Animal Angel (2 page)

She let her eyes rest on the detective's. “All I'm saying is you shouldn't judge a book by its cover. This is a good dog, and you didn't give her a chance.”

“Well, Miss. High and Mighty, I guess I'm just not a martyr such as yourself,” he said, looking her up and down. “Glad I found out now. To think I came in here wanting to ask you to dinner.”

His eyes seemed to spark and darken to the color of a storm-filled sky. Mavis reeled back a step. The conversation had certainly taken a turn she hadn't expected.

Her mouth opened and closed several times, not able to form a sentence, and a shrill laugh broke through her shock. “As though I would go. I mean, you have a lot going on if I only consider your exterior, but I can't find anything impressive inside,” she said, making a sweeping gesture with her hand up and down the length of his body. She planted both hands on her hips.

The dog cowered on the table as their voices grew louder.

“You're a piece of work, lady,” the detective said, grabbing his jacket from the chair he hung it on earlier. The open door swayed as he stormed through.

“And you stink!” she yelled, knowing she sounded like a grade schooler and unsure why she'd let him goad her that way.

Well, that went well.
She cringed as the outside door slammed.
Please don't let him leave without signing the paperwork.
That would mean he'd have to come back for it later. It wasn't even noon, and Mavis was ready to toss in the towel for the day.

The dog quivered under her touch. Holding her close, Mavis stroked the stench that covered her head-to-tail onto her hand. “You've probably heard enough of that in your life,” she crooned. A deep whiff of the foul odor launched breakfast up her esophagus. She swallowed hard, trying to relieve the burn that was left behind. “Sorry, pup, but you still need a bath.” Leaning her head toward the open window. “And some antibiotics for this wound on your neck.”

She sucked in one last breath of fresh air and began cutting the embedded collar from the dog's neck with the utility knife she pulled from another drawer. She examined the raw, bloody hole it left behind. The malodorous pus oozing from the wound made her nose crinkle. “Guess adjusting your collar was too much trouble for your owners.” She shook her head and stepped on the pedal trash can. When the lid popped open, she dropped the filthy collar in with a clank.

Mavis then bathed the dog, who wiggled and sought out the massaging hands that were sudsing her up. “You enjoying the back rub, sweet pea?” Mavis laughed as the dog shook for the umpteenth time, drenching her. “You are a sweet thing.” She wiped out some of the black crud from the inside of the pups ears. “Hey how about we call you Dulce?“ Dulce did a full body shake and then licked Mavis's wrist. “That's a perfect name for such a precious girl.” She studied the neck wound again and took advantage of the spray to thoroughly cleanse it with antibacterial soap.

Once she'd finished towel-drying her, she took her to a kennel. Dulce went straight for the elevated dog bed, curling up in the middle of the cedar-and-foam-filled pillow. When Mavis stepped out and came back with a bowl of food and water, Dulce abandoned her bed and buried her face in the stainless bowl, scraping it across the concrete floor as she ate with fervor.

“I'll check on you in a bit. You be good baby girl.”

Mavis latched the door and walked back to the front desk area. Stella was waiting for her with her arms crossed.

“Egad. What did I do wrong now? You have that face on.” She sighed, anticipating a lecture.

“A stately, astonishingly handsome, successful detective —who resembles a running back in the Super Bowl— marched out of here muttering something about almost asking a psycho—” Stella's southern upbringing stopped her short of finishing the term. “Er… We'll just leave it at psycho — out on a date.”

“How do we know he's successful? He might suck at his job.” So what if that was all she could find to disagree with?

“Ah-ha, you admit he's good looking,” Stella said, giving her the snap-and-point.

“No. I don't admit that.” Mavis studied the athletic clogs on her feet to hide her eyes from the ever-knowing Stella.

“Mavis,” she chided. “His biceps are as big as my head. Not to mention the sculpted abs his shirt couldn't hide.” She fanned herself with her hand.

“Fine!” Mavis threw her arms in the air. “He's all right, so what? He's all polish and no poise anyway.”

“I'm telling you, if I weren't fifty...”

She rolled her eyes. “And married…” Mavis added. “A bit much, Stella. What's your point?”

“Honey. If you have to ask, you truly are a lost cause. You're twenty-five, single, and haven't dated one person since we opened this rescue's doors a year ago.”

“Thanks for keeping up with my private life.” Mavis turned her back, trying to make her escape.

“Why won't you date anyone?” Stella asked, stopping Mavis's exit.

