Home of the Brave (Raine Stockton Dog Mysteries Book 9)

by Donna Ball

  I said, “Miles? Is something going on I should know about?”

  He sighed. “You want the truth, right?”

  Now I was worried. I said, “Right.” Even though I wasn’t sure I meant it.

  “The truth is,” he said, “I really, really don’t like your hair. But I’m pretty crazy about the rest of you, so let’s not get into a fight over politics, okay?”

  I pulled a face. “Get over the hair. I don’t care whether you like it or not.” A partial truth. “And I don’t have a horse in this race. As far as I’m concerned, if Buck loses this election it’s his own damn fault.” I wasn’t ready to talk about the girlfriend he had brought on the force, but I wondered if Miles already knew. “I’m just curious, that’s all. What set you against him?”

  I had been vaguely aware of Cisco, nosing and pawing at something in the weeds a dozen or so feet away, which was hardly unusual for him. Now he brought me his treasure, paws prancing, tail wagging. I glanced at it, but it didn’t appear to be alive or dangerous, so I ignored him for the moment, focusing on Miles.

  This time the silence was a little longer. “Nothing against your boy,” he said at last, “but I’m not wild about the company he keeps. And he needs to know that if he’s in bed with Jeb Wilson he’d better watch his back.”

  I frowned in confusion. “What?” Cisco edged between Mischief and me, demanding attention, and I put an arm around his shoulders, patting him absently.

  “Baby, you’ve got a big day ahead teaching kids and dogs how to behave themselves. Get some rest. I’ll call you tomorrow. And make sure Melanie wears sunscreen, will you? She always forgets.”

  “Yeah, okay,” I said, still uneasy. I drew a breath for another question but he cut me off.

  “Sleep tight, sugar. Don’t let the bears and wolves bite.”

  That made me smile. “’Nite, Miles.”

  I put the phone away and finally turned my attention to Cisco’s treasure. By this time he had stretched out on the ground with his find between his paws, preparing for a nice long chew, and he wasn’t nearly as excited about sharing with me as he had been earlier. I took the prize anyway. It was an athletic sock, oddly enough still fairly close to white, and for a moment I thought some camper had lost it. Then I realized it was too big to belong to a child, and I wondered if for some reason Reggie had taken off his shoes and socks this afternoon, maybe to swim in the lake after finishing the grass. At any rate, it was not something I wanted to hold onto, so I tossed it back in the general direction from which Cisco had taken it, hoping it would land near its mate.

  Naturally, Cisco wanted to chase, but I brought him up short, standing and calling all the dogs to my side. It was getting dark, and I was not quite as comfortable being here alone as I had been a few moments ago. “Come on, guys,” I said, and my eyes darted quickly toward the wood line, “let’s go.”

  Besides, Miles was right. We all had a big day tomorrow.

  Chapter Ten

  I was up with the first trill of birdsong the next morning, flinging aside the downy warmth of my sleeping bag and springing from my cot with barely a stretch to mark the passage of an absolutely blissful night’s sleep. I love camping. I love the smell of the woods and the sound of gurgling streams, the cool damp taste of mountain nights and the gentle music of tree frogs and crickets. I never sleep more soundly than when I am out in the woods, even when the woods are complemented by indoor plumbing and electricity.

  The last dormitory dog had not quieted down until shortly after midnight, and at this barely dawn hour none of them had stirred yet. I didn’t dare take my own crew up the hill to the exercise area and risk waking the whole camp, so after they gobbled their breakfast I took them for a quick run in the opposite direction, back toward the lake. Morning clouds were rising over the deep blue mountains in tendrils and wisps, and as the sun slowly painted the sky pink and azure, we saw a deer darting through the woods. I kept a tight hold on Cisco’s leash; disaster averted. I fell into an easy rhythm, losing myself in the crunch of my running shoes on hard-packed dirt, the sound of my breath and the counterpoint of the dogs’ panting. The air was cool and earthy, scented by the lingering wood smoke smell from last night’s barbecue, and a heavy dew dripped from branches overhead. There is nothing sweeter, more ripe with possibilities and joyous, explosive life, than the stillness of a mountain morning.

  That was what I was thinking—or perhaps something equally as poetic—when my reverie was suddenly shattered by Cisco’s abrupt and, as far as I could tell, completely uncalled-for barking fit. He stopped about ten feet ahead of me on his long leash, feet planted, ears forward, tail curved over his back, gaze fixed on something beyond the lake, barking furiously. I almost tumbled head-over-heels in my effort to keep from skidding into him. He barked, the Aussies joined in—even though I could swear they had no idea what they were barking at—and, because I’m no fool and I know that well-socialized dogs like mine don’t bark at nothing, I stopped to scrutinize my surroundings. The Aussies circled, barking at nothing at all, but Cisco remained firm, his deep-throated bark and focused gaze insisting that all was not as it should be. I could not have heard anything above the cacophony even if there had been something to hear. My breath was coming hard and my heart was going perhaps a beat or two faster than its normal running rhythm. I could feel my scalp prickle with alarm as I scanned the wood line, the lake, the horizon beyond, and I saw absolutely nothing out of the ordinary. Until, abruptly, the center of the lake erupted like a water spout.

