Chapter Thirteen
G rinning, Sawyer came down the hall of the clinic with Trixie in a crate. “She’s all ready for you.”
Anna couldn’t decide if the swoop in her stomach was because of the intimate look in his brown eyes or because she was about to take a puppy home. Either way, she put one hand on her belly and took a deep breath. This was it. She was officially a foster mom to a little dog who would be dependent on her for its every need. She reached for the crate, but Sawyer set it up on the front office desk.
“Hold on a sec. I’ll carry her out to your car.” He leaned over Avery’s shoulder and handed her the iPad he had in his other hand. “I’ve got all her vitals in her chart. Can you email Anna with those, so she can keep track of her weight?”
Anna’s tummy turned over again. “I have to weigh her?”
Sawyer chuckled. “Just pick her up after you weigh yourself. She should add three and half pounds today and then after that you’ll figure it out from there. We need to know she’s eating well and growing like she should. It’s for the rescue registry.”
“Should I keep a chart or something?”
“Avery, add a link to the pet log app to Anna’s email. You can use that to keep track and send it to us every week.” He opened the office gate and reached for the crate again.
Anna put a hand on his arm. “Wait.” She peered into the crate where Trixie cowered in the very back, her blanket bunched around her. At the sight of Anna’s face, she whimpered. “She’s scared, Sawyer.”
“Probably.” Sawyer bent down, too. “Hey, Trixie, it’s okay. You’re going home now,” he said, his voice low and gentle.
Anna’s heart clutched at the frightened dog’s huge eyes. “Do you think she has PTSD? Maybe the last time she was carried in a crate was when that bastard dumped her.”
“That’s possible.” He opened the crate. “Here, pet her a little.”
Slowly, Anna stuck her hand into the crate, first fingering Trixie’s fleece blanket and letting the puppy sniff her. Then she scratched under her chin. “It’s okay, honey. We’re going home now.”
Trixie stopped whimpering and shoved her head against Anna’s palm, moving forward in the crate to allow the caress. Anna smiled. “Yes, baby. You’re okay.” She held Trixie’s chin in her fingers. “You ready to go home? Hmmm?”
A sharp bark seemed answer enough, so Anna drew her hand back and shut the crate. “Let’s do this.”
When they got Trixie situated in the back seat of the truck, the seatbelt snugged over the crate, Sawyer opened the driver’s side door for her. “You want me to come with you? Help get her settled?”
Yes, I want that desperately. But Anna stiffened her spine and slipped into the truck. “No, thanks. I can do this on my own.”
He gazed at her for a moment, not skeptically, rather like maybe he was proud of her. “Okay. Text if you have any problems.”
“Will do.” Anna gave a small salute and started the engine, slowly navigating curvy Sunrise Ridge Road. When not a peep came from the back seat, her stomach began to unknot, and she pulled out onto Riverview Road and headed to town. So far, so good. The first ten minutes of foster parenting were okay.
She’d brought the harness and leash with her, planning to let Trixie have a moment down in the yard before they headed up to the condo. But when she pulled into her garage behind the condos, Trixie started whimpering again. By the time Anna got the truck shut down and the back door open, the puppy was crying in earnest and had backed herself into the corner of the crate, her little face buried in the blanket.
Anna reached in and Trixie snapped at her, not catching her fingers but damn close. She yanked her hand out. “Trixie, no!”
Trixie barked and then grabbed her blanket in her teeth and shook her head. Was she playing or was she pissed? Anna had no idea. She drummed her fingers on the open truck door and chewed her lower lip. Then she pinned on a smile and unbuckled the seatbelt from around the crate, set it farther along the seat, and scootched in beside it. “Okay, girlie. We can sit here for as long as you like. Heck, I got all night.” She toyed with the harness for a couple of minutes and then set it inside the crate and waited.
After a few minutes, Trixie crept forward and sniffed the harness, shoving it with her nose until it and her head were at the opening of the crate. Anna put her hand down and Trixie sniffed it, then licked her palm.
“Hey, you.” Anna scratched between the puppy’s winglike ears and murmured, “It’s just me, Trixie.” She pulled lightly on the harness with her other hand and Trixie followed it out of the crate and onto Anna’s lap.
