by Hillary Avis
Sometimes a lot of patience.
Allison gave Willow a firm pat and stood. “OK, now it’s time to load up.” She kept her voice cheerful. The dog grumbled to her feet but didn’t budge toward the truck. Allison eyed her appraisingly. Still too thin under her shaggy coat, Willow nevertheless bumped up against a hundred pounds. There was no way Allison could lift her into the truck by herself. She had to convince Willow that it was a place she wanted to be.
She gathered her floral wrap skirt in one hand and, with the leash in the other, clambered awkwardly into the back herself. On her hands and knees, she peered down at Willow still on the sidewalk. “Come on in—the water’s fine.”
Willow seemed to consider it, tilting her head slightly. But when Allison scooted back to make room for her to jump up, the leash tightened momentarily and Willow immediately sat down, jerking the leash—and Allison on the other end of it—forward.
She sighed. “Don’t you want to go home?”
Willow’s ears flattened, her eyes widening with fear that was quickly turning to panic. She shuffled backward as far as she could, stretching the leash to its limit. One more step threatened to topple Allison right off the end of the tailgate.
She wasn’t surprised that the dog was so hesitant. Willow’s former owner had a truck not unlike this one, a beat-up pickup used to haul hay and manure and whatever else a farmer needed to move. Maybe she thought Allison was going to take her back there.
Allison swung her legs around and hopped down, walking briskly away from the truck. Surprised, Willow leaped up and shambled after her, matching her pace so the leash stayed slack. A little walk might do the trick. Sometimes dogs got caught in a fear loop and needed a change of scenery to help them escape the feeling of dread. A little food, sleep, or exercise could break the loop and reset their minds.
Not too different than humans, Allison reflected.
After a couple of trips up and down the block, she tried again, raising her voice to a high pitch and jogging toward the truck. “Come on! Let’s go!”
Willow went along with it, trotting along with her tongue hanging out—until the very last second, when she skidded to a halt in front of the tailgate, her claws scraping on the pavement. Allison’s shoulders sagged when she realized Willow wasn’t going to move. “What am I going to do with you? I wish I had some peanut butter in my purse to bribe you with.”
The dog huffed in agreement, and Allison couldn’t help giggling. Suddenly Willow stiffened, her ears perked as she stared past Allison and drew in deep breaths through her nose, searching the air for something.
Someone?
Adrenaline surged through Allison. She squinted against the glare of the early evening sun in the direction that Willow’s nose pointed—Claypool Creek, across the street. A path meandered creekside, just beyond a stand of young willows that blocked her view. Anyone could be there, watching. She shivered at the same moment that a low growl rumbled in Willow’s chest. The dog stepped in front of her, putting her body between Allison and—whatever. Whoever.
Allison speed-walked to the cab of the pickup. Her purse—and her phone—lay on the bench seat, and she’d feel much better with the ability to dial Kara or the sheriff in her hand. She yanked open the door and was nearly bowled over as Willow barged past her, squeezing past the steering wheel and leaping over the purse into the passenger side. She circled once, her broad paws dimpling the seat like ballerina pointe shoes, and then sat down facing the windshield. Even seated, the top of her head brushed the ceiling of the old truck. Her tail swished, leaving a trail of white strands stuck to the upholstery.
Great. Crystal was going to love all the dog fur in the truck. And there’d be no hiding it when Allison showed up at the filbert farm with a yeti riding shotgun. Allison gave a little tug on the leash. The dog ignored her, and she sighed. Maybe it’d be more trouble than it was worth to get her out, especially since she still wasn’t sure how to get her into the back, anyway.
Willow gave a single sharp bark, her eyes still fixed on the creek, as if to say, “Get in!” It was a command, not a suggestion, and Allison obeyed instantly. The fear twisting in her gut told her Willow was right. She didn’t know what Willow had sensed, whether it was a person or a young mountain lion ranging outside its territory, but she believed her, especially after last night.
Maybe bad intentions had their own scent.