  A bass, easily ten pounds, exploded out of the water, snatched a bug from the air, and dropped back again, leaving a cascade of ripples in its wake. I laughed out loud with relief and delight, tugged on Cisco’s leash, and commanded, “Dogs! Quiet!”

  It was too late, of course. As we jogged back up the trail toward the camp, I could hear the voices of the dormitory dogs happily joining in the morning chorus, and I winced with silent apology to the sleeping campers. On the other hand, it was almost six o’clock. Time for them to get up anyway.

  Only later did I realize something else; we had not had a wood fire at the barbecue last night, and even if we had, I shouldn’t have been able to smell the smoke at the lake.

  The camp cook served us cinnamon French toast with strawberries and maple syrup, hash browns and bacon while Margie went over the schedule. The actual pint-sized campers would of course be served a more allergen-free/gluten-free/vegan-appropriate version of the meal. I was profoundly grateful to be a grown-up as I helped myself to a second serving of French toast.

  While we ate, Margie went over the day’s schedule, ending with, “Mr. Banks has already set up canopies in all of the fields for shade, and he’ll be going around on his ATV during the day delivering fresh water and dog treats. He’s even got a wagon hooked up in case anyone needs a ride back to the lodge, but let’s try to discourage the kids from abusing his hospitality, shall we? I understand it rains here just about every afternoon …” She glanced at me and I wrinkled my nose, nodding confirmation. “So have a backup plan if your class gets interrupted by a downpour.”

  Margie began to slide walkie-talkies across the table to us. “Their range is pretty limited,” she explained. “The nurse is on Channel One, vet tech on Two. Seriously, friends, do not be afraid to press those buttons. That’s what we’re paying them for, and the safety and comfort of our campers are our first priority. The other instructors’ channels are marked on the devices.”

  I was studying my radio when she placed her hands atop the table and declared quietly, “Ladies and gentlemen, you are here because you are the best in your field. I can’t begin to compensate you, or thank you, enough for your service. I hope you will take satisfaction in the fact that a whole new generation of dog lovers will go forward from here to spread our message of responsibility, equality and love.”

  As a matter of fact, I did.

  Eager to be reunited with their dogs, our early registration campers were up, breakfasted an
d out walking their dogs before the new registrants arrived. I was happy to see Pepper had come through the night in good spirits, and was bouncing happily along beside Melanie as she walked along the path between the dormitories. I was on my way to set up the agility field with Cisco by my side, and Pepper lost her impulse control when she saw him. Melanie set her heels like I had taught her, waited until Pepper realized her mistake and came back to her side, and then rewarded her with a piece of bacon from breakfast. Of course the kids had all been told to bring training treats from home, but Melanie knew the value of a high-value reward, and we all turned a blind eye to pilfering from the buffet for a good cause.

  I put Cisco in a sit and watched with approval as Melanie walked Pepper over to us in a pretty close to perfect heel, guiding her with bacon and voice approval. I would be very much surprised if she didn’t win a blue ribbon in the Puppies Under One Year Old group in the obedience trial on Sunday—if in fact she didn’t win Best in Show—but I didn’t say anything to her. She was pretty full of herself already, and I hadn’t really had a chance to size up the competition.

  I did say, “Good job, Pepper! That’s hard to do with so many dogs around.”

  Melanie grinned. “Not really. She’d rather have bacon.”

  Cisco shifted his feet and licked his chops as the scent of bacon came closer, and I tightened my hand on his leash, reminding him he was in a sit. “What group are you in?”

  “B,” she said. “I get Obedience with you this afternoon and agility in the morning. I think I’ll blow off Junior Handling, though,” she added, “since I’m not going to show Pepper in conformation.”

  As an instructor, I knew I should point out the value of every class, but when I thought about how many classes I’d blown off during my school years, I was afraid it might sound a bit hypocritical. Particularly since I privately agreed with her.

  I said, “Tell you what. I’m on my way to set up the agility field. If you’d like to help, maybe we could take the dogs for a swim during the Junior Handling class.” After all, I had promised Cisco a swim last night, and I did want to have a closer look around the shore before all the kids arrived.

  “Sure!” She released Pepper from her heel and kept her from lunging at Cisco by feeding her the rest of the bacon. That kid was really sharp. “What are we waiting for? Pepper loves to swim!”

  As we walked to the soccer field, she told me about the bone-shaped pool at Pepper’s day care in Atlanta, and how she had tried to talk her dad into putting something similar in their mountain house.

