-on at her side. She was prepared to squish everything she owned into a small closet and a medicine chest over the bathroom sink, not to expand into a three-bedroom home.

  Not that she’d need to worry. She doubted she’d have this job for long, once Tegan told Chip how incompetent she was. She had assumed she would be able to bluff her way through the simple task of holding horses, but she had failed within the first two minutes of meeting Tegan. If she had only had a few more minutes to watch videos and practice, she might have been able to pull it off…

  Or, if she was being completely honest, if she hadn’t been so disconcerted by Tegan herself, she might have been able to remember the footage she had seen.

  Dusty tan-colored boots, a navy plaid Western shirt, and worn jeans came together to produce a sexier look than Alana could have imagined. And the woman wearing them…she had turned Alana’s insides upside down, just like the halter she’d been holding. Tegan seemed to have been created for the purpose of making the world around her more beautiful. Her dark brown hair with its hints of red and her gold-flecked hazel eyes reflected the colors Alana had seen in Yakima’s landscape and had judged as blah and monotonous. On Tegan, however, those same colors seemed infinitely varied and striking. Alana sighed. She had no intention of falling for anything in this town. Not the hills, not the sparkling rivers, and definitely not the lovely vet who noticed too much and saw past her masquerade far too easily.

  Alana locked the truck out of habit even though she was too isolated to worry about vehicle prowlers. Besides, no one with any sense would want to steal the old white Ford with High Ridge Ranch stenciled on the side in bright red paint and a messy font that looked like a serial killer had scrawled it in blood. She had originally been excited by the idea of having her own car since she had spent most of her life in major cities where it made more sense to take a bus or subway than to deal with the hassles of parking and traffic. She was far from any sort of public transportation out here, though, so unless she wanted to walk at least five miles to a grocery store, she’d have to drive. Her first impressions of the truck had dimmed her enthusiasm slightly, but she’d make do. She had been counting on this truck to drive somewhere to take intensive riding lessons, so she’d be ready for the first guests, but she now had a better understanding of the chasm between her level of inexperience and what she needed to know for this job.

  If she even wanted to accept the bother of trying, given the potentially hopeless battle to learn enough to function on the ranch. She had felt one brief second of pure elation when she saw the look on Tegan’s face as she fixed Blaze’s halter—Tegan was clearly aware of Alana’s status as a complete beginner. The game was over, and her bluff had been called. Chip might be desperate for her to stay, but even he wouldn’t let a total novice loose on the trails with his horses and guests. In that moment, Alana had felt relief course through her. She’d get her bag and go, letting Tegan deal with the smelly horses and Chip deal with another staff vacancy.

  For some reason Alana still couldn’t fathom, her relief had been rudely pushed aside by an avalanche of other emotions. Embarrassment. Frustration because she had made a mistake with the stupid halter, which should have been simple to use. And a stubborn desire to defend that mistake and prove she could adapt and learn. So she had shut her mouth and listened to every piece of advice Tegan had given her, even though she had wanted to yell or storm off to nurse her wounded pride while on a flight out of here. Or, in her less mature moments, kick Tegan in the shins.

  And so she was still here. For now. No kicking, no running away, but waiting for Tegan to talk to Chip, and then for Chip to fire her. Alana walked onto the porch, with its warped wooden slats that might at one time have been beige but now were mostly gray and bare, with only small patches of chipped paint. She was concentrating on the question of what she would do if Tegan didn’t tell on her and how she was going to learn to ride a goddamned horse in only a few weeks when a scratching noise startled her, and she dropped her keys. She looked around, half expecting to see Tegan leap out from behind one of the sparse bushes lining the porch, accusing her of being a fraud, but she was still alone.

  She bent over to pick up her keys and jumped back again when she saw a flash of movement through the widely gapped slats. She hesitated, torn between fleeing to the safety of the house or running back to the truck and driving directly to the airport. She was close enough to the door for the house to win, and she jammed the key in the ancient lock and frantically struggled to turn it. The battered screen creaked and banged shut behind her as she ran inside and leaned back against the closed door, dropping her suitcase on the floor next to her feet.

  She got out her phone and called the ranch. Chip answered with a breezy hello after about ten rings.

  “Hey, Chip. It’s Alana.”

  “Alana! Great to hear from you. Are you settling in okay? It’s a wonderful old house, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, wonderful,” she said, glancing around at the living room’s green shag carpet and the furniture upholstered in pastel florals. Either he was too delusional to listen, or Tegan hadn’t talked to him about Alana yet. She’d worry about that later, though. “Look, there’s something under the porch. I saw it running around.”

  “Oh, it’s probably just rats. The place has been empty for a long time. Let me get the number of the exterminator I used when we had them in the barn.”

  Rats. Alana closed her eyes, willing herself to wake up from this nightmare in her rat-free room in Philadelphia. With her old, horse-free job. She opened her eyes to pastel and shag carpet.

  “Here’s the number. Do you have a pen?”

  “Wait, I don’t want them killed. But I don’t want them here.” Mostly she didn’t want them lurking outside her door, waiting to pounce the next time she walked across the porch, but she hoped for some kind of compromise.