She blew out her breath trying to contain her still-raw emotions. “You know why,” she said, tears rimming her lower eyelid, and she glanced away to compose herself.

Stella paused, pressing her lips together. She took a seat on one of the chairs in front of the window and patted the one next to her.

Mavis shuffled over and dropped into the chair, brushing Stella's ample thigh.

“Just because you can't have a child doesn't mean you can't date,” Stella said, brushing the hair from Mavis's face.

“Sure it does.”

“How so?”

“One date leads to another, and if all goes well, it develops into a solid relationship.” Mavis took a slow, deep breath and blew it out to contain the tears threatening to fall. “Then you start thinking about a future with someone, and I can't have that with them. I'm broken.” Her heart twisted in her chest.

“It doesn't have to lead to more than what you're ready for. What if they don't want children?”

Mavis closed her eyes. “What guy doesn't want to plant his seed for future generations? I think it's genetic or something.” Turning to face Stella, Mavis lifted one side of her mouth into a failed attempt at a smile.

“Not necessarily. My daughter and her husband are DINKS.”

“Well that's rude.”

“Dual Income No Kids,” Stella said, chuckling, her laugh lines becoming more predominant. She gave her a gentle bump in the shoulder. “It's a changing world out there. More couples aren't having children.”

“I wouldn't be that lucky to find someone like that.”

“Even if you can't — if you fall in love, you can have the adoption discussion.”

“Maybe I'll start dating when I'm your age. The expectation for kids is long gone by then, and most will already have grown ones.”

“Okay, two things. One, thanks for calling me old, and two, thanks for driving me to want a drink.” Stella's warm smile had a way of lifting Mavis's spirit.

“Not what I meant,” Mavis said, forcing a half-smile only to give up and let it fade. “I would kill for what you and George have.”

“Honey, sometimes
I
would kill George for what we have,” Stella said with a belly laugh. She put her hand on Mavis's knee. “Just don't get so far ahead of yourself that it holds you back from going on the ride. You might be missing out on something special.”

Mavis swallowed a sigh.
How did I get lucky enough to find a surrogate mother who will talk me off the ledge when I need it?
“I'm going home, so I too can have a drink. I'll see you tomorrow,” she said, rising to leave.

She hesitated and glanced around the rescue, remembering what the place had been not that long ago — just an old dilapidated barn in Chickamauga, Georgia. They had accomplished a lot in a short period, thanks in part to the community support they had received. A joy she couldn't describe filled her to know that she'd played a large part in the restoration of what had once been an old barn. They'd designed it to have a wall separate the reception-and-office-area from the animal facilities.

Through the door leading to the “behind the scenes” area, twenty dog kennels lined the walls. Fifteen had runners to the outside. Toward the back of the building, they had two indoor play areas, which were great for possible adopters to get to know the animal they were considering. When not in use for that, they doubled as the training room.

On the other side of the building was the cat area, where they kept stray and surrendered felines in rooms with cat trees, high perches, and plenty of things to climb. All rooms had windows for the animals to see outside. The area between the cat and dog facilities housed the washroom and exam room. For sanitary purposes, they'd made all the floors tile or concrete, but it was a luxury hotel as far as shelters went. Mavis and Stella had wanted the animals to have a place that felt like a home until they could be placed in one. It helped ensure they were well socialized, and still gave them the opportunity to be a dog or a cat. Mavis had designed the outside herself, edging the parking lot in medium-sized stones, and had made the parking area out of gray pea gravel. She'd planted wild flowers among the seasonal, decorative shrubs and trees to give the place year-round color.

A gentle breeze carried the scent of honeysuckle as Mavis pushed open the front door and then waved goodbye to Stella. She inhaled the fresh air deep into her lungs and let the breeze warm her skin. Sunlight hung just above the treetops as Mavis headed toward the five-acre woods that stood behind the structure. The small forest was the only thing that separated her trailer from the rescue. When they were building, she'd cut a trail through to her home and could walk it in under ten minutes. She used this time to unwind and reflect, letting go of whatever troubled her, or on a good day, reflecting on what had brought her joy.

Today her parents were in the forefront of her mind. It was because of them and their estate that she'd had enough money to finish her Bachelor's degree in animal biology and start up the rescue business with Stella. She'd sacrificed veterinary school in order to use the funds to build the organization, but hoped one day she would have the money to fulfill that dream too.

Mavis ran her hand through her hair, smoothing it, but the gentle wind blew it right back into her face.

