by Tia Lewis
She took one last draught of her beer and set the bottle on the stainless-steel counter.
“You’ve been dealt a tough hand.”
“It is what it is. And look, I’d better go. Thanks for dinner, and the talk. I hope you and your guy have a good life.”
“My guy?” said Meleyna, surprised. “Oh. Yeah. That.” She played with the beer bottle by tipping with her finger as if thinking deeply. But it was getting late, and I needed to get back to the hotel and make plans for the trip home to Idaho.
“Well, it was a pleasure to meet you. Come on, Parker.”
“Wait.”
For the second time, she stopped me in mid-step. She looked at her beer bottle as she spoke.
“You didn’t answer my question. Can you find out about the soldier I wrote to? It would ease my mind to know one way or the other.”
“I can call my recruiter, ask him to poke around, but it’s a long shot. And the Marines are big on the privacy issue. He may be in a deployment where he has to keep his location a secret.”
“So, what are you telling me?”
“It’s a long shot.”
“How much of a long shot was it to find me?”
“Pretty long,” I admitted.
She wrote down the man’s name, and rank and where she sent the letters to. She added the kennel’s phone number.
“Then I’m pretty sure you can find this out too.” she smiled at me, and I thought I would do just about anything to keep this woman smiling.
Meleyna
I didn’t know why I didn’t tell Matthew that I wasn’t with Randy anymore. Maybe I didn’t want to be disappointed if he didn’t show the interest I felt for the stranger. A soldier, a Marine. A man that fought for our country and came home wounded. It wasn’t the type of wound you could see on the outside, but I could understand his struggle. No one wanted to have wounds that could not heal.
He was charming and handsome. Strong. You had to have strength to go through all he did and remain standing. The entire package that was Matthew was about everything you could ask for in a man.
But I also couldn’t shake the specter of Randy. I’d been with the man for ten years. Even though the relationship didn’t work out the way I had wanted, I still felt connected to him. It was as if an invisible cord bound me to my first and only lover, and I didn’t know how to move beyond that.
Parker shook his head, jangling his tags, and I watched as Matthew reflexively patted Parker’s shoulder. Those two were a solid team—totally clued into each other.
“I’ve been thinking. I’d like to talk with my grandmother about her crazy scheme to keep you around here.”
“Is it? A crazy scheme?” Matthew looked disappointed.
“Oh shit, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just that my grandmother is a bit impulsive.”
“I get it. Have to be careful of us big city boys.”
Matthew deadpanned the words so seriously that I thought I had offended the Marine, then I looked into his eyes and saw them sparkle with mischief.
“Well, you know,” I said in my heaviest backwoods drawl, “we have to make sure you ain’t of the devil first. Good Christians have no truck with the devil.”
“The devil?” said Matthew arching his eyebrows. “And how will you know if I ‘truck with the devil?’”
“Oh, we’ll have to have some prayer sessions,” I clowned, “and the speaking of tongues, and maybe even snakes.”
“Snakes,” he said incredulously.
“Yes, sir. Rattlesnakes. The good Lord protects the pure of heart from the bite of the serpent.”
“There are rattlesnakes in Arkansas?”
“Oh yes, and copperheads too.”
“I might rethink this job offer,” said Matthew. “I don’t have as much religion as you.”
I dropped the act. “You faced bombs, snipers, and military food and you’re afraid of snakes?”
“Afraid? Hell, yeah.”
“Well, they are more afraid of you than you of them. Usually, they slink off well before you ever meet them.”
“It’s not a deal breaker. But you have some thinking to do.”
“Yes,” I said more seriously, “I do.”
“Well one way or another, I’ll check out of the hotel in the morning and see you in the morning. Either you say yes, and I’ll stay, or no, and I’ll go home. Say goodbye, Parker. We’ll see Meleyna tomorrow.”