“OH, SHE’LL LET YOU know, trust me.” Allison grinned at Crystal, who stared skeptically at Willow as the dog sniffed every inch of the gate next to where they stood in the gravel driveway. “Any noise or anything out of place, she’s going to have something to say—something loud. Your mom thought a guardian dog would be good to have around, what with the break-ins.”
Crystal rubbed her lower back, swayed from the weight of her swollen belly, though the rest of her lean frame didn’t give away any hint of pregnancy. She was only a few years older than Emily but had chosen to run her dad’s filbert business over attending college, so she had the maturity of someone with real-world concerns and the creases in her forehead to prove it.
“Mom always did have a bad habit of picking up strays.” Crystal chewed the inside of her cheek. “She thinks she can save everyone.”
“Can’t argue with her,” Allison said wryly. Myra had certainly saved her a time or two—from herself, mostly.
Crystal sighed. “Never argue with Mama. She acts sweet, but she’s spicy. Maybe that’s where I get it.” A grin split her face, and she scrunched up her nose. Whatever criticism she had of Myra, it was tempered with plenty of love.
Willow flopped down in the dust and rested her chin on her paws, reminding Allison why she was there. She handed the end of the leash to Crystal, who took it grudgingly.
Allison rattled off her usual foster dog spiel about taking things slow so Willow had time to settle in. “She does need regular brushing or the fluff gets out of control,” she tacked on to the end of her advice, as a tuft of white fur floated off the end of Willow’s wagging tail. “You should see it—just a couple days at my place and everything is coated with dog hair.”
Crystal made a face. “Great. I love how Mama signs me up for more vacuuming right when the baby’s due and we already have a litter of puppies in the barn.”
“Willow’s fine outside. She prefers it, actually—she’s been outside her whole life. A bed on the porch will make her happy.” Willow grinned up at Allison, her tongue lolling out. Allison was going to miss that goofy face. “Plus the barking won’t bother you as much that way. She can be pretty loud.”
Crystal barked her own laugh, rolling her eyes so hard that for a moment they were all white. “I swear, if this dog wakes up the babies from their naps, I’ll go crazy. I need that hour. Next you’re going to tell me she bites.”
Allison’s stomach sank. She’d been dreading this part of the conversation. “Not exactly.”
Crystal toyed with the leash in her hand and then held it out, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, Allison. I need exactly. Her teeth are level with Nia’s face.”
“She’s just a little protective over her food, that’s all. I was going to tell you. Feed her separately from the kids and the other dogs, and she’ll be fine. Look, I brought you a pamphlet about it.” Allison fumbled in her purse and pulled out the folded sheet of paper, smoothing it before swapping it for the leash. Crystal stared at it but didn’t seem to click with what she was looking at. “If you follow those steps, she’ll learn that nobody is going to take her food away. It’s really common for rescue dogs who haven’t been fed regularly.”
“What if she doesn’t learn?” Crystal’s question was quiet. Her real question was clear: what if she hurts my babies?
“She’ll learn.” Allison didn’t know why, but she was sure of it. Willow was a lover, not a biter. Even if she growled, Allison had no fear that she’d follow through. Give her a little time and space and she’d come to trust Crystal and Myra and the kids. They’d become her flock, one she
’d protect until her last breath. She patted Willow on the head, and Willow thumped her tail in the dust as Allison offered the leash back to Crystal.
Crystal eyed it skeptically, her arms crossed. Allison bit her lip. The worst thing she could do as a foster was push an animal on someone who didn’t want one. But the filbert farm really was the perfect place for Willow, plus it’d put Myra’s mind at ease to have a guardian dog on duty. Allison owed her a lot, so if she could give her peace of mind, she wanted to do that.
“Oregon Tails has a guaranteed return policy. Any time, we’ll take her back. Of course, it’s OK to say no, too,” she added. “I hope you’ll give her a chance, though. You know you can call me day or night if you have problems with her, and I’ll come out and walk you through any training. She’s a good girl under all that fur.”
“You’re giving me the hard sell.” Crystal sighed and grudgingly took the leash again. “Fine. But I have you on speed dial and believe me, I will be dialing. I’m gonna buzz you in the middle of labor and be like, hee hee, hoo hoo, come get this dog.”