  “I don’t think he’s going to go for it, though,” she confided as we reached the soccer field where the ring gating and agility equipment were stacked under blue tarps. “He says there’s already an indoor and outdoor pool at the clubhouse and it’s too late to make them bone shaped.”

  “Wow,” I said. “Indoor and outdoor.” I had never seen, nor wanted to see, the fancy club house Miles was building on the site of what once had been one of the most breathtaking valley views in the county. I supposed it still was a breathtaking view, of course. The only difference was that now it would not be enjoyed by hikers and hunters, but by golf-playing millionaires and their chardonnay-sipping wives who gazed out over the valley in air-conditioned comfort through panes of storm-rated glass. The whole thing threatened to depress me, so I changed the subject.

  “Guess you’re going to miss Atlanta when you guys move up here full time,” I said.

  She shrugged. “Not really. I haven’t been there that long. And Dad says the school up here is a lot better.” She grinned at me. “They have horseback riding as a regular class!”

  Miles had enrolled his daughter as a day student in an exclusive private boarding school half an hour away; the public education our little village had to offer being completely out of the question. If horseback riding was on the curriculum, I could definitely understand why.

  I said, “They used to have horseback riding here when I was a kid.”

  “Oh, yeah? What was it like back then?”

  She made it sound as though she pictured covered wagons rumbling along in the background. “Not that much different. No dogs, though.”

  “What did you do?”

  “The usual. Canoeing on the lake, swimming, soccer, arts and crafts …” I smiled a little to myself. “Smooching with my boyfriend.” I realized too late that might not be an appropriate thing to say to a ten-year-old, so I added quickly, “Of course, I was a lot older then. I was a counselor, almost grown up.”

  Melanie was sanguine. “Whatever happened to him? Your boyfriend, I mean.”

  I made a small wry face. “Actually, I married him.”

  She looked interested. “Sheriff Buck?”

  I nodded. “Let’s set up the ring gating first, then we can let the dogs loose.” Meantime, I clipped the dogs’ leashes to one of the spiral ground stakes that were provided for that purpose, and handed her a couple of the folding plastic gates, picking up an armful for myself. “Let’s start here and work our way out.”

  She said, “I guess your hair was short back then.”

  At first I didn’t follow. “What?”

  “When you met Sheriff Buck. I guess your hair was short.”

  I thought back, carrying the gates across the grass. “I guess so.” I set up the first gate, and she snapped hers in place beside mine. She had done this before.

  “It was long when we met you,” Melanie said. “My dad and me.”

  I snapped another gate next to hers. “What, my hair?”

  “Yeah. It was long.”

  “I guess it was.” And then I said. “Oh.” I looked at her with slow understanding and a small smile. “Yeah, it was long. ”

  She shrugged. “Sometimes it takes my dad a while to get used to things. It took him a couple of months to get used to me. So, are we doing a regulation ring or what?”

  She really was the coolest kid ever.

  When the field was enclosed by ring gating, I unleashed Pepper and Cisco to wander at will. This meant that they ran in wild pointless circles for the first thirty seconds, and Melanie and I watched them, laughing. Pepper clearly had a case of hero worship, and Cisco, being a generally good-natured dog with absolutely no self-esteem issues, accepted it as his due. He allowed Pepper to chase him and even to catch him, but as soon as she drew abreast he turned and started chasing her. They raced around the ring until Cisco abruptly lost interest and started sniffing the ground. Pepper looked disappointed for a moment, then pretended not to care, bounding away in search of her own amusements.

  I dragged the six-foot tunnel to the center of the ring while Melanie put together the offset weave poles and jumps. She had a set of similar equipment in her backyard at home and knew where everything went. While we worked, Melanie told me about her dorm mates—Alexandria with the Labradoodle, who was cute but couldn’t be trusted off leash; Bailey, who looked just like her Bichon but wasn’t nearly as smart; Monty—short for Montana—whose Great Pyrenees puppy was already bigger than she was. I had noticed that pair coming in and wondered if the short blond girl was going to be able to handle the huge dog, but Melanie assured me the dog was just a great big teddy bear. I couldn’t help smiling at her authoritative assessment of her fellow campers, and was glad she was settling in so well. When I was her age it had taken me more than one night to feel comfortable in a new place. But then again, Melanie at age ten was already a more experienced traveler than I would ever be.

  With the two of us working, it only took moments to set up a puppy practice ring—a low tire jump, three bar jumps, weave poles, tunnel and a low dog walk. “Can I take Pepper through?” Melanie wanted to know. “Since we don’t get to take agility until tomorrow?”

  “Sure,” I said. Since she had given me the teacher’s advantage with the lowdown on her dorm mates, it was the least I could do. “On leash, though, just like you were in class.” The important thing, when training a new dog in agility, was to make sure the pup took ev
ery obstacle the first time, and to reward appropriately when she did. That was hard to do when the puppy was running wildly off leash in the opposite direction.

  She made a sour face. “She doesn’t need a leash.”

  “Maybe not, but I’