Stella had wormed her way into her life, and Mavis couldn't imagine what she would do without her. They'd met volunteering for the local humane society and had grown close over their passion about saving animals. Mavis could let the animals in and show them love, and they expected nothing in return. She would never understand someone wanting to hurt something so defenseless, and thus Animal Angel Rescue was born. Mavis handled the veterinary care portion, at least as much as she could, and Stella, a brilliant dog trainer, worked magic with the animals. They made the perfect combination.

Some of the weight on her heart lifted thanks to her personal therapy session in the woods, as she entered her yard. The place might not look like much to some, but to her it was all she needed for now… it was home.

Work clothes were left in her wake as she walked from her bathroom into her bedroom, and slipped into her favorite sweatpants and T-shirt. The news was broadcasting from the flat screen television as she strolled into the living room and settled down on her plush, microfiber love seat. Mavis took a sip of the red wine she had poured herself. What better way to dull the emotions brought on by the day's events than to ply herself with alcohol, but a single glass would have to do. When that detective had mentioned he'd planned to ask her out, she'd had a fleeting moment of “maybe it would be fun to go on a real date.”

Not with him, he's a jerk.
Cute, but a jerk. Seductive, get-lost-in-me eyes, but still a jerk. Just someone…

She took another sip of wine and curled her legs underneath her, which seemed to be an immediate invitation for Moose, her cat, to crawl up into her lap. As Mavis stroked the cat's back, she dozed off, wondering what life would have been like if her parents had still been alive and a part of her life. Or what if she had still been able to have children? How different would her life have been today?

“What has you in such a foul mood?” Bryant asked, setting a cup of coffee in front of Weston.

“Nothing,” Weston said, slamming his drawer and sending his pen and some papers onto the floor.

“Female trouble — huh? Oh, and you're welcome for the coffee,” Bryant said.

The coffee aroma was a welcome relief from the department's natural fragrance of urine, body odor, and sweat.

“Hey! I'm suing,” Stewart, the town drunk, slurred.

Bryant and Weston looked up to see two patrol officers grabbing Stewart, who had collapsed onto the floor in a heap.

“You can't arrest me. I ain't done nothing wrong.”

Stale alcohol and vomit now added to the wide range of scents hanging over Bryant and Weston's desks. Weston shook his head as he watched each officer take an arm and drag Stewart into the holding cell.

“It ain't right. It just ain't right. This is police brutality,” Stewart wailed.

“If I ever get so bad that I'm toasted by ten in the morning and butchering the English language, just shoot me,” Weston said.

“Be happy to,” Bryant said quickly.

Weston glared at him.

“Just taking one for the team.” Bryant slapped Weston on his shoulder and chuckled. He took his seat at the desk abutting Weston's.

Bryant and Weston had attended the academy together, both having been promoted to detective at the same time. They'd become good friends, and watched each other's backs in the office and on the street.

Weston glanced over at him, taking a drink of coffee. The strong brew tasted delightful and instantly made him a little less grumpy
. Crazy how a good cup of coffee can do that for you. There must be magic in the beans.
Maybe he should take the dog lady a cup… or gallon.

“Come on, sourpuss. Spill it.” Bryant crossed his ankle over his knee and folded his hands behind his head. Giving his best you-can-trust-me grin.

Weston released a noise that sounded like a pig eating its slop out of a trough.

“Enough said…” Bryant held up his hand. “Who is it? Do I know her?”

“Doubtful.” Weston shrugged. “Someone I met yesterday when I dropped off the dog.”

“Didn't go well?”

“Her eyes could freeze fire.”

“What? She was immune to your ‘Rico Suave' charm?” Bryant said, feigning surprise.

“Hard to believe… I know.”

“Good looking?”

“Umm — gorgeous,” Weston said, as he flashed back to the way her warm-caramel hair caught the light through the exam room window. “Her hair curled around the top of her shoulders and had that Meg Ryan-tousled look from the
When Harry Met Sally
days, and her eyes resembled a field of green pastures. Not to mention that lean body that says she must run ten miles a day, or maybe she has excellent genes. I don't know and don't care.” He waved the daydream away with a swoop of his hand. “I never want to cross her path again, what with her nasty demeanor.” He inhaled deeply, lost in his own thoughts.

“What's that about?”

“What's what about?” Weston asked, coming back to the conversation at hand.

“You left just then. Not physically, but mentally you were on the moon.”

“She smelled like a peppermint candy.” Weston sighed.
So much for forgetting about her
. “How does a girl do that?”

