by Ritter Ames
A moment later, cookies were the only things on anyone’s mind.
“Oh, I haven’t had ranger cookies in years,” Meg said. “I’d forgotten how much I loved good ones.”
Liz nodded. “You’re right there. A good ranger cookie is a real treat, but a meh one isn’t even worth looking cross-ways at.”
“This is definitely a good one.” Kate brushed crumbs from the corners of her mouth. “I think I have a new favorite cookie. Does your son take orders?”
“Maybe he’ll make us a couple of big batches of dough that we can keep in our freezer,” Meg suggested. She turned to Liz, “My partner here has converted me to the practice of freezing cookie dough in the freezer, making small balls and freezing them on a cookie flat. Then I can just pull out what I want to bake each time without doing a full batch.”
“Don’t the dough balls stick together?” Liz asked.
“That’s why they’re frozen on a flat sheet first,” Kate explained. “Place the individual balls onto an aluminum or plastic cookie sheet or platter, cover them well with several layers of plastic, then let them freeze. Once the balls are frozen, you can dump everything into freezer bags and they won’t all stick together into one big cookie lump.”
“Good to know,” Liz said.
“Best of all, it keeps people like me from having huge batches of cookies sitting around to tempt my willpower.” Meg grabbed another cookie and gave it the evil eye. “Since I have absolutely no willpower when it comes to cookies.”
In the next second the sudden roar of speed coming from the front driveway, followed with a squeal of brakes and a loud skid of displaced gravel, sent them hurrying to the front window. Both dogs barked in a steady loud bass, and the cats fled to hiding places under the couch. Before Kate could ask what was happening, Liz raced out the backdoor and could be seen through the windows circling the house.
“Come on,” Meg said.
Kate nodded and followed as her neighbor traced the author’s path. When they reached the front of the house, it looked like Liz was trying to calm a shorter, red-faced brunette woman. Dust was still settling in the driveway after the wild way the beat up pickup had stormed into the yard.
Liz tried unsuccessfully to shush the dogs, then said to the woman, “Bren, please, st—”
“Don’t think you can get away with this,” Bren said, using her left index finger to poke Liz’s sternum bone. “Your publisher may have a few things to say when I call and tell what they don’t already know.”
Kate and Meg looked at each other and nodded. As they walked closer, Meg used her pinkie fingers to create a high-pitched whistle that she usually used to break up a fight between her boys. It worked with crazily over-charged women too. It even made the dogs stop their howling. Bren halted her rant in mid-poke, and Kate walked over and pulled Liz away so she could stand between them.
“Huh, didn’t know you had your own army now to protect you, but I should have guessed,” Bren said and crossed her arms.
“We’re not—” Kate began.
“Don’t bother trying to explain,” Liz put a hand on her shoulder. “Bren has her own idea of reality, and nothing you can say will change it.”
Bren shoved Kate aside to get back into Liz’s personal space. “How dare you act so high and mighty!”
“That’s enough.” Meg stepped forward and got between Bren and the other two women. “I don’t know what your beef is, lady, but you don’t go around shoving people and poking them. That’s called assault. And unless Liz asks you to stay, you’d better head out immediately, or I’m calling the cops.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Try me.” Meg pulled her phone from her back jeans pocket. “Liz, it’s up to you. Does she stay or does she go?”
“I don’t tolerate bullies of any kind,” Liz said to Bren. She pointed toward the road. “Go.”
Bren hustled closer again. “I’m not—”
“Calling 9-1-1,” Meg said, raising the phone to dial. Bren tried to slap it from her hand, but Meg held on tighter, and said, “Lovely, now you’re three-for-three for assault. And this last one came even after you’d been warned.”
“I didn’t assault you.”
“Try convincing the judge of that. Maybe I need to start taking video, too.”
