Chapter 34 Faith
FAITH
I stopped dead in my tracks, my heart plummeting straight to my feet.
There, tied to a gnarled oak tree like some twisted lawn ornament, was a small dog. A trembling, skeletal shadow of a dog, whose ribs jutted through patches of matted, filthy fur that might have once been white with tan ears.
Moving closer, I could see that the dog was a girl.
My eyes darted around the empty trail, desperately searching for an owner who might materialize from behind a bush. Someone who’d left their dog here for just a minute while they, what? Took a bathroom break behind a tree?
But the longer I stared at this broken little creature, the more obvious it became. She hadn’t been here for minutes. She’d been here for days. If not longer.
A murky rain puddle near the base of the tree told the whole tragic story—it was her only source of water in God knew how long. The worn leather leash had rubbed raw patches into her neck, and dried blood crusted over what looked like bite marks or infected sores along her spine.
Someone had thrown her away. Decided she was worthless, chained her to this tree, and walked away to let nature finish the job.
My lower lip started trembling as rage and heartbreak crashed over me in equal measure.
I was already moving, dropping to my knees in the damp earth.
“What are you doing?” Ryker asked.
“Saving her.” The words came out fierce, final.
“We can call animal control—”
“It’s okay, sweetie.” My voice cracked as I held out the back of my hand, staying perfectly still. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
She cowered away, pressing herself against the rough bark, her whole body shaking. Those enormous brown eyes—way too big for her gaunt face—flicked between my outstretched hand and my face, trying to solve some impossible equation: friend or foe?
“You’re such a pretty girl,” I whispered through my tears, not caring that I probably looked like a complete mess. “You’re beautiful and sweet, and I bet you’re the best girl in the whole world.”
Her trembling eased just a fraction. She stretched her neck forward, so cautiously, so hopefully, and sniffed my knuckles with a cold, not-wet-enough nose.
“That’s it, baby. See? You’re safe now.” I kept my voice soft as honey while, inside, I was screaming. “If it’s okay with you, I’d like to untie this leash. Would that be all right?”
She looked up at me, her expression still guarded but curious. I let her investigate me at her own pace, let her be the one to move closer while I sat statue-still in the cold dirt.
Finally, when her tail gave the tiniest wag, I reached for the leash.
The worn leather came away from the tree with a soft scrape that made me want to hunt down whoever did this and introduce them to my fist. How many people walked right past you, sweet girl? How many just kept going?
“I’m going to pick you up now, okay?”
She trembled again, but didn’t fight me as I scooped her into my arms. She weighed nothing; I could feel every rib, every vertebra through her matted coat. Jesus. When was the last time you had a real meal?
Ryker’s tone shifted to concern. “Faith, what are you doing?”
“Taking her to the emergency vet. Obviously.” I stood up, cradling my new responsibility against my chest.
“We have enough on our plate right now. We need to focus on—”
“I’m taking her.” My voice cut through his protest like a blade. “So, you can either come with me or I’ll call you when we’re done.”
Ryker dragged a hand over his face, frustration radiating off him in waves.
“You don’t understand,” I said, my lip quivering again.
“You don’t know what it feels like to have people just …
discard you. Like you’re garbage they can’t wait to get rid of.
Like what happens to you afterward isn’t their problem.
” The words tumbled out, raw and jagged.
“You don’t know what that feels like, but I do.
And I’m not letting her go through this alone. ”
I pressed my face against the top of her dirty head, breathing in the smell of rain and neglect.
“I’m going to take her to the vet, get her whatever help she needs, and then I’m going to love her every single day for the rest of her life.”
Ryker’s expression softened, but I caught the shadow that crossed his face. The unspoken questions hanging between us: What if you go to prison? How are you going to love her from a cell?
I lifted my chin, daring him to voice it. When he didn’t, I shifted the dog’s weight in my arms. “I suppose you think I’m being ridiculous.”
“I think you’re being you.” His voice was warm.
“Is that code for ridiculous?”
A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “No. It’s code for … determined.”
“Haven’t you ever wanted a dog?”
He glanced at the dog, then back at me. “Wouldn’t matter if I did; my building has a strict no-pets policy. Iron-clad lease terms. Not even goldfish.”
“Good thing she’s coming home with me then.” I started walking toward the car. “My landlord’s biggest concern is whether rent clears on the first.”
Ryker inhaled a long breath, then pulled out his phone, fingers flying over the screen. “Fine. Closest emergency vet is fifteen minutes away. Let’s go.”
Dr. Redfield set down her clipboard and gave me the look. The one I’d seen on social workers’ faces my entire childhood. Sympathetic. Practical. Preparing me for disappointment.
“I’m happy to help her.” She gestured to the trembling dog on the exam table. “But it’s my responsibility to be honest with you.”
Here it comes.
“It’s highly improbable she’ll get adopted from a shelter.” Dr. Redfield’s tone stayed gentle, which somehow made it worse. “Adorable dogs without health complications don’t get adopted. This girl?” She indicated the matted fur, the visible ribs, the infected wounds. “She’s got a long road ahead.”
The dog’s eyes found mine. Brown and liquid and trusting in a way that made my chest ache.
“Then there’s the medical uncertainty,” the vet continued. “Only time will tell how—or if—she heals. The infections alone could require weeks of treatment. That’s assuming her immune system can handle it.”
I kept my hand on the dog’s head, feeling the fragile skull beneath my palm.
“You think I should put her down.” The words came out flat. A statement, not a question.
Dr. Redfield had the decency to hesitate. “I think it’s an option you need to consider before you spend three hundred ninety dollars on medical procedures today. And that’s just the initial treatment. Long-term care could run into the thousands.”
Three hundred ninety dollars. The cost of giving up on a life.