“Wow, someone's got it bad — you sound like my sixteen-year-old sister. You swooned,” Bryant said.

Weston could feel the heat in his face. “I did not swoon.” That woman was turning him into a babbling idiot.

Bryant inclined forward resting his arms on his desk. “Pretty sure you swooned.” He winked. “Hey. Since you're both so fit, maybe you two could work out together.” He could no longer contain his chuckle.

Weston held Bryant's stare.

“Or not?” Bryant's chair slammed into the upright position. He picked up his coffee, blew, and took a sip.

“Behind all that beauty, she has a mouth on her that could cut the meanest mope to the quick.”

“Maybe after sleeping on it she'll recognize the tragic mistake she made letting you slip through her fingers.” Bryant tilted his head down, failing to hide his smirk.

Weston scowled at him. “Thanks for your support.”

“I feel for you… honestly I do, but don't give up. I mean, did that cartoon skunk take no from the black-and-white pussycat? Negative. No matter how many times she rejected him, she remained the object of his affection!” He slammed his fist on the desktop.

Weston couldn't help but laugh, even though he was being made fun of. “Your knowledge of cartoon characters is disturbing.”

“It's not as troublesome as your knowledge of a romantic comedy's most famous restaurant scene,” Bryant quipped.

He shook his head and turned his attention to the report on his desk that seemed to be missing the first three pages. He pushed his chair back and grabbed the missing pages and his pen from under his desk.

Weston's thoughts drifted to his encounter with the dog lady several times throughout the day, and by the end of work, he'd psyched himself up enough to stop by the rescue again.
To fill out the forgotten paperwork
, or so he kept telling himself as he sat in his car out in Animal Angel Rescue's parking lot. The late-day sun reflected off his windshield, making it difficult to see anything going on inside through the large bay window on the front of the building. Truth be told, he was too chicken to go inside.

Weston watched a family of four leaving the building with a dog that looked like a Chihuahua bred with an opossum. “Ugly” was the only word that came to mind, but the two smiling-and-laughing kids that took turns holding the neon-pink leash didn't seem to notice. “Guess there is someone out there for everyone… or thing,” he said, surveying the dog one last time.

He tapped the steering wheel with his open palm as he stared, unblinking, at the front door. He took a slow, deep breath and grasped the door handle, letting himself out into parking lot. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and he wasn't sure if it was from the warm breeze that had kicked up or his nerves. “This is my job,” he reminded himself. He strode to the front door and stepped inside. The wind caught the door and it slammed shut behind him. Five heads snapped up to look directly at him, one being Stella's. The others belonged to two couples sitting in the chairs in the waiting area filling out papers.

“Sorry,” Weston said.

Stella's jaw dropped. “Detective Speier, you're back.”

He surveyed her, unsure what to say, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

“I mean, getting a taste of Mavis's charm firsthand is usually enough to send most folks running for the hills.” Stella chuckled.

Weston cleared his throat, but he couldn't find his voice.
I'm sweating. This is ridiculous.
He fought the undying urge to leave and tried to speak again. He grunted.

Stella leaned forward, resting her forearms on top of the counter. She raised her eyes to meet his. “I'm sorry? I didn't catch that.”

To keep from loosening his tie, Weston interlaced his fingers behind his back in a death grip. Extreme heat was radiating from every pore in his body, and he was sure Stella would yank out a fire extinguisher soon if he didn't get his hormones under control… and fast. This was humiliating. No woman had ever affected him like this. He had turned into a mute halfwit.

Taking a deep breath, he stepped farther into the reception area and approached the counter. “I realized after I left yesterday that I hadn't filled out that paperwork you mentioned.” He swallowed as his eyes scanned the room.

“Looking for someone?”

His attention snapped to Stella, who had a crooked smile plastered to her face. He could feel the blush.

You're acting like a horny teenager… get it together.
You are a professional providing an important service to the community.
“Um. No,” he said. “This place looks like a barn.” His eyes shifted toward the ceiling and closed with a slight head shake.
That's it
.
D
istract her from your peculiar behavior by making an obvious observation. Quite the detective today.

“It once was. Mavis has an amazing eye for remodeling,” she said, looking up at the exposed beams. “It was falling down, and she saw promise in it. She put her blood, sweat, and tears into the restoration. I can't even manage building blocks.”