Bren let out a guttural noise. “Forget it...just... I’m leaving! Satisfied?” She moved around Meg, keeping a wide space between them, and climbed back into the beat-up, faded red and putty-colored pickup she’d arrived in. The truck tires spewed gravel as the truck bed fishtailed wildly enough it almost clipped one section of the white board fence. The Lab kept watch on the truck, to make sure it didn’t return, but the dog didn’t follow.
Liz apologized. “I’ve tried to reason with her, but she just shows up and screams like a harpy. I don’t know what to do anymore.”
“Is she dangerous?” Kate asked, watching as the truck finally straightened up and shot down the driveway.
“Bren is—” Liz started, then shook her head and said, “Bren thinks she should be getting half of what I make on the calendars, and she simply can’t understand she’s not entitled to it.”
“Why would she think otherwise?” Meg asked, reaching down to scratch the ears on the now quiet hound. Kate smiled, thinking the animal and her neighbor had almost the same hair color.
Liz sighed and picked up a fist-sized red rubber ball, tossing it toward the side of the house for the Lab to chase. Then she rubbed the back of her neck and said, “She used to work here at the rescue. Well, she was here. Her idea of work followed a routine of doing what she wanted. But Bren loved the animals and they loved her, so we kept her on. Mostly, she stood around with a cat in her hand, or rubbing one of the dog’s heads, or patting one of the horses, and while she did all that she watched me work. She saw me update all the schedules and juggle all the bills and cut coupons and write grants. She told me several times I needed to turn the marketing over to her. How marketing was her strength. I asked her, ‘What do you mean marketing?’ And she always laughed and called me shortsighted. One day, she remarked I should try to sell a calendar that helps people who do all the things I do. I told her it would never sell because no one is crazy enough to do all the things I do.”
“When did you decide to write the calendar anyway?” Meg asked.
The author looked at her watch and said, “Can we walk while we talk? I have someone coming by with a family of goats to leave with me, and I need to double check the pen I’m putting them into. Make a final lookover to be sure they won’t get out.”
“Sure, we’ll follow and help if we can,” Kate said, but inside she worried that Liz was putting off her explanation. Her contract in no way promoted the woman’s calendar business, however, if there was some ethical problem she might need to distance herself from the connection.
But she needn’t have worried, as they walked toward the barn on the west side of the house, Liz continued talking, “I didn’t actually decide to do a calendar. At least, I didn’t pursue the publication on my own. I was Skyping one day with an author who volunteers to write grants for organizations helping in animal issues, and she’d been given my name. Since she’s halfway across the country, we did a virtual meeting with our computers. One of the local high school boys had to get me all set up, but it was one of the best things that ever happened to our animal refuge.”
“Computers truly have changed the way we communicate,” Meg said.
Liz stopped the processional when they came to a weathered, wooden gate with crossed ties. She unhooked a wire used to keep the latch closed. With a hand signal she told the dogs to stay back and invited Kate and Meg to come through. “The dogs are better out of our way. They don’t bother anything inside, but they tend to bump into things.”
Kate watched the Lab’s tail wagging rate go from ecstatic to something around exuberant, and finally flagging sadly as the gate’s latch snapped shut.
“As you can see,” Liz said, hol
ding up the wire she fed through a couple of holes in the latch to keep it closed. “We operate using every shoestring method available. Being able to talk long distance for free—and show the author some of my receipts and the reports I try to keep up with each month—made a big difference.”
“The grant writer must have seen your personal planner, too. Right?” Kate said, picking her way into the lot. She had become used to the one-eyed scruffy rescue cat her family adopted, but she felt her anxiety increasing as she noticed more animals. She put her hands behind her back and snapped the green rubber band on her left wrist, telling herself to focus on the client. “Um, how many animals are in there?” She pointed at the barn.
Liz waved a hand. “Just a couple inside that we’re nursing at the moment. Don’t worry. All the big animals are in the pasture. We’ve been lucky about finding forever homes and fosters lately for most of the smaller animals, so we’re not running near capacity. A couple of weeks ago we were up another six cats and eight puppies. Hoping to get something set up for the incoming goats, too, but we’ll keep them as long as needed.”