She picked her up and cuddled her close for a few minutes before slipping the harness over the puppy’s head and under her chest and snapping the buckles closed with one hand while petting and soothing with the other. Voila! Trixie was harnessed and seemed okay with it. Anna clipped the leash in place and climbed out of the truck with Trixie in her arms. “How about a little walk? Maybe pee? Or whatever?” she asked as she carried the dog out of the garage and set her down on the blacktop parking lot. “I’m not carrying you over to the grass, kiddo. You’ve got to make that leap on your own.”
Trixie promptly sat down, stared at the hard surface of the parking lot, and whimpered.
“Oh, you’ve never seen blacktop before, have you?” Anna stooped down. “Well, it’s not that different from stepping off the patio at the clinic.” She patted the dog and stood. “Come on, let’s go.”
Trixie didn’t move.
Anna held the leash loosely, took a couple steps, and waited. She’d give the dog a few minutes. New place, new surface, new person. Gotta be scary. She stood patiently, then took another couple of steps away from Trixie. “Trixie, come,” she said quietly but firmly.
The dog sat.
“Trixie, come.” Same quiet command. Anna had read that raising your voice to a puppy was as about effective as raising your voice to a toddler, so she was determined not to let her frustration show. According to the YouTube videos she’d watched, she had to establish her alpha position in the relationship. So, she waited and watched.
Trixie rose and took a tentative step forward, and Anna nodded. “Good girl.”
Another step and then a few more and the puppy was at her side, gazing up at her with those eyes that seemed too big for her little face. She blinked.
“Trixie, come.” Anna started walking toward the grassy area next to the parking lot where she’d seen other dog owners take their pets. Curiosity must have gotten the best of the puppy, because as Anna chatted casually about how pretty the grass was and wasn’t Trixie a good girl and wouldn’t it feel nice to pee and then go upstairs for some supper and to see her new home, Trixie went right into the grass and sniffed around.
She didn’t seem at all bothered by the nylon harness, which Anna had fastened loose enough for comfort but tight enough to stay on. Trixie waddled along the edge of the grass, stopping to smell a tree, a row of hydrangeas, and some newly blooming tulips. Anna gave her plenty of leash to explore, figuring she’d learn about leading a dog when she started classes with Bea later in the week. Right now, she just wanted Trixie to take care of business so they both could get something to eat.
A few minutes of discovery and suddenly Trixie stopped, peed, moved on, turned in a circle a couple of times, and then pooped. Anna practically danced as she pulled a recyclable bag out of the little dispenser attached to the leash and bagged the puppy’s waste, all the time exclaiming, “Good girl, Trixie! Good girl!” Who knew a pooping puppy could bring such joy?
Her phone buzzed in her jacket pocket. Sawyer. “Howzit going?”
She snapped a quick pic of the bag of puppy waste dangling over the bin that the condo provided for such things and another of Trixie in her new harness and sent them along with a thumbs-up emoji.
He returned a smiley face, which she promptly showed Trixie. “Look, sweetie. The doc thinks we’re brilliant. And we are!”
Trixie frolicked, wrapping the leash around Anna’s ankles, so Anna unwound and picked her up. After a quick stop in the garage for the crate and her purse, she carried her new pet upstairs.
*
“No more coffee,” Mac said when Sawyer raised his hand and pointed to his mug as he sat at the counter in the Riverside Diner. The place was practically empty, and Carly was busing tables and cleaning up. “Your jitters got the jitters, man.” Mac thrust a slice of pie in front of him. “Here, eat this. It’s the last piece of rhubarb-strawberry, and it’ll taste like crap in the morning. That one doesn’t keep well.”
“So, it’s okay to jack the poor guy up on sugar, but not on caffeine?” Carly set plates and mugs in the dish tub and reached for the orange-handled pot of decaf and refilled Sawyer’s mug.
“Thank you, Carly.” Sawyer added a capsule of half-and-half to his cup, spilling some as a streak of lightning made the evening sky glow and only a few seconds later a loud clap of thunder sounded. “And by the way, you two, I’m a thirty-six-year-old doctor. I’m fairly sure I can make a judgment about my own capacity for caffeine and sugar.”
“Fair enough.” Mac chuckled. “What’s got you so nervous tonight? You’ve been drumming your fingers on the counter, turning around every damn time the door opens, drank practically a whole pot of coffee by yourself.” Mac peered out the big window at the darkened sky, then went back into the kitchen. “It’s a spring storm. Nothing to worry about.”