Chapter 4
Allison smiled the whole way home. Instead of sweet on the outside and spicy on the inside like Myra, Crystal was made the other way around. Willow would dig her way past Crystal’s defenses, though. Allison parked the truck in front of Golden Gardens and texted Myra one word in all caps: SUCCESS. Then she left the keys swinging in the ignition and dialed Rachael Ashwood, the woman who ran Oregon Tails, as she started the walk home.
Guilt nagged at her while she waited for Rachael to answer, and she couldn’t help glancing back over her shoulder at the memory care facility. Usually she’d take any opportunity to drop in and visit her husband, Paul. She’d rarely skipped a day in the last two years. But she’d be there tomorrow for her shift as the enrichment coordinator, she told herself. She’d see him then.
Right now, she had more pressing concerns. Like what was in that—
“Hi!” Rachael chirped in her ear. “Give me the bad news first.”
Allison chuckled kicked a Doug fir cone on the sidewalk, sending it skittering off into the gutter. “What makes you think I have bad news?”
“Let’s see. I drop off a dog and you call me a week later? I’ve been in rescue long enough to know it’s going to be bad news.” Rachael giggled at her own joke, although there was a lot of truth behind it. She was one of those selfless people who dedicated her life to serving animals, whether it was the retired dairy cows on her ranch or the rescue dogs in her kennel. To say she was an expert in rehabilitating neglected and abandoned animals was an understatement. But just this once, she was wrong.
“I found Willow a home!” Allison said smugly.
“No! Already?”
“Yep. Crystal’s taking her. Well, Myra is. If you hear a booming bark tonight, that’s her.” Rachael’s ranch was only a mile or two down the road from the filbert farm. Allison had little doubt that Willow’s voice could echo that far.
“Don’t they already have dogs?” Rachael’s voice was surprisingly skeptical.
Allison frowned. That should be a good thing. It meant Crystal and Myra wouldn’t be surprised about normal dog behavior the way that a green owner might be. It meant the kids knew how to act around dogs. It meant Willow would have the company of a pack, too, something most dogs craved. “Yes?”
“Well, sometimes Pyrs don’t get along with—you know what? It’ll be fine as long as they have a fence. They have a fence, right?”
“Yep,” Allison fibbed. Crystal’s farm did have a fenced pasture to keep the little goat herd out of the filberts. But it didn’t have a fence around the house.
Rachael let out a sigh of relief. “Good. They do like to wander. Maybe it’ll work out.”
“Of course it’ll work out,” Allison said, though suddenly she was feeling a little less sure. “I’ll get you the—” She broke off as she rounded the corner onto Rosemary Street and saw the flashing lights of a police car parked in front of her house for the second time in less than twenty-four hours. Squinting, she could just make out Kara’s tall, lanky figure standing on the sidewalk. Several other people gathered around her. Something was going on.
“You there?” Rachael’s voice came, small and distant, from the phone that Allison had let drift down to her side as she stared at the scene down the block.
She pulled it back to her ear. “Sorry. The paperwork. I’ll get it to you.” She ended the call before she heard Rachael’s answer and picked up the pace, her slides smacking the concrete and the hem of her skirt billowing around her calves as she hustled toward home. Maybe that was why Kara was here, just following up on the break-in, doing paperwork after the fact, the same way Allison had to do paperwork after every adoption.
That didn’t explain the small crowd standing on the sidewalk blocking Allison’s front gate, though. As Allison joined them, she noticed they weren’t law enforcement. She even recognized a few of them from around town. Dave Ashwood, Rachael’s husband and a member of city council was there in hiking khakis, with a stainless steel water bottled gripped in his hands. So was Mark Risby, an older guy with a white handlebar mustache that would rival any Old West gunslinger’s. It was odd to see him here during happy hour. Usually he spent most of his time at the Why Not Tavern. In fact, the whole group looked like they’d walked over here from the bar.
“Huh.” The sound escaped her lips before she realized it.
