Baker's Dozen

by Lori R. Taylor

  Being alone with her? No one else around to pull her off her if she attacked?

  Her palms were slick with sweat. She shut the front door and entered the living room, where Emma had already sat on the sofa. Macavity had taken his exit — he wasn’t dumb enough to stick around to find out if Baker was friendly.

  Baker sat on her hind legs, paws planted on the floor, watching Maeve as she crossed to the other side of the room and stood near the windows.

  “See, this is nice.” Emma smiled.

  “Okay. I guess. But you have to stay here for a while. Maybe you could sleep over?”

  “Maeve, you’re not seriously afraid of her.”

  “What if she rips my face off the minute you leave?”

  “Everything’s going to be fine, trust me. You’re doing a great thing by taking her in like this. She would’ve had nowhere else to go. Isn’t that right, Baker?”

  The dog settled down on all fours and rested its head on its legs.

  “See? Look how sweet she is. Wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

  Maeve didn’t trust that for a second. “You have to stay.”

  “I can’t. I have to get back to the shelter, and don’t you have work to do?”

  She didn’t want to get into the story of how Leroy might’ve torpedoed her design career. “So much, I might be too busy to take care of a dog.”

  “Baker will be great company. She’s a sweetie, and you’re going to fall in love with her.” Emma sounded like she was trying to convince herself as much as Maeve.

  “Em—”

  “I’ll see you later.” She unclipped the leash, rolled it up, and handed it to Maeve, then turned back toward the front door.

  “Emma!”

  But she was already gone. The door clicked closed behind her, and a car started outside a moment later.

  Maeve stared at Baker, and the dog stared back.

  “Don’t make any sudden movements,” she whispered to herself. “She won’t attack if you don’t move too much.”

  Maeve scooched along the far end of the room, slowly, as she tried to figure out how she was going to get through the next couple of weeks.

  She didn’t have dog food, but was it a good idea to leave Baker alone in the house while she went shopping?

  What if she wouldn’t let her put the leash back on

  Didn’t you have to walk dogs every day?

  And how was she going to come up with a prize-winning recipe for the competition when she had to tiptoe around Baker to keep her from attacking her?

  How had Emma manipulated her into this?

  Baker’s dark-eyed gaze followed Maeve as crept through the living room. “Slow and steady wins the race.”

  Once she made it to the hall and the base of the staircase, she ran all the way up to her bedroom and slammed the door behind her, panting and shaking.

  She was trapped.

  Chapter Ten

  Maeve’s place smelled a lot better than the shelter, and it looked better, too. There weren’t any other dogs here, and it was quiet, except for the chirping of birds outside the window.

  Baker sprawled out on the cool wooden floor, her head on her paws. The wooden legs of a small table sat in front of her nose. Two comfy chairs with fat, puffy cushions filled the room. The faint smell of cookies drifted on the air, but the far sharper scent from Maeve was there, too.

  Fear.

  She was afraid.

  It was a strange, for a human to be afraid of Baker. It made her insides feel cold — she was the one who had always been scared of them.

  But, apart from the sharp smell of fear, this place wasn’t so bad.

  And Maeve didn’t seem so bad either. She didn’t want to come near Baker at all. She couldn’t hurt her if she wasn’t close. Which was safe.

  She’d gone up the wooden steps, and now she was overhead, stomping around.

  “—got to be crazy to be doing this!” Her voice was all squeaky and high, like a yelp but with words.

  Baker lifted her ears.

  “Emma, hello? Yeah. You’ve got to come back, right now. I can’t do this.”

  Maeve didn’t want her here, but that was fine. Baker didn’t want to be here either. She didn’t want to be anywhere with humans. Maybe if they went for a walk, Baker could run away … but no, she’d tried that once and a man in a van came and put a rope around her neck. He’d taken her to a terrible shelter — she'd barely gotten out of there alive.

  “No, no, no, you don’t understand. I just can’t do it. She’s — Emma. Emma? Hello?” A thump. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  Then Maeve fell quiet, apart from the pacing.

  Baker listened for a while, a whine building in her chest. She swallowed it down.

  Poor Maeve. She was so afraid, but if she stayed up there, Baker couldn’t show her that she didn’t want to bite her.

  On the other hand, if she didn’t come back down, she couldn’t shout or kick. So maybe it was better this way.

  A soft rustle from outside drew Baker’s attention. She walked to the window and rested her nose on the sill. Outside, it smelled of flowers and green grass and…

  Saliva and fish?

  A cat leapt onto the windowsill and turned around, presenting its rear end to Baker’s face.

  She would’ve sniffed, if it had been a dog. But cats weren’t any better than humans. They’d scratch your nose and steal your food first chance they got. She’d learned that the hard way when she was knocking over garbage cans to find scraps to eat.

  Baker retreated.

  The cat turned and hissed, flashing sharp white fangs.

  One of her owners had also had a cat who she’d loved much more than she'd loved Baker. The furry black hellion had hated her, and she'd stayed away from it.

  What are you doing here? this cat’s stiffly-raised tail seemed to say. This is my turf.

  Baker turned her back on it. I don’t care if it’s your turf or not. I’m here now.