“It’s not the storm.” Sawyer wasn’t about to admit that he was hoping Anna might wander up after settling Trixie into her crate. She knew he ate supper here practically every night. He took a big bite of pie and closed his eyes as the flavor hit his taste buds. He loved pie—all pie, except maybe coconut cream—and Mac’s were the best. He was aware that Paula Meadows actually made the pies, but Mac served ’em by the slice, so he could enjoy them without having to buy a whole pie at Paula’s bakery. Mac got at least some of the kudos.
“Woman trouble?” Mac put a plate on the pass-through for Carly to deliver to the only other customer in the place. “Burger through the garden and fries.” He leaned into the space and called to a burly guy sitting alone in a booth by the window.
Sawyer didn’t recognize him.
“Eat that fast, Tim—I’m closing right at nine tonight. Carly and I have to work on our booth for the festival this weekend.”
“Why do you ask?” Sawyer turned his attention back to Mac’s question, assuming he’d probably meet the brawny man at the clinic eventually. Seemed like everybody in this whole town had animals—from dogs and cats to rabbits and ferrets and birds. He’d even treated a baby hedgehog this morning and after lunch, went out with Travis to vaccinate a herd of pygmy goats while John worked the clinic, removing an engagement ring that a dog swallowed over the weekend.
Mac shrugged. “No reason, just…making conversation.”
“But you assumed I’ve got woman trouble…” Sawyer’s question trailed off as the big guy eating the burger burst out in a loud guffaw. Sawyer spun around on his stool. “What?”
Still chuckling, the brawny, bearded man picked up his plate and glass, ambled over to the counter, and plopped down on a stool one away from Sawyer. “Nothin’, dude, but a guy gets edgy, it’s always a woman. Give it up, man. They’re all as elusive as the mist over the river,” he said.
“Very poetic, Tim.” Carly dumped the dregs from the coffeepot into the sink behind the counter. “But did he say his problem was a woman?”
“I’m a poet at heart.” Tim’s chuckle was infectious, and Sawyer couldn’t help smiling as the man continued. “He didn’t have to. We’ve all been there.” The man swiped a napkin over his beard and stuck out his hand. “Tim Dykeman.”
Sawyer shook with him. “Sawyer Braxton.”
“Nice to meet ya. So, you’re the new vet in town, eh?” Tim opened his burger, placed some fries on top of the tomato and lettuce, and took a big bite.
“Yup. Hey, you any relation to Lynn Dykeman? Owns a pretty little Irish setter named Penny?”
Tim nodded. “My mom.”
“That critter’s a beauty. Good to meet you, Tim.” Sawyer pulled his credit card out of his wallet. “Check, Carly?”
Tim rose, guzzled the remainder of his drink, and reached for his wallet, too. After they’d both settled up, he followed Sawyer out into the street, where the air smelled like rain even though it hadn’t started yet. “Hey, Doc. You like cider?”
“I do. Why?”
“We make cider…and beer.” He passed him a business card. “Dykeman’s, just north and east of town. Stop by. First drink’s on us.”
The card was recycled, heavy stock with an apple tree and Dykeman’s Orchard & Cidery printed in cranberry ink with an address, phone number, and website below. At the bottom in script were the words Family owned since 1936 .
Sawyer grinned. “Thanks. I will.”
“Good.” Tim’s teeth gleamed white against his dark brown beard. “I’ll look forward to it.” And he loped toward an aged pickup that had a magnetic sign on the driver’s side door with the very same information on it.
Just then Sawyer’s phone buzzed with a text. One word from Anna. “Help.”
He tapped the phone icon to call her rather than take time to type. “What’s the matter?”
“She won’t stop crying.” Anna’s voice was quavery. “I’ve tried everything, Sawyer. She ate and she had some water and she played with her toys and I took her back out and she did her business outside on the grass. Everything was great, but when I brought her back in and put her in her crate so I could take a shower, she started whimpering. She’s still whimpering.” It all came out in one long quivering sentence. “What do I do? I don’t know what to do.”
“I’m coming.” He turned around and headed east again on Main Street. “Stay on with me, and tell me how to get to you.”
Ten minutes later, breathless from hurrying down Main to Pearl Street and then to Second, he pressed the buzzer by her name at the Box Factory Condominiums.