Chapter 5
Logan
Princess Whiskers’s Brita water went in the ceramic bowl with the chipped rim.
The specific chipped rim, because she had two bowls and would only drink from the one on the left side of the shelf.
Dobby got two cups of the grain-free kibble, soaked for ten minutes in warm water because he was still putting weight back on and dry food was hard on his teeth.
Frank the beagle got a cup and a half of the senior blend, no treats until after his walk because he’d throw them up. Duke’s bowl had to be placed on the raised stand or he wouldn’t touch it.
Hand to God, I had followed fewer rules in the military than the color-coded ones listed everywhere in this barn.
A week of Lark’s feeding system and I’d absorbed the whole thing without trying. Her protocols were more detailed than some operational briefings I’d sat through, but they made sense. Every instruction tied to a specific animal with a specific need.
No guesswork. No ambiguity. I could run the morning rounds on autopilot, and that was the point. My hands moved, my brain stayed quiet, and the hours between sunrise and dark had a shape I could follow.
Dark back to sunrise? Still not so good.
Two hours, maybe three, of sleep before the dreams dragged me awake and left me staring at the ceiling of the cabin with my heart slamming and my shirt soaked through.
There didn’t seem to be any way around it.
Leaving Warrior Security and its active missions hadn’t helped as much as I’d hoped. My demons didn’t seem to care.
But at least here the days felt earned. The work was hard, but I liked it. Maybe someday the nights would sort themselves out.
They hadn’t sorted themselves for Reid.
I was pushing the thought away just as I got a text message from Isaac Baxter. Shit. I should’ve told him I’d decided not to stay at Warrior Security.
Hey, Fuckface. Heard you ditched WS.
Guess the news had already traveled.
I stared down at my phone. Isaac, out of anyone, would understand the delicacy of the situation. He, Reid, and I had all served together in the Army. Isaac knew the whole story, and I knew he would be willing to talk it out with me at any time.
But what good would braiding each other’s hair and spilling our guts do? Reid would still be dead.
Yeah, asshole. Decided it wasn’t a good fit. Sorry. Should’ve told you.
Well, you’re obviously a dumbass. Interested in coming to work for Zodiac? That offer is still open too.
I hadn’t been lying to Hunter when I’d said big cities weren’t for me. Way too many triggers.
No fucking way. I’ve seen the people Zodiac hires.
The best of the best. And Isaac was one of them.
You okay?
Yeah. Working as a glorified ranch hand/pet sitter at someplace called Pawsitive Connections. They do rescues and service animals and shit. Keeps me busy.
There was a long pause before Isaac responded. I thought maybe I’d lost him, which happened. Neither of us was ever offended to lose the other in the middle of a conversation. We just picked it back up a couple weeks later.
Service animals, huh? Cool. Some things have changed for me, man. I’ve got to get you caught up.
Bad? Good?
Good. Fucking great, actually. I’m at the fishing cabin and am going to be here a while recuperating. Got into a little…scuffle.
Oh shit.
Type of scuffle that requires hospitalization?
You know me too well.
Let me know if you need anything.
Although I doubted he would need anything. The fishing cabin he was talking about was a million-dollar second home. Isaac and his family had more money than God, although he’d walked away from it to join the Army and then Zodiac.
Will do, brother. Go pet some animals for me.
I gave him the middle-finger emoji then put my phone away and turned back to the kennels.
Dobby shoved his nose through the kennel bars while his food soaked. He leaned into the door with his full weight, trying to push closer, and I let him. I didn’t pet him, but I didn’t pull away.
The physical work here definitely suited me.
Hauling feed, resetting fence posts, patching boards, cleaning stalls.
Structure had always been the thing that held me upright, and Pawsitive gave me enough of it to fill a day.
The cabin was clean. My clothes were folded in the dresser, boots by the door.
I ate at regular times. Worked on a list that had an order to it.
The part I couldn’t square was how Lark had been managing any of this alone.
I’d been here a full week doing the physical labor, and my task list hadn’t gotten shorter.
Every repair uncovered two more behind it.
The north fence posts were set. I’d rehung the east pasture gate.