Matthew walked out the door, with Parker giving a last backward glance at me. Leaning against the doorjamb, I couldn’t help but steal an appreciative glance at his broad shoulders as he left the kennel. Oh, hell, my eyes slid lower too, and I stared at his fine physique and swallowed hard. What the hell was I thinking letting this man walk away? What was I thinking contemplating asking this stranger to stay?
The pups started to bark wildly, and I had to issue a stern command to get them to quiet down. I grabbed a glove and a bag and walked the kennel to check on the tenants. I cleaned the inside dog runs of the solid waste. There were only a couple of soils. Most dogs got used to the routine of using the waste boxes outside during the day. Finishing that task brought on cookie time, which drew the animals from the outside runs inside so I could close the gates for the night. At one time, I wouldn’t have worried about dogs sleeping outside, but with the increase in the coyote population, it was safer and less nighttime drama to keep the dogs inside.
There were only ten dogs tonight. The day clients had long left before Matthew had arrived, and those who were left were two long-term dogs and eight-pound pups. I had already ensured our other animals in the outer building were bedded down for the evening.
“Cookies,” I called and the ones most used to the routine lined up at the doors sitting. Experience taught them they didn’t get cookies unless they sat quietly in front of the door.
“Good pup,” I told Sandy, an Irish Setter, who was in the middle of her two-week stay as I slipped her the dog biscuit. I walked down the line reinforcing good behavior by ignoring the dogs who didn’t listen to my command.
Holly, a bloodhound, however, stood with her back to me, growling at the dog run door. I saw large paws slip under the flap and stared.
“Holy fuck,” I said. Quickly, I opened the run and pulled Holly out by her collar, and slammed the run door shut. As the lock clicked in place, a bundle of red fur barreled into the run, growling and baring his teeth. Immediately all the dogs started barking furiously, and I scrambled to hold back Holly as she pulled to rush to the gate, barking.
I nearly lost the fight to one hundred pounds of motivated muscle, but I whipped off my plaid shirt and wrapped it around her eyes. She didn’t like that either, and she could still smell the intruder, but it was enough to slow her roll enough for me to pull her to an empty run and push her into it.
In a desperate attempt to get the coyote to the outside run, I banged on the wire caging of the run, drawing a startled yelp from the wild animal. Its nostrils flared and swiftly turned toward the exit of the indoor run. I flipped up the lever by the side of the run that opened the door fully, then as the animal scrambled outside dropped it with another flick of the switch. Too close.
The dogs kept barking, and I had to get the creature out of my dog run. With any luck, it would leave the way it entered, but barring that I’d have to find a way to get the animal back into the wild.
I went to my office and grabbed a flashlight and shotgun, then walked out the dog run door closest to my office. Cautiously and slowly I panned the light before me in the alley that was bounded by the individual runs on the left and the chain link fence on the right. This alley ran parallel with the building. In the fence were three gates that led to larger fenced-in areas. During the day, I put several compatible dogs at a time in each run to enjoy time outside. But right now, I was concerned about the animal that may or may not be trapped in the fenced run that ran from the building. How did it get in?
I shined my flashlight on the coyote, trapped in th
e run, pawing at concrete at the fence. It whipped its head toward me and growled menacingly. The edge of the light beam caught something dark and moving the light to it, I found that the coyote’s back leg was scored with a fresh open wound. I swept the area with the flashlight, looking for the animal’s entry point. Close to the wall of the kennel, I found the canvas top of the run hanging telling the tale of where the coyote fell.
“That’s how you got in,” I murmured. I’d have to check in the morning what route it took to get that high.
But it was clear the animal wasn’t going to get out that way. It had no way to climb the walls or fence.
I moved to the run gate in the perimeter fence that pointed to the woods. The coyote took exception to my movements and rushed at the fencing, growling. I jumped when forty pounds of coyote smashed into it, causing it to shimmy and clang. Heart racing, I pushed open that gate, hoping the coyote would think it prudent to escape into the woods. As residents of the kennel barked furiously, the wild animal protested my presence as I moved closer to the narrow gate of the run. When I tried to reach for the latch, the animal lunged again, flying into the links, trying to get at my hand.
