Chapter 7 Tonks and Moxie
SEVEN
Tonks and Moxie
Mabel
It was official.
I was in love.
It was the next morning.
I was not in my workshop sanding that bureau.
I was at the Stony Bluff Animal Rescue and Wildlife Sanctuary, in one of their meet and greet rooms, falling in love with a dog.
“She really likes you,” Winona, the slim volunteer who was with us at the rescue and had blue and pink tips in her short dark hair, said.
I was giving Tonks a full head rubdown, while Tonks panted happy dog breath into my face, but I looked to Winona. “Does she like everyone?”
She smiled and shrugged. “Pretty much.”
I turned back to Tonks, looked into her blue, blue eyes, and whispered, “Well, I love her.”
“I’m glad,” Winona said hesitantly. “But—”
I stood straight and grinned at her. “But…huskies are vocal. They have strong personalities. They need constant grooming. And they’re bred to run, so they have a ton of energy and need a lot of activity. They’re also remarkably intelligent, so they need their brains engaged and lots of challenges.”
She grinned back. “You did your research.”
“Several threads call their vocals ‘husky yodeling.’”
She laughed. “You know, yeah. That kinda covers it.”
Tonks sniffed my hand hoping I’d take her hint, and I did, scratching her behind her ears. “I found her on your website and did some research. I live alone. I talk to myself. It’ll be good to have someone to talk to who might not understand me, but she’ll talk back.”
Another laugh from Winona. “Sounds like it’s a fit.
” She got serious. “But I need you to fill out an application. It’s nothing super invasive, but we want to make sure when an animal leaves our care, they’re going to a good home, and they won’t come back.
The board is notified when an application comes in.
There are seven members, and you just need a majority to vote yes for her to be yours.
We guarantee a twenty-four-hour turnaround on a decision. ”
I nodded. “That works for me.”
“Excellent, let me put Tonks back, and I’ll get you an application.”
She headed to the door, but the idea of Tonks going back to her cage made me frown.
“It’s only twenty-four hours, Mabel,” Winona said quietly.
I sighed and asked Tonks, “Can you wait twenty-four hours?”
Her ears cocked, and then she yodeled.
I busted out laughing, crouched, and she snuffled my neck as I gave her another rubdown, this one full body.
“I think it’s gonna be torture for me, girl,” I said. “But if you can do it, I can too.”
With that, Tonks, Winona and I headed out.
While she went into the dog wing, I stood in the hall at the door to the cat wing and peered inside the window.
My life had been tumbling from one turmoil to another.
However, in that turmoil, the only constants I’d had were the animals we’d had along the way.
I’d had cats and dogs, and I still grieved the loss of every one of them.
I knew I was gazing through the cat room window longingly when I didn’t even notice Winona coming back until she offered, “Wanna take a stroll down the cat aisle?”
I turned to her. “Huskies have strong prey drives.”
“Well, fortunately, Tonks was surrendered because she talked too much.”
My frown that time was a lot more severe.
“I know, right?” she asked. “However, her previous owner had two cats and another dog. She’s been around them since she was a pup. In her dossier, she’s been approved for multi-animal households, including cats, due to her early socialization.”
She looked to the window of the cat room and kept talking.
“That said, if you went there, you’d have to spend time introducing them slowly and not leaving them alone together until you were sure they get along.”
I stared through the cat window with her.
I shouldn’t, I thought.
“Let’s look,” my mouth said.
Half an hour later, I was filling out a form for both Tonks and Moccasin, otherwise, and now for good and ever to be known as Moxie, a sleek black and brown tabby with a white chest and the most adorable white finger mittens on both her front paws.
She was three, had been in a house with dogs, had her best weapons intact—her claws—and she was a cuddle muffin with lots of purrs to give, which could be a ruse she used to get her out of there, because she’d been there over six months.
But I didn’t care if she was faking it. I was getting her out of there.
