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Rose, who was now my best and practically only friend, was reluctant to hire me nearly three years ago. Thankfully, I was ambitious and persistent, eventually wearing her down. I was able to do what I love and make money while doing it. But, truth be told, even if I wasn’t making great money I would have taken the job anyway. Nothing could stop me from working with animals.
The property was huge with an expanse of field and forest for the animals to roam and heal. There were two barns, the main house, a small vet clinic and a guest house that many of the staff crashed in when the weather was too bad to drive or there was an animal in serious need of near constant attention. Everyone that worked at Arden Farm and Rescue was dedicated, passionate and knew how to do their job. I didn’t feel so much like an outsider when I was there, which was a complete one eighty compared to when I was younger.
I hated going out when I was child. I was never social and spent my adolescent years taking care of animals or reading books about how to take care of animals. I never cared about school dances or parties. Football games were never my thing. Learning was fun for me, it was my passion, but high school was a nightmare due to the fact that I had no real experience with acting like a normal teenager. I was quiet. My teachers barely knew my name. My peers referred to me as “the redhead” and boys didn’t talk to me. When I did finally work up the nerve to talk to someone I would always bring up something about a broken bird wing or how to tell the difference between field mice and muskrats.
The term “freak” was thrown at me fairly often when I was a teenager.
Of course, as I got older I was able to get out of that fumbling, nervous behavior, but not by much. Socializing still wasn’t really my strong suit and I hadn’t had sex or been on a proper date in three years.
Not that it mattered.
Except that it did.
“It’s not so bad,” I said now as we approached the barn that housed the dozen dogs that lived on the property and were up for adoption. “For the most part it’s really quiet. I like quiet.”
Rose tugged her gloves off and shoved them in the pockets of her vest. Her black hair was piled on her head and she was, as always, sans makeup. “What’s he gonna do with the dog?”
I shrugged my shoulders and yanked the barn door open with a grunt. “Don’t know. I asked him before he left and he said he’d figure it out later.”
A loud bark effectively ende
d our conversation as Lady pawed at the door of her little stall, politely letting me know that she was ready to be let back into her home. After a quick scratch behind the ears I unhooked her leash from her collar and she zoomed in, lapping up water as I secured the door.
Work days always flew by. There was always so much to do. I was the head of the Dog Division which sounded way fancier than it actually was. I pretty much took care of the dogs that were on sight and went through all of the adoption papers, visiting the homes of potential families that wanted to adopt. I was adamant and strict about making sure the dogs were placed into caring, safe homes- especially the ones who suffered from past abuse or neglect and needed special attention.
It was dark out by the time my shift was over and my back ached from sitting at the desk of my tiny office. It seemed that everyone wanted to adopt Wyatt, the fat pug that had been at the farm for about two months. He was friendly and quiet and his tongue was always hanging out of the side of his mouth. Everyone who worked at Arden adored him, including myself.
“Bye, buddy,” I whispered as I leaned over the top of his stall, making sure all of the locks were secured before I closed up for the night.
The temperature had dropped quickly and I wrapped my jacket tighter around myself, making a mental note to go out and get a proper winter jacket over the weekend. I was heading over to my car when headlights flashed bright, momentarily blinding me. Putting a hand over my face and squinting against the sudden onslaught of light, I tried to see if I recognized the car. A black SUV and what looked like tinted windows appeared as soon as they cut the lights and I stood in the small gravel parking lot. Something about this didn’t feel right and I contemplated making a sprint back to the house and getting Rose who, thankfully, was the toughest person I knew.
The door opened before I had to chance to turn around and someone jumped out, gravel crunching under heavy work boots.
“We’re closed.” I called out.
He slammed the door and I finally got a look at the face.
Definitely no one I know, I thought as I stood a little straighter, looking around. The lights were on in the main house and if I screamed someone was bound to hear me. Not that it was necessary, I technically wasn’t in danger and this person wasn’t a threat.
“We’re closed.” I repeated, this time in a much firmer tone.
He nodded his head, dark hair falling into his eyes. He had a scruffy beard and the first thing I noticed was that his very large nose was crooked like a UFC fighter who had been hit one too many times. The man was tall, definitely taller than my five foot three frame and the leather jacket he wore hugged his broad shoulders. He looked tough, mean and definitely wasn’t someone that I wanted to be in a parking lot alone with.
I didn’t want to be alone with him ever.
“You guys take dogs though, right?” he said, his voice raspy.
“Um, yes. But if you have information about a dog who needs to be rescued then I’d call animal control or-”
He put up a large hand and shook it back and forth, cutting me off. “No, no. It’s nothing like that. I just had a question about a certain dog. I, uh, I lost my puppy and I wanted to know if someone had dropped him off.”
If someone dropped him off? This isn’t a doggy day care, I wanted to growl at him. I was fiercely protective of my animals and I hated the fact that some people treated their pets like they were expendable. Replaceable.
“We haven’t gotten any new rescues in over a week. I’m sorry. When did this happen? I can keep an eye out for him.”
He ran a hand through his greasy hair. “Last night. Late.”
I paused, thinking about my own night last night. Logan. The puppy. The severely injured, malnourished puppy that had been crying on my kitchen counter while I cleaned him up. There was no way that he was talking about that dog, right? That would have been way too much of a coincidence. There were plenty of dogs in the world and we couldn’t have been talking about the same one.