  She didn’t want this cat thinking it had the advantage. They were like that, thinking they owned everything. Well, this one didn’t own her.

  The cat stretched upward and stuck its claws into the wooden side of the window. It scratched, peeling away flakes of paint and polish. Maeve is mine!

  A low growl started up in my throat. You don’t own the human.

  That’s what you think. The cat turned and pressed its hindquarters up against the wood, getting ready to mark it. Watch this.

  Baker barked warningly. Don’t you dare!

  The cat stepped away. It hadn’t sprayed the windowsill, but it hissed again as footsteps thundered down the wooden stairs that Maeve had climbed earlier.

  This isn’t over. Then the cat leapt out of the window, into the garden, and was gone.

  Maeve appeared under the big white arch. She had her fists on her hips, and her forehead was wrinkly. This was it. The shouting was about to start.

  Baker crouched to the floor, bracing herself for a kick.

  But the human didn’t point her finger at Baker and scream, or fetch a stick or anything. Instead she sighed and looked toward the open window.

  “What happened?” she asked. “No, no, it doesn’t matter. Okay. Wait. You need food, right? And water. And something to sleep on. Wait here. Don’t move.”

  Then she went back upstairs.

  Baker waited, her nose itching at the horrible fish-and-spit smell of that cat.

  Maeve returned, carrying a big fluffy blanket in her arms.

  “Come on. This way.” Then she set off down the hall.

  Baker padded after her. She wasn’t shouting, but what if she was taking her outside? Once, after she’d chewed up a sock, she’d been tied up in the dark and cold for days without food or water. She’d been so thirsty, she licked dew off the grass each morning, everywhere the chain would reach.

  But Maeve didn’t lead her outside. Instead, she opened a door that split into two pieces, a bottom and a top. A bowl of water had been placed
on the tiled floor, next to another one with bits of shredded meat in it.

  Baker’s stomach grumbled at the sight. It hadn’t been too long since she’d eaten, but this smelled amazing. She hurried into the room.

  Maeve stood outside the door, ready to run. She put the blanket on the floor, then shut the bottom half of the door and fiddled with the latch until it clicked into place.

  “This is where you’ll stay. For now. I’ll let you out into the garden later to do your stuff in a little bit. You know what I mean. What am I talking about? Of course, you don’t know what I mean.” She backed up a step or two. “You’ll be fine here.”

  Then she turned and hurried off.

  The room smelled a lot like clean things. There was a big white machine with a window on the front in one corner, and lots of shelves too high to reach.

  This was … fine. Nice, even. Much better than listening to other dogs barking or growling all day, or having strange humans come in and stare at her, deciding if they wanted to take her somewhere else.

  Who knew how long it would last? She might as well enjoy it while she could.

  Baker went over to the bowl of food and started to eat.

  Chapter Eleven

  Putting Baker in the laundry room helped. It was easier for Maeve to believe she was safe with a firm door between them, even though she would have to let her out sometime, and she could always bite her then. At least she’d be on her guard then, and, for now, she could relax.

  She set her laptop on the kitchen counter and checked her email. No response from BestGig. No response to her effusive apology from Leroy, either. Or from any of her other clients.

  She had no paying work to do, so she toyed with the idea of finishing Leroy’s job and sending it to him for approval — maybe if he got what he wanted, he’d retract his complaint?

  But the idea of spending more time on a job that she might never get paid for, to suck up to a client who’d been a total pain from the beginning, after she’d already groveled for his forgiveness … no way.

  Not when she could use that same time to perfect a recipe that might make her dreams come true.

  Speaking of which, she still hadn’t gotten an email from HealthNut about her entry.

  How long did it take to decide if a cookie tasted edible?

  She sighed, tugged her apron strings tighter, and braced her palms on the counter. It was still morning and she had a whole day ahead of her, but she couldn’t find the energy to put on a smile and continue on like everything was A-OK.

  Not that it mattered. Because that was exactly what she had to do.

  This is your shot. Don’t forget that.

  Assuming she made the first cut.

  She squeezed her eyes shut and took a breath. It will work out. You’ve got this.

  Besides, thinking about the contest was less scary than thinking about the fact that she still had to figure out how she was going to take care of a dog for the next two weeks.

  She opened her eyes and found a new email in her inbox.

  HealthNut Healthy Sweet Product Line Entry.

  Maeve’s heart did about twenty backflips and stuck the landing between her ribs.

  She clicked on it, her finger slipping on the mousepad.

  Congratulations! You’ve made it past the audition phase of the HealthNut Healthy Sweet Product Line Competition.

  So, what’s next?

  The final competition will take place next Friday. All you need to do is come up with your perfect HealthNut Healthy Sweet Product and arrive at the front desk with the following number to check in.

  Contestant 987

  Congratulations on making it in. We can’t wait to see what you bake up!

  Regards,

  The HealthNut Team

  She read the email three times, her throat closing up.

  She’d made it.

  She'd thought she could, but a part of must’ve not been entirely sure, because the relief was so intense, she felt dizzy.

  HealthNut thought her gluten-free, vegan peanut butter cookies were good enough.

  She still had a shot at her dream.

  Take that, Jassie.