  “That’s kindhearted of you, but I should expect nothing less from an animal person like yourself. Don’t worry. He’ll probably be willing to set a live trap and release them somewhere else if you ask.”

  Alana fumbled in her bag for a pen and an old receipt for jotting the number down. Had she called herself an animal lover in her cover letter? Probably. She’d need to do some serious editing before she applied for another job.

  * * *

  Either this was the way small towns worked or Alana’s voice had been suitably desperate sounding, but for whatever reason, the exterminator said he would be right over to set some traps. Relieved she didn’t need to have rats as housemates for long, she wandered through the rest of the house while she waited for him. Who knew what other sorts of vermin she would find, and she figured she might as well have him take care of everything in one go.

  She needn’t have worried about bugs or rats in the house, though. She saw signs of a recent cleaning in every room. The patchy carpets were dented with vacuum tracks, and there wasn’t a speck of dust on any surface. Most of the appliances were brand new, still bearing their manufacturer’s stickers and with instruction manuals taped inside. The glossy whiteness of them emphasized the age of the rest of the furnishings and wallpaper, which were an odd mix of florals, stripes, and other patterns.

  Alana stood in the bathroom, where faded kittens gamboled across the walls around her, and peered into a plastic bag on the counter that was full of necessities like toilet paper, full-sized shampoo and body wash bottles, and toothpaste. She had found the kitchen just as well stocked, with some basic food in the fridge and dishes in the cupboard. She was touch
ed by the effort Chip had put into the place, and drowning in guilt because she hadn’t been completely honest with him. The guilt hit hardest, especially after she spent all of two minutes unpacking her suitcase, hanging her few clothes in the closet and putting a pile of books next to the bed. He had saved her the trouble of buying a load of housewares and linens that she wouldn’t need once she left Yakima. More importantly, though, he had made her feel welcome and settled. She wasn’t accustomed to filling such a spacious home, and she would have been depressed by how measly her belongings seemed in an otherwise empty house.

  She went out the back door and down a short flight of cement steps, luckily free of any gaps where rats might make themselves at home. The grassy backyard was small and unfenced, surrounded by scrubby sages, dried grasses, and some large pine trees. She stood outside a garden shed for a full minute before flinging the door open, expecting a pack of furry bodies to pour out. Instead, she found the shed to be as clean as the interior of the house. She examined the lawn mower, which wasn’t new and therefore wasn’t accompanied by a manual. She was feeling a little foolish about her reaction to the rats, especially since she knew they were abundant in the cities in which she’d lived. At least there, though, she had plenty of people as backup in case of an uprising. Here, it was just her against the rats.

  When she heard the rumble of a large truck coming up the drive, she closed the shed and walked around the side of the house. She would figure everything out, piece by piece. She would learn how to mow the lawn, ride a horse, and paddle a raft. Easy as could be, right?

  “Hi, I’m Aaron.” The exterminator came over and shook her hand as soon as she rounded the corner. He was about six inches shorter than her, wearing tan overalls and a green Henley. He had a flashlight and an electric drill tucked under his left arm. “You must be Chip’s new trail guide.”

  “I seem to be,” she said with a sigh. “I’m Alana. Thank you for coming out right away.”

  He waved off her thanks with a grin. “No problem. I’ll just take a look under there and see how many traps I need to set.”

  She hovered near his truck while he unscrewed one of the latticework panels that skirted the porch and shimmied underneath. He was only gone for several seconds before his head popped out again.

  “Empty out that cardboard box in the bed of the truck and bring it to me, would you?”

  Alana stood on tiptoe and reached over the side of the truck, pulling some folded tarps and tangled bungee cords out of a large packing box and stacking them to one side. What was he going to do? Put a cardboard box and a piece of cheese under there? She had expected some sort of sophisticated rat traps, but she wasn’t going to argue with the expert. Whatever got the job done.

  As soon as she was near the porch, he held out a grubby hand and took the box from her. “Are there a lot of them?” she asked.

  “Only six. Let me just double check to make sure, though.”

  Only six? One was bad enough. Two had her outnumbered. Six were enough to stake a claim on the house and make her move out. She was wondering whether Yakima had any decent hotels when she heard a rough snarling sound and jumped back a foot. Aaron scooted out feet first, tugging the box with him.

  “Here you go,” he said as he stood up and went to hand her the box full of rats.

  She backed away several more steps. “I don’t want them as pets,” she said. “I thought you were going to set them free somewhere else.”

  “Look inside,” he insisted, smiling and shoving the damned box closer to her. “They’re adorable.”

  He must really love his job. He didn’t seem ready to relent, so Alana decided to humor him and look. Then maybe he’d bundle the little cuties into his truck and take them far away. She cautiously peered into the box, reminding herself that they weren’t going to launch themselves out of it and at her face. Then she frowned and came closer.

  “They’re puppies, not rats,” she said, hearing an accusing tone in her own voice. Tiny, squirming puppies.