I looked at the dog again. At the way she pressed into my touch despite everything she’d been through. Despite every reason she had to mistrust humans.
“No.” The word came out harder than I’d intended. Good.
Dr. Redfield blinked. “I understand this is difficult—”
“No,” I repeated, clearer this time. “Thank you for your honesty. I appreciate it. But no.”
“Miss Morrison—”
“Is she in pain right now?” I cut her off, my voice sharp enough to slice. “Is she suffering?”
The vet’s mouth thinned. “The wounds are uncomfortable, certainly, but we can manage—”
“So, when you had a sore on your body, should someone have just put you down?”
The question landed like a slap.
Dr. Redfield straightened, her professional mask slipping for just a second. “That’s not the same—”
“Isn’t it?” I leaned forward, keeping one hand on the dog.
Keeping contact. “You’re telling me her life isn’t worth saving because she’s inconvenient.
Because she’s expensive. Because she’s damaged.
” My jaw clenched. “I’ve heard that speech before, Doc.
Had it directed at me more times than I can count. Guess what. I’m still here.”
Silence filled the exam room, broken only by the dog’s shallow breathing. But I could feel Ryker staring at me, absorbing my every word.
“She deserves a chance,” I said, quieter now, but no less fierce. “Everyone deserves a chance. So, here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to treat her. All of it. Whatever she needs. And I’m going to pay for it.”
Dr. Redfield studied me for a long moment. Something shifted in her expression—reassessment maybe. Or respect.
“All right.” She picked up her clipboard again, making notes. Smiling even. “I’ll need to run bloodwork, start her on antibiotics for the infections, treat the mange, and deworm her.”
“Whatever she needs,” I repeated.
The vet nodded slowly. “She’s lucky you found her.”
I scratched behind the dog’s ear, feeling her lean into the touch.
“No,” I said. “I’m pretty sure I’m the lucky one.”
Two hours later, we walked out of the clinic with a pharmacy’s worth of supplies, a handful of dog toys, and a cautiously optimistic prognosis. The vet tech had worked magic with a gentle bath, washing away layers of grime to reveal fur that was actually cream-colored with peachy-tan ears.
At home, I went into full nesting mode. I dragged blankets from the linen closet and created a little sanctuary in the corner of my living room, right where the afternoon sun would stream through the bay window.
A fluffy fortress of comfort, with her new bed as the centerpiece, and a little ramp of throw pillows leading up to my reading chair so she could look out at the world whenever she wanted.
“There.” I put my hands on my hips, surveying my handiwork. “Now, how about we get you some food? Would you like that?”
Her tail wagged, and I nearly dissolved into a puddle right there.
“Come on. Let me show you around.” I headed for the kitchen, and she followed on unsteady legs. “This is the kitchen, where humans make human food. Fair warning: I’m basically a culinary disaster, but I manage to keep myself alive.”
She sat on the tiled floor, head cocked at an adorable angle, watching me wrestle with the can opener.
I frowned at the resulting brown mush. “I really hope you like this because, with all due respect, it smells like fish and snails.”
Her head tilted the other way, like she was considering my critique.
I filled two bowls with food and fresh water and set them on the floor. “Here’s your dining room. Five stars, obviously.”
She approached the food with a mixture of hunger and hesitation, glancing at me for permission.
“It’s okay, baby.” I sat cross-legged beside the bowls and dipped my finger into the gross brown slop, pretending to taste it. “Mmm, delicious.”
Note to self: never become a food critic.
But it worked. One tentative lick turned into ravenous inhaling of the entire bowl.
“Easy there. You’re going to make yourself sick.” I smiled through fresh tears, watching her eat like it was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. How long has it been since you had enough food?
Ryker leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching me with an intensity that made the air hum around me.
The afternoon light caught the sharp angles of his jaw, the way his eyes tracked my every movement as I tended to the dog.
There was something raw in his expression beyond concern.
Fascination maybe, like he was seeing me again through a beautiful light.
The warrior who’d fight for the defenseless, even when she couldn’t fight for herself.
When the dog finished, she padded over and climbed into my lap like she belonged there. Like she’d been waiting her whole life for this moment.
My vision blurred as she pressed her head against my palm, those soulful brown eyes looking up at me with something that looked suspiciously like love.
“We need to come up with a name for you,” I said, stroking her newly clean fur. “Rainbow,” I decided. “I think I’ll name you Rainbow.” I scratched gently behind her ears. “You know why? Because after every storm, there’s always a rainbow.”
She licked my hand, sealing the deal.
“I love you, Rainbow.”
And then I watched as the little dog stopped trembling, lay down, and closed her eyes.
“Faith.” Ryker’s voice held a note of concern. “You should move to the couch. Sitting on hardwood can’t be comfortable.”
I looked down at Rainbow. “She’s finally feeling safe. After everything she’s been through, I’m not about to wake her up.”
“So, you’re just going to sit on the floor? For how long?”
I settled back against the cabinet, adjusting my position so Rainbow could sleep more comfortably. “For as long as she needs. Or until my shift starts tonight. Whichever comes first.”
As her little body began to snore softly against my legs, I felt something shift inside me. Like a lock clicking open. Like coming home.
Whatever happens next, I thought, at least I did this one thing right.
“You’re working tonight?” Ryker pushed off the wall. Suddenly concerned.
“I have bills to pay.”
“Faith—”
“I can’t afford to not work, Ryker. Those kids I sponsor need food. Housing. Rainbow needs food and housing.”
“What if some creep shows up?”
“Creeps show up every night. It’s a bar.”
“That’s not what I mean. Your story hit the news, Faith. Someone might recognize you. And if they do, we have no idea how they might react.”
Oh, someone was about to recognize me all right. And it was about to go even worse than Ryker imagined …