After handing back the application, I asked Winona, “Am I tempting fate if I go to the feedstore to stock up on pet stuff?”
She smiled. “I’ve seen you with both of them, Mabel.
I’ll put in a good word for you. But anyway, it’s rare they turn anyone down.
Truly. It’s usually only things like they say they’re going to try to declaw, something no vet in this county does and no cat parent should want, or they’re loading up with pets because their hearts are so big and they’ve never had a pet before.
With folks like that, they’ll approve for one animal, not reject in total.
You’ve had both cats and dogs. You’ve done your research.
You’ve got land for Tonks to roam. They’ll approve. ”
I felt my worry lift and said, “Thanks. And thanks so much for your time.”
“My pleasure,” she replied.
I headed out to a misty, cool day, gathering my jean jacket closer at the front, and ducking into my thick scarf, before I saw the big, dark blue GMC truck in the parking lot.
My heart skipped a beat.
It obscured my little Ford pickup.
And then, as I kept hesitantly walking, it didn’t.
I almost tripped when I saw the burnished thick locks of my Post-it Lover over the roof of my truck.
He was leaning against my driver’s side door.
Hearing me approach, he turned and looked at me.
Yep.
There was my Post-it Lover.
What the heck?
After I rounded my hood, I greeted with a tentative, “Hey.”
“Huskies are a lot of work.”
I stopped dead three feet from him.
“They got a lot to say. And grooming is a chore. Especially at the change of seasons. You can’t allow mats. Mats pull at animals’ skin. It’s painful.”
“I—”
“Regular baths, at least weekly full brushes, if not daily. Taking them for a monthly bath and professional groom is optimal.”
It was then it dawned on me.
Except “dawn” was too positive of a term.
So, the better way to put it was, it collapsed on me.
My Post-it Lover was Mr. Grouch.
How I didn’t foresee, with all my history, that my luck was this bad, I did not know.
But here it was.
More proof I didn’t need that my luck was cataclysmically bad.
“I looked—” I tried again.
“And they’re high energy. Seriously high. We’re not talking a couple quick walks a day. We’re talking good, solid, get-the-dog-panting workouts daily or she’ll destroy everything in your house if you’re not there.”
“Listen—”
“You got problems with the nutjobs living next to you, I’m gonna loan you Hannibal.”
Hannibal?
My question must have registered on my face because he bit off, “Not the fictional cannibal, the Carthaginian general.”
Bet he had that question a lot.
“I already put my appli—”
Again, I didn’t finish.
“I’ve spent time with Tonks. She’s trained. She’s smart. She’s got a good bark. But Hannibal is ready to roll.”
“I don’t want—”
“I don’t give a fuck what you want.”
At his assertion, I stared in shock at him, but he kept speaking.
“You’re on the radar of those crazies, you’re getting Hannibal.”
I blinked as something else hit me.
Then I asked, “How did you know I was—?”
“You called me, I called Harry. He was thrilled I was taking an interest, seeing as I’m a fuckuva lot closer to you than he is.”
“But, isn’t it confidential—?”
“It isn’t an active investigation, Mabel,” he clipped. “And you’re a woman alone whose got some religious fanatics pissed simply because you did what’s well within your rights to do. You took a man’s cock.”
I was trying to process his blunt words, but he still wasn’t done giving them to me.
“Also got David coming up. He can’t get to it until next week, but he’s installing motion sensor lights on your house. Front and side doors, all corners. No one will get close at night without you knowin’ they’re there. I’ll deal with Mrs. Matthews.”
I needed to get a handle on this mostly one-sided conversation, pronto.
“Okay, listen—”
He pushed away from my truck, stating, “Nothin’ to listen to. This isn’t a discussion. The decisions are made.”
Oh, hell no.
He started to make a move.
But I planted a hand in his chest and shoved him back into my truck.
Yes, I knew he let me.
No, at that point, I didn’t care.