  “Yep. Sweet little buggers, too. Well, here you go,” he repeated, pushing the box into her arms. “Their mama is cowering under there, but she’ll come out soon enough when she hears them crying.”

  “You have to take them with you,” Alana said, hurrying after him with the bulky box in her arms. “I don’t want puppies.”

  She didn’t want to be here. She didn’t want this unfamiliar job, or this nice but far too big house. She certainly didn’t want puppies.

  “I can’t take them,” Aaron said. “I already have two Dobermans. You can take them to the shelter, and they’ll try to find homes for them. Or a local rescue group, although I know most of them are pretty full this time of year.”

  Alana didn’t like the sound of his phrase try to find homes for them. “What if no one will adopt them from the shelter?”

  “They’ll be put to sleep. Don’t worry, though. Puppies usually are easy to place.” He tied a large slipknot in a length of cord and handed it to her. “Once she comes out, best to get this around her neck and take them all inside, or she’ll try to drag them back under the porch. They’ll be walking soon, and chances are the coyotes will get them.”

  He drove away, leaving Alana feeling stunned as she stood on the driveway holding the box, with the rope dangling over her wrist. She really hated this place. Coyotes. Puppies masquerading as rats. Sporadic cell service and far too much dirt. A job she wasn’t qualified to do. Sexy vets whose hazel eyes saw past her pretenses. She set the box down and sat cross-legged next to it, resting her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands. She had made a simple mistake at her last job, and she had been prepared to accept exile as punishment, but this went beyond basic karma.

  She heard a slight rustling sound and looked up to see a small face peeking at her from the gaping hole where the lattice had been. The dog watched her suspiciously with huge brown eyes, but she slowly crawled out from under the porch and slunk toward Alana and the box of puppies. She was small, and her matted fur was patchy with different colors. Alana couldn’t tell which patches were dirt and which were her natural shades of brown. Her hipbones jutted out, and Alana could see the shadows of the dog’s ribs as she moved steadily and bravely across the front yard. Alana blinked and wiped her hand across her eyes. She had been ready to cry for herself and the mess her life had become, but now she felt a surge of emotion pushing past her self-pity.

  Puppies might be easy to place, but who was going to want this skeletal, dirty little adult dog?

  Alana eased the rope into her lap and adjusted the loop until it seemed to be the right size for the dog, careful not to make any sudden moves that would send her back under the porch. She looked as fragile and delicate as the old lace curtains in Alana’s new bedroom. The box next to Alana rocked a bit as the puppies moved inside it, whimpering as if they sensed their mother coming closer.

  The dog stopped next to the box and raised onto her haunches, resting her front paws on the edge and looking inside. Alana was mentally rehearsing the best way to lasso the dog—hoping it would be easier than haltering a horse—when the dog gave a sudden heave and jumped in with her puppies. Alana caught the box before it tipped over and shut the flaps. She kept one hand on the top and stood up. Now what? She shivered, suddenly aware of the growing chill in the air as the sun dipped below the roof of the house, and picked up the box. It was wigglier and heavier with the addition of the agitated mother dog, and Alana staggered up the porch steps, with one arm under the box to keep the animals from falling out. She thought longingly of the time, a mere hour ago, when she had only been concerned about having a few rats under the porch. Ah, the good old days.

  A distant howl of a coyote gave her the incentive she needed to sidle through the front door and carry the box into the empty downstairs bedroom. She set it on the floor and shut the door behind her as she went to the upstairs guest room and pulled the comforter off the bed. She stopped by the kitchen for a bowl and some water, then went back int
o the bedroom, where she put the blanket in the closet with the water bowl nearby. She opened the flaps and stepped back as the dog jumped out again, backing away from her with a quiet growl.

  “None of that,” Alana said, trying to sound more confident than she felt. She took the puppies out of the box one by one and set them on the comforter, stopping only two or three times to marvel at how soft the pups were. Each one had some variation of the mother’s coloring, with tiny, fluffy earflaps and frowning mouths. She tried to force herself not to linger since they wouldn’t be staying with her any longer than necessary, but she couldn’t resist them and was soon lying on her stomach as the pups stumbled blindly around, raising their small heads to sniff the unfamiliar scents in the room and bumping into her as they haltingly explored their new home. Temporary new home, she reminded herself sternly, no matter how adorable the smallest puppy was as it chewed on a strand of her hair or how funny another pup looked when it tried to sit on its haunches and fell over instead. They could be as cute as they wanted, but Alana wasn’t about to grant them permanent residency.

  She sighed, melting inside as a pup licked her outstretched hand with a tiny, raspy pink tongue. She wasn’t even sure why she was having to work so hard to convince herself that the puppies weren’t going to be staying for long. That fact should be a given, not requiring any debate, but she felt the need to remind herself every few seconds that they would be leaving soon. And how had the simple process of taking the puppies out of the box turned into ten minutes of lying on the floor of the closet with them? She was both sad and relieved when a quiet whine from the mother dog gave her a reason to carefully push onto her hands and knees and crawl far enough away from the puppies for the mother to feel comfortable going to them.