But the barn siding needed replacing in three sections, the equipment shed had a roof leak, and I’d found rot in the base of two paddock rails that meant pulling entire posts.
That was just the manual work, the stuff she’d hired me for.
On top of it, she had the animal training, the placement coordination, the vet schedules, the paperwork.
She’d mentioned having short-term help over the years, friends who’d come through and moved on, but mostly, it had been her.
One person on forty acres with this many animals and this much need.
No wonder the fence posts had been leaning and the barn siding was going soft. How could there be time for her to fix these things when she didn’t have any leftover seconds doing the day-to-day stuff?
I’d seen her coming out of the barn shower at five fifteen one morning when I was already heading to the feed room.
Her hair was wet, and she had a change of clothes over her arm, which meant she’d either started before dawn or never gone home the night before.
She’d waved at me like it was the most normal thing in the world.
What this place needed wasn’t one ranch hand.
It needed three or four full-time people.
A real crew who could manage the property while she focused on the work that only she could do.
I’d been turning it over all week. Maybe that was how I could actually help while I was here.
Find the right people, get them trained up, leave her with something sustainable before I moved on.
I finished the morning rounds and headed out of the barn into full daylight. Today was different from the rest of the week. Pawsitive was having its monthly open house.
Lark had been talking about it all week. Therapists and families, kids whose therapists used Pawsitive’s animals in their sessions. She’d rattled off names and logistics while we were doing evening chores two nights ago, and I’d caught about half of it because the other half had come too fast.
She’d been at it since before I started feeding.
Hay bales were arranged in a wide semicircle near the training paddock.
A folding table set up with brochures and information sheets held down by rocks so the wind wouldn’t take them.
A hand-painted banner strung between two posts that read PAWSITIVE CONNECTIONS — WHERE HEALING HAS FOUR LEGS.
It was slightly crooked. The letters were uneven in a way that made them look like a kid might have helped paint them.
Three of the therapy dogs were out of their kennels, groomed and wearing vests.
Duke sat beside the training pen with his ears up and his tail still, calm and focused.
Tova was sprawled on the grass near the hay bales, looking like she had nowhere to be and nothing to do about it.
A woman I hadn’t met had arrived early with a spaniel mix on a lead.
Lark had mentioned her during the chores rundown.
Dana, the therapist who ran the pediatric program at the clinic in town.
“Logan. Good, you’re here.” Lark came around the side of the barn carrying a box of what looked like printed programs. She’d changed into a clean flannel shirt that she’d actually tucked in.
Dressed up, by Pawsitive standards. “Can you move those two bales about three feet to the left? I need more room between the demo area and the seating.”
I moved the bales. She set down the box and started fanning programs across the table, then stopped, restacked them, and fanned them differently.
Cars started pulling into the gravel lot.
Two, then three more, then a van with a wheelchair ramp that lowered with a mechanical hum.
A man in a ball cap helped a girl of about eight into a chair and pushed her toward the paddock.
A woman with a toddler on her hip walked beside a boy who was maybe ten, his hands deep in his pockets, chin tucked to his chest.
More people came behind them. Parents, therapists, a few adults without kids. One man walked with the careful, measured gait I recognized. Eyes tracking the perimeter before settling on the group. Nobody had to tell me he was military. It was fairly tattooed on his forehead.
Lark was everywhere.
She greeted every person by name, crouching down to the girl in the wheelchair with something I couldn’t hear that made the girl laugh.
She straightened the programs she’d already straightened.
Moved a hay bale three inches. Asked Dana if the setup worked for the pressure demo and then rearranged the hay bales again before Dana finished answering.
I watched her from the barn entrance. She checked Tova’s vest, which was fine. Adjusted Duke’s lead, which didn’t need adjusting. Went back to the table and squared the rock on top of the programs. Looked at the banner. Started walking toward it.
“Lark.”
She turned.
“Stop.”
Her eyebrows went up. “What?”
“You’ve straightened everything three times. The banner’s fine. The programs are fine. Come stand here and watch.”
“I can’t just stand here. Dana needs me to—”
“Dana’s already started.”