Kate picked her way through the lot, while the other two women walked unperturbed toward the narrow walking-door set into the side of the barn. A second later, they were all inside, and Liz led the way down a dark hall to corrals, introducing them to the different animals as they went along. Beyond the young buckskin colored horse recuperating in one stall, a small black and white calf laid on straw in the next one. A pen held a sleeping pig that had been rescued after being kept in the basement of a house in town its entire life. The animal needed a program of vitamins and medication before it could go into an outside pen. Across the hallway and down from the pig was a family of dogs that had been starved almost to death and were still weak. Liz quickly checked that each animal was comfortable and had fresh water. The dogs roused a little, then settled back down to nap some more. Kate felt her heart squeeze.
At the end of the hallway and near the front of the barn, Liz pushed open a small door and light spilled in from several windows. “This is a tack room I’ve kind of sublet as one of my offices,” she said, waving a hand to encompass bits, bridles, and lead ropes hanging on wall hooks. A couple of saddles sat in one corner and first aid supplies were neatly placed on shelves running along one wall. The shelves also held an assortment of brushes, towels, blankets, and soaps. Another corner held a half-dozen empty plastic buckets stacked inside each other, with a remaining white bucket turned upside down and placed near a drop-down table at the single window. “I like having the natural light.”
“Quite a few emergency items there.” Kate pointed to the first aid supplies.
“Too many of our animals come in already in a hurt or fragile state,” Liz said. “We have to be prepared to take care of them from day one. A local vet comes out to help us when we need and only charges for items at cost, but for the things we can handle ourselves it’s best we keep ready access to necessities.”
She turned and pointed to the overturned bucket. “That’s my desk chair about forty percent of the time. I bring the laptop when I’m tending sick ones, and I can get a lot of work done since this spot is near enough to the house to catch the wi-fi signal. I do have a phone out here, so that can be a distraction, but I can get a lot done just the same.”
A windup alarm clock sat on the window sill, its scratched black paint showing age and the longtime use of the item. Kate nodded toward it. “I haven’t seen a clock like that in years.”
“That’s because we don’t get rid of anything until it can’t be fixed anymore.” Liz walked over and lifted the clock, placing it face down in one hand so she could turn the key in the back. “I try to keep it wound every day, but it’s really here to keep me on schedule when I’m giving out medicine. You wouldn’t believe the racket this thing can make. Perfect for when I’m deep into a computer file and lose track of time.”
“You could use an alarm app on your laptop,” Meg suggested.
“But I’m used to Tin Lizzy here,” Liz said, pulling out the pin before returning the clock to the sill. She gave the bell a pat. “I’m as much a creature of habit as my animals are. That’s one of the reasons I balked at first when the grant writer suggested I do some kind of publishable scheduling calendar.”
“So, it was the grant writer’s suggestion instead of Bren’s?” Kate asked. She walked over to the stack of buckets and pulled out two, then separated them and placed one near the other, so she and Meg had places to sit. She pulled a notepad from her pocket.
Liz moved toward the door. “Oh, gosh, I’m sorry. Should have found some chairs, I—”
Kate and Meg spoke at the same time.
“This is fine.”
“Buckets are okay.”
“Sit, sit.” Kate pointed with the pad. “This will give us a base to work from. We don’t need more yet.”
As everyone sat down, Liz continued, “Well, thank goodness the grant writer saw my living room instead of this room, or she would have likely thought we were worse off than we are.” She laughed. “I did the Skyping in there so I not only had wireless, but also easy access to the receipts and schedule archives I keep in the kitchen. I knew I’d need to check back on paperwork when she asked her questions for the grant information.”
“But Bren decided it was all due to her mentioning it,” Meg crossed her arms. “People can be amazingly clueless.”