I didn’t blame the coyote. It was trapped, besieged on all sides by the voices of hostile canines, and injured and in pain. The coyote was quite rightly panicked. But as it fell from its assault on the links it sat on its haunches looking stunned. This was my chance.
I unlatched the gate and yanked it open. The coyote came to its senses quickly and tore out the opening, but instead of going for the open gate it maneuvered around the gate coming straight at me. I raised the flashlight and hit the coyote, but it didn’t stop. It latched onto my arm.
Total and absolute pain zipped through my body, and I cried out. I frantically bashed the coyote with the flashlight with my free hand trying to get it off my arm.
A bundle of tan and black flashed in the corner of my eyes, knocking the coyote off me while a familiar voice cried, “Parker!”
The two canines met in a rush of kinetic muscle. Parker, twice the wild animal’s size, growled and bit, and the coyote yelped and tried to get away. As I strained to sit, Matthew scooped up the shotgun laying on the concrete.
“Parker! Heel!”
Immediately, Parker broke off his attack and rushed back to Matthew. The Marine leveled the shotgun at the stunned coyote and shot it in the head. The sound of the gun ripped through the night. The animal yelped and dropped to the concrete, twitching. Matthew emptied the second barrel into the animal’s head, and it did not move.
“Jesus! What the hell did you do that for?” I yelled.
Matthew turned to me and stared at me with no expression on his face. Parker picked up his ears, then licked at Matthew’s hand, whining. When he couldn’t get his attention, he put his front paws on Matthew’s chest. Matthew shook his head and dropped the shotgun. As the empty gun clattered on the concrete, he wrapped his arms around Parker’s neck and gave him a hug.
“Good boy,” he said burying his face in Parker’s shoulder.
I stared at Matthew and Parker, wondering why they were here. I fought to stand up, wincing, and my movement caught his attention.
Matthew trained his attention on me now.
“Let me see that arm,” he demanded.
I held out my arm, and he hissed when he saw blood seeping from the bite wounds.
“I killed the animal,” he said coldly, “because I’m sure neither it nor you had rabies shots. Or am I wrong in that assessment?”
“Jesus,” I said again. Matthew was correct. If they didn’t have the coyote to test, I would be in for a long and painful series of injections.
“Sorry to yell at you.”
Matthew snorted, and Parker licked my good hand. Reflexively, I petted Parker’s head.
“Try,” said Matthew, “hanging out with a Marine drill sergeant. You’d see what real yelling is about.”
“A real tough guy,” I said dryly.
“Yeah.”
A wash of emotion hit me then as I stared at him, and my eyes dropped to his luscious mouth. Here was this man, who for whatever reason, showed up to save me from a vicious attack. Strong, handsome, and caring, he was every bit the hero I imagined a soldier would be. The scent of him, mysterious and sexy, rolled off in waves from the stress of the past moments. I was drawn to that, and I wondered what it would be like to kiss him.
“Meleyna!” cried my grandmother. “What the hell is going on out there?”
I jerked back and swallowed hard. “Oh, fuck.”
Matthew
“Oh fuck,” said Meleyna, and I thought I wanted nothing more. But there were pressing issues, one of them being her grandmother calling out from the porch and another, her injury.
“You need to get that arm looked at,” I said.
“I can clean it up just fine,” Meleyna drawled.
I thought I couldn’t get enough of that soft, lazy Southern accent that made this tough woman more incredibly sexy. If her grandmother hadn’t interrupted, I wasn’t sure if I could stop. Meleyna was delicious, in more than one way, and I certainly didn’t want to stop at merely kissing her. No. I wanted much more. But I wouldn’t be getting anything if she fell sick from a wild animal attack.
“No,” I said sternly. “A wild animal attack should be looked at by a doctor.”
“Look, Mr. Idaho, I don’t know how you do things there, but here we are self-reliant.”
“And stubborn,” I retorted. “But you’ll find I’m more stubborn than you. Now, do you want your grandmother to come here and find this mess, or are you going to go talk to her?”