“Listen, Mr. Hutchison, even if you were that man they saw coming or going, you don’t factor into my life or my decisions.
You certainly don’t get to make my decisions.
” He was staring down at my hand on him, so I took that hand away but didn’t get out of his space.
“Though, glad I got the chance to say thanks for your sweet note. I was good with the multiple orgasms, but that was icing on the cake.”
The sarcasm laced heavily into my last two statements wasn’t lost on him, I knew by the way his eyes thinned.
And then he stated, “I’m the president of the board here at Stony Bluff.”
And…God.
My luck?
The worst.
Panic hit me that he might interfere with Tonks and Moxie.
“Don’t you dare scuttle my apps,” I hissed.
He got toe to toe with me. I wasn’t short, but he was six inches taller than me, and in that moment, intimidating as all get out.
“Hear me, woman,” he growled. “I’ve been inside you. The very next day I get a call from you tellin’ me you got an issue. Harry confirms that issue is a possible issue. I’m doin’ something about it.”
“I had no idea who you were when I called, and if I did, I wouldn’t have made that call.”
“I know you didn’t,” he returned. “But I sure as fuck knew who you were, and you did call me. So this shit is gonna get sorted.”
“I—”
“How often do you look over your shoulder when you’re in your own fuckin’ home?”
My teeth clacked audibly, I shut my mouth so fast.
“Right,” he whispered scarily. “Again, this shit is gonna get sorted.”
“No offense, but I don’t want your dog. I want Tonks.”
“Fine,” he bit out. “Then you’ll get Tonks, and my training, three times a week. Go to the feedstore so you can be ready for a pickup tomorrow. Their shit is the best quality, and the cheapest.”
“I already researched that, Heir Hutchison,” I snapped. “A grouchy dog trainer gave me the idea.”
He dipped his head so his nose nearly brushed mine.
“Enough with that shit. I’m not grouchy,” he grouched.
“You’re entirely un-self-aware if you believe that,” I fired back.
He scowled at me.
I glared at him.
This went on awhile.
I caved first, because, seriously, the dude was intimidating.
I mean, how could this man sing such beautiful, melancholy songs?
Even if I gave up our staring contest first, I did it snarkily.
“Can I get to my truck?”
“It’s Thursday. You got tomorrow and Saturday to get Tonks settled. Sunday, I’ll be at your place at one to start training.”
“Tonks and I might not be there,” I retorted.
“Then wherever you are, you better get your ass home, Mabel. Because I got special forces training, and if you’re not there, I’ll find you and drag your ass home.”
He had special forces training?
I didn’t go after that.
“Are you always this much of a dick?” I demanded.
He stepped away from me but didn’t lose eye contact.
“Nope,” he said casually. “It only comes out when I got a woman on my hands with more sass than sense.”
Oh my God!
He was the worst!
“Seems we’re even, since the sass only comes out in me when I’m dealing with a guy whose mostly a dick, and on top of that, doesn’t have the good sense not to write ‘thanks’ on a Post-it to a one-night stand who already knew she was a one-night stand and was all the way down with that, but you made her feel like a whore. ”
With that, I yanked open my truck door, it screamed in agony (don’t worry, it always did that).
I climbed in, slammed the door, buckled up, and the entire time I started up, I glared at him where he now stood on the sidewalk by my front fender.
Necessarily, I looked where I was going when I reversed out.
And I wasn’t proud of it, but I flipped him the bird before I took off.
Sadly, this didn’t make him either spontaneously combust, or rush to my window to offer his abject apologies.
He just shook his head like I was a sassy woman he wasn’t a big fan of before he dropped it to look at his boots.
I was on CR 10 before I muttered to myself, “Crap, what did those fanatics get me into?”
But I knew.
My one-night stand just turned into my dog trainer.
And maybe my protector.
“Fuck,” I whispered.
And as ever all my life, I had no choice but to get on with it.
Therefore, I headed to the feedstore.