  Glee erupted. She shrieked and jumped on the spot, flinging her arms into the air.

  Baker barked and popped up from behind the half-door leading into the laundry room. She stuck her snout over it and whined.

  “Sorry. I mean, I’m fine. It’s all great.”

  Was she seriously talking to a dog, right now? Instead of continuing that craziness, she grabbed her cell phone from the counter and dialed Emma’s number.

  It rang twice before she answered. “Hello?”

  “I got in!” Maeve yelled.

  Baker barked again.

  She danced around in a circle, waving one hand in the air. “I got in. I can’t believe it. I seriously got in.”

  “Got in where?”

  “The competition. I passed the audition. I’m in the main event next week.”

  “Of course you are,” Emma said, like it had been a foregone conclusion. “Have you tasted your cookies? They’re amazing.”

  “This is it, Em. Oh gosh, now I have to figure out what I’m actually going to make for the main event. Oh wow.”

  “Make more cookies. They were a hit with Baker.”

  “I can’t make cookies. That’s like … trust me, everyone’s going to be making cookies. I have to think of something better than that. I’ll call you later, I’ve got to get to work. This is just the biggest deal ever and I wanted you to know.”

  “Good luck,” Emma said, laughing as she hung up.

  Maeve put the phone down, smiling. Not even the fact that Baker was still hanging onto the laundry room door could get her down.

  “Now,” she said, speaking to herself, definitely not to the dog. Of course, not to the dog. Why would she talk to the dog? “Where’s my recipe book?”

  Maeve walked to the long cupboard next to the fridge and opened the door. This was where she kept her collection — baking recipes and cookbooks were her favorite things to collect. But her all-time favorite book was the leather-bound volume.

  She scanned the row of precariously stacked books and frowned. She didn’t see it.

  Weird. Usually, she could spot it from a mile away.

  Had she left it in the living room? She peered past the cupboard and into the open-plan living area. Nothing there except her empty coffee mug from earlier. She frowned harder.

  She grabbed the books and brought them out onto the counter, one by one. She stacked them in piles, just to be certain, until there was nothing left in the cupboard but a few loose papers containing old cupcake recipes and a grocery list.

  “This can’t be happening.”

  These books were great, but she needed her secret weapon to beat Jassie: her grandmother's recipes. She was already handicapped by the fact that her final entry had to be vegan. There was no way she’d be able to whip up something unique without her special recipes.

  Maeve tried not to panic.

  “It’s going to be okay,” she said, hoping hearing the words aloud would make them more believable.

  Baker whined, and Maeve glanced over at her, meeting her dark-eyed gaze. She lifted her nose and sniffed.

  “What? Are you hungry?”

  But she’d fed her earlier, and her Googling told her that overfeeding a dog was a big no-no.

  Maybe she had poop?

  Baker didn’t claw at the door, but rested her head on her paws atop it.

  “Okay, then. You good?”

  Again, no whine or bark.

  She seemed fine, and this was an emergency. Maeve’s future bakery was on the line.

  She re-stacked the recipe books in the cupboard, her heart rate climbing with each passing moment. As she put each book back, she double-checked to make sure she hadn’t mistaken the leather-bound book for another.

  But no. It just wasn’t there.

  Maeve went through the other cupboards.
>
  Not there either.

  She even checked the fridge, just in case — she'd once put her shoe in the freezer by accident. Thankfully, she’d realized her ready meal wasn’t meant to go on her foot before trying to slip her toes into frozen mac ‘n cheese.

  But the recipe book wasn’t there.

  She usually kept it in the cupboard. She’d made a habit of returning it specifically because of the whole shoe-in-the-freezer incident.

  She did another check of the cupboard. But it still wasn’t there.

  She stalked into the living room.

  “Where was I when I had it last?” She’d used it when she’d been making all those the cookies, but she couldn’t for the life of her remember where she’d put it. She’d been so sleep-deprived by the time she took batch number twenty out of the oven, she could’ve left it anywhere.

  Oh God, not the oven. Imagining the precious book charred beyond recognition, she bolted to the kitchen and yanked open the oven door. Empty. Hallelujah.

  She dashed upstairs and checked in her bedroom, threw her drawers and closet open, even lowered herself to the carpet and peered under her bed. Nothing, except a sock she thought had crawled into the drier last week, only to be sucked into the missing socks vortex.

  “Where is it?” she squeaked.

  Okay, relax. This is not the end of the world.

  Baker barked downstairs, and her frustration bubbled over. If she didn’t need to go out and she’d just eaten, what could the dog possibly want?

  What if Maeve couldn’t figure it out, and Baker got frustrated, too? Frustrated enough to bite?

  She grunted, got up, and hurried downstairs.

  Baker hopped a few times as soon as she saw her and pressed her paws against the door, her ears flopping. If it wasn’t for all those teeth, she’d be kind of cute.

  “What? I’m kind of in the middle of a crisis here. Can’t you wait to bite me until later?”

  She barked again, and Maeve sighed. The dog probably needed the bathroom, and she couldn’t hold that against her.

  “Fine. But let’s make this quick, okay? I’ve got major problems right now. I can’t find my book.”