A man in a white Stetson hat turned around and winked at Allison and she flushed. She knew him instantly. Harman Winter, a leathery old cowboy with a penchant for flirting—and conning—every woman he met. Willow’s former owner, though he’d only called her “Dog.” Anger jittered under her skin, and she ignored him as she squeezed through to the front of the group, where Kara stood with a woman who looked about Paul’s age. Though they hadn’t formally met, Allison recognized her from glimpses out the window and over the fence—it was her neighbor who lived in the yellow house, Michelle Robinson.
“What’s going on?” she asked Kara.
Kara passed the clipboard in her hands to Michelle. “We’re looking for Taylor. Have you seen him around town today?”
Allison quickly ran through her memories of the day and then shook her head.
“He’s been gone since this morning. Took his bike out and didn’t come back.” Michelle bit her lip, her knuckles going white around the edge of the clipboard. She had long hair that had once been the same strawberry blond as Taylor’s but was now half-silver, and freckles spattered every inch of her exposed skin like stars in the night sky. A faint spiderweb of lines crossed her face, marking the years and joining the freckles into constellations.
Kara passed out photocopied posters with Taylor’s picture on them, the word “MISSING” printed underneath, along with his age and height. He looked younger than eleven in the photo—babyish and smiling against a plain backdrop. His school photo from last fall, Allison guessed.
Kara cleared her throat and the murmur of the group quieted. “Mark, you’ll drive west on the highway, over the bridge. Harman, you’ll go east, over to the fork, then up toward Elkhorn. Drive slow, use your hazard lights, scan the brush and parking lots and look up the side streets. He’s wearing a green shirt so he might be hard to spot.”
“His bike’s orange,” Michelle interjected.
Kara nodded. “Green shirt, orange bike. But look for all colors of shirts and even kids without bikes. He could have ditched it or changed clothes at a friend’s. Red group, head over and walk the streets on the south side of town. Blue group search on this side of the highway. Talk to everyone, show them his face. Have them take a picture of the flyer with their phone so they have the number if and when they spot him. Call Michelle if you see any sign of him. Anything that looks weird.”
The crowd broke apart, chattering to divide up blocks and streets. Kara watched until Harman and Mark pulled out in their trucks and then turned back to Michelle. “You have a list of his friends?”
<
br /> Michelle nodded silently and tugged a sheet from the bottom of the stack fastened to the clipboard, then handed it to Kara. “I already called them all, though. He’s not there.”
“I’ll pay a visit anyway. You know kids. They might hide out so they can go screw around with a buddy, especially since there’s no school tomorrow because of the holiday.” Kara gave Michelle a reassuring smile before heading for her cruiser, but Michelle stayed stony-faced.
“Someone should walk the river,” she said, looking at Allison, her voice brittle.
“Hi, I’m Allison. Your new neighbor.” Allison stuck out her hand, waited, and then withdrew it when Michelle didn’t take her up on the handshake. Guess there was a reason they hadn’t met yet. Michelle wasn’t exactly friendly.
“I know who you are.” Michelle squinted in the direction of Claypool Creek, though there was no way to see it from here, blocks away. “I meant to walk it earlier, I just didn’t have time.”
“Taylor’s probably out catching frogs or something,” Allison said brightly. “He’s quite a resourceful kid from what I’ve seen; I’m sure he’ll be fine. Like Kara says, maybe with a friend or just noodling around on his bike. Who wouldn’t lose track of time on a day like today...” She trailed off, noticing the grim set of Michelle’s jaw.
“Something’s wrong. I know it is. So help or don’t help—I don’t have time to sit here and listen to chit-chat.” Michelle stalked off toward her house, the clipboard trapped under one arm, her gait strangely uneven. Allison registered the cane by her side for the first time.
“Sorry,” Allison called to Michelle’s retreating back, just as Michelle banged the screen door shut behind her. Then she muttered to herself, “I was trying to be helpful, but I guess you don’t want—” She stopped, suddenly ashamed.
Michelle had asked for help—specific help—and Allison had ignored it in favor of platitudes. She was sure Taylor was fine. Emily had done the same kind of thing when she was in middle school, disappearing all day, usually with friends, flaunting any rules about check-ins by phone. But in Michelle’s shoes, with only a couple hours left of daylight, she’d be worried, too.