“To be fair, Bren Mitchell has had a pretty difficult life. But she’s also, unfortunately, always expecting people to disappoint her. And I suppose she thinks I did as well. But me doing the first project was really due to the grant writer, who’d met my publisher months before at a conference for nonfiction authors. That grant writer was like a miracle worker for our rescue. She not only wrote an award-winning grant, but followed up on the calendar side and did all the prep work to get the project considered by the publisher, and she helped me get started planning my time to meet publishing schedules and complete the first calendar once my proposal was accepted. Her thinking was we could always try for more grants, but if I could use my own experiences to not only generate a yearly project that brought a spotlight on all rescue groups, but also offered ideas and small business insights to anyone needing something for their own careers and families, I could have a steady revenue stream to help free me from constantly looking for new money. Long way to say all of that, I know, but she was exactly right.”
Liz’s expression lightened as she continued, “We’re not millionaires or anything, and we still operate as frugally as we can, but we’re not just scraping by anymore. And we’re able to help other rescues who contact us for emergency funds with the ‘Shot in the Arm’ foundation grant program we’ve managed to set up.”
“You’re totally self-sufficient now?” Kate asked.
“Hardly,” Liz laughed. “But we’re getting there. We have some dedicated funders who’ve been instrumental in keeping us going all these years, and they continue sending yearly donations. And for big problems, I can still go to them with my hand out. But we try to stay away from pursing grants that other rescues need for their funding.”
Kate looked around the Spartan room and the aged board walls. “I got the impression from your publisher they wanted you to look like the public’s idea of a bestselling author, but given what you’ve just said, an idea like that may not be the best thing for you and your rescue.”
“Yeah, my editor has been trying to modify opinions circulating around the publishing house office, trying to help get my point across,” Liz said, frowning. “But the marketing people have really been pushing.”
“I’ll bet we can find some kind of happy medium,” Meg suggested. She stood and walked over to touch the wood on the door’s wall. “If we whitewashed the walls, it would give the space a fresh look but keep the frugal rescue idea. Maybe add some twig arrangements to bring the outside in.”
“Grapevines grow out back—”
“Perfect!” Meg interrupted, her f
ace glowing. “I have a rustic grapevine wreath my mother made that we can hang on this wall. Then when the photographer comes we’ll make sure there are shots by your natural grapevines to tie everything together.”
“As long as we don’t go too elaborate,” Liz said, chewing her lip. “I don’t want folks to get the wrong idea.”
Kate shook her head. “No worries. We know exactly what we’re dealing with now, which means we can look into all kinds of recycled office and organization hacks. It will show frugality and de-cluttered simplicity at the same time. Your publisher may still want something flashy for some of the pictures, but this will help offset it all nicely. Have faith in us.”
When Liz smiled, Kate knew it would all work out.
The dogs started barking again and a truck horn sounded.
“Appears my new boarders have arrived,” Liz said. “Come along if you’d like to meet the goats.”
A green camper truck was backed up to the pen, and a lanky guy in jeans and a white t-shirt stood at the gate, working the wire on the latch. He looked up as they drew near and Kate pegged him at about thirty, noticing at the same time the warped brim of the cap that nearly covered his dark hair. She knew he probably kept the cap shoved into a back pocket when he wasn’t wearing it.
“Liz, you want them in the side pen?” he asked, giving them all a friendly grin. The Lab came over and tugged on one jeans leg. “Now, stop that. I can’t play with you today,” he told the dog, then scruffed the Lab’s ears with both hands.
“Yeah, Josh, they’re going in the open pen. I added chicken wire around the bottom yesterday for a little extra insurance.” She nodded toward Kate and Meg. “Ladies, this is Josh Barton, one of my best foster recruiters. And, Josh, this is Kate and Meg. They’re here to help me look professional for my publisher’s photographer.”
“What do you mean? You’re always professional.” he said, pulling the handle on the camper’s back door. “As a rescuer, you’re—”