“I’ll talk to her.”
“Good. And call Animal Control.”
“Bossy,” she muttered. But I walked down the run and into the kennel door. I made sure both kennel gates were closed and then checked Parker over to make sure he didn’t have any wounds. With a sigh of relief, I found the pup didn’t have a scratch, and I gave him a big hug.
“Good boy,” I murmured, burying my face in Parker’s shoulder. He gave me sloppy wet kisses on my cheek.
“Let’s go see to Meleyna.”
Parker fell in step at my side as we left the kennel and walked the short distance to the house. Meleyna stood outside as her grandmother inspected the wound, shaking her head.
“You’re a damn fool,” she muttered. “You should have called Animal Control.”
“Grandma, you know they don’t handle wild animals, but I need to call them now. Excuse me.”
Meleyna walked into the house, leaving me alone with Mrs. Harris.
She smiled at me. “Thank you, for saving her.”
“I wouldn’t go that far. Besides, it was Parker that was the hero. He pulled the coyote off her.”
“Well, an extra cookie for you,” she said. From her pocket, she pulled a round dog biscuit. “Can I?” she asked.
“Sure, though let me give it to him.”
Parker’s eyes watched the transfer of the treat from Mrs. Harris to me expectantly. “Here, buddy,” I said as I held the dog cookie to Parker, who gobbled it greedily.
“There’s not a dog that doesn’t like my biscuits,” said Mrs. Harris with a smile.
“You made those?”
“My recipe. Not a single chemical in them. Meleyna makes a bunch when she has the chance, which hasn’t been lately. We are running a little short, both on biscuits and manpower.” She gave me a pointed look, but I turned my head away. I wouldn’t stay if Meleyna didn’t think it was a good idea.
Meleyna’s feet hit the steps in a jog, bringing her to the porch.
“Animal Control is on the way. Once they pick up the coyote, we’ll go to the Emergency Room.”
“Emergency Room?” said Mrs. Harris.
“Apparently, our guest is afraid I’ll become rabid.”
“Not that concerned,” I said. “Just want to make sure.”
“You should also get Parker checked out. Just because he looks fine, do
esn’t mean he wasn’t hurt.”
“You’re right. But in the Marines, after triage, we take care of the bleeding men first. That is if they are worth saving.”
Meleyna’s eyes grew wide at my joke. Fuck. I’d have to tone down the gallows humor. Any of my buddies would have thought it hilarious, but civilians, not so much. But then her face broke out into a wide grin.
“I tell you what, Idaho man, if you do start some of the heavy lifting around here, we’ll see who is worth saving. You might be a rough, tough Marine, but I’ll bet a day working on the farm will ‘whup the nonsense’ right out of you.”
“Farm? Who said anything about a farm?”
Susan laughed.
“Around here, every homestead is a farm one way or the other. Look, here’s Cherie Tate.”
A large capped truck with a medallion on the side announcing “Buncombe County Animal Control” rattled up the gravel and stopped before the house. But also, a police cruiser rolled in behind it.
“Oh shit,” muttered Meleyna.
“What?” I asked.
“I do not need this right now,” she mumbled as she stood stiffly with her arms crossed, as the Animal Control Officer and the Sheriff Randy Barker opened the gate and walked the stairs.
“Mrs. Harris, Meleyna,” said Cherie. “How are you?’
“Cherie, thanks for coming out. We have a coyote that attacked Meleyna in the dog run. It’s dead and, of course, we need it tested. He did a number on her arm.”
“Meleyna,” said Randy. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Matthew here will take me to the Emergency Department.”
“I’ll do that,” said Randy.
“No. Just help Cherie with the carcass.”
“But—”
“Besides, Randy, I’m sure you and Cherie want to get back to your date after this.”
The way Meleyna said “date” sounded like she definitely disapproved. I didn’t know what was going on, but there was a definite tension between her and the sheriff. Parker stirred next to me, and the dog looked to Meleyna, then the sheriff.