“It turned out great,” he said, tilting his head to the side and frowning.
Well, at least she didn't leave me hanging. Time to end this while I still have a degree of humility left.
“About that paperwork.” Weston looked up the stairs to a loft area that appeared to house the offices. No lights were on up there.
Dog lady isn't here.
A massive wave of disappointment surged through his body. He shook his head.
What's the matter with me? She's abrasive, rude, judgmental, and downright mean. I'm lucky she isn't in today. That's right, not disappointed… I'm elated. I avoided the bullet on that one. Thank heavens I came to my senses.

“While I get that file again, why don't you head out back and say hello to Mavis,” Stella said with a wink. “She has some of the dogs out for playtime.”

“Mavis,” Weston muttered.

“Yes. Mavis Frost. Didn't she introduce herself?”

“Um… no. We didn't actually make it to the niceties part of the conversation when I was here.”

“No time like the present.” Stella pointed to the swing door.

His heart swelled, and the corners of his mouth quivered fighting the grin trying to burst forth. “I — I don't want to bother her,” he said, shoving his hands deep into his pants pockets, tilting his chin down. He was acting like a schoolboy.
Maybe I should make a break for the front door to end this mortification
.

Weston glanced up and met her I-know-all stare, turning quickly to avert what emotion might be revealed in his eyes.
Lust… pure lust
.

She touched the hand that was now resting on the counter. He swallowed and faced her.

“It won't be a bother,” Stella reassured. “Just follow that hall, and the door leading outside is on the left.”

No point in arguing anymore. For whatever reason he wanted to see Mavis again.

He tried to keep his stride slow until he'd cleared Stella's line of vision. Then he almost skipped down the hall, past the exam room. Wild barks pierced the air, as the dogs not out for playtime, noticed him. He could almost hear them yelling “pick me… pick me,” and a vise-grip sensation clenched his heart. The steel-white door leading to the outside came into view and his courage failed him, his steps faltered. Women had never made him nervous — why this one put him on edge intrigued him.

Taking a deep breath, he opened the door to wild yips and howls. There was a ball flying through the air that had the attention of four dogs who were tearing after it — pouncing as it bounced. A springy sheltie leaped into the air, capturing it, bringing that round to an end.

Mavis's laugh made his heart pitter-patter — it was infectious. Her hair hung loose and wafted in the breeze. The yard looked to be about an acre, and she was halfway across, crouching as she clapped, calling the dogs back for round two. There were six in total, but only four taking part in the riveting game of fetch. Weston watched as the sheltie, a Labrador, a dog that kind of looked like a German Shepherd and something he couldn't identify stampeded toward her. She was stunning, and her expression made the gray day brighter. He caught her gaze — he'd been spotted. The gray day reappeared as her smile faded. Her eyes held his as he approached.
This must be what the last mile walk feels like for a death row inmate.
Three of the dogs, on the other hand, saw fresh meat and swarmed him, drenching him with licks and beating him with wagging tails.

Chuckling, he reached down to pet them while trying to stay on his feet. His gaze traveled around the lush, green yard. He'd stepped into a dog's own fantasy land. Trees everywhere. A small pond, where a dog that looked similar to his cousins golden retriever was belly deep, tongue lapping at the water. A couple of slides, a stationary tug toy, and multiple fake fire hydrants that a classic definition of mutt was enjoying in earnest.

Mavis stood her ground, but he didn't miss her guarded expression. “Detective Speier, what brings you back?” She didn't offer her hand.

He shuddered, swearing he could get frostbite from the icy breeze radiating off her.
I remember why she scares me.
He smirked, holding back the full chuckle. He cleared his throat, mentally rejoining the conversation at hand
.
“Paperwork — Stella told me to come out here while she got it ready. I need to sign it and get a copy for the police report.”
That's it, Speier, blame the nice lady in front — coward.

“She did, did she?” Mavis said. The pit bull Weston had brought in peeked around Mavis's legs, peering cautiously at him.

“Hey, look who it is… I almost didn't recognize her,” he said, flashing the most charming grin he had in his arsenal. Gone was the filth that had caked her body. Her coat was now sleek. The wound on her neck still looked raw, but it was no longer oozing purulent discharge. She was still skinny and had some hair loss from malnutrition, but her eyes were bright. Clean and happy made a world of difference. He squatted down, keeping his distance, unsure what the dog's reaction to him would be.

“Amazing what a bath and some food can do.” Mavis watched the interaction.

“Hey, pup, remember me? Or maybe you don't want to.” A pang of guilt bumped inside his gut. She looked timid, not vicious, and it bothered him to think he might have played a part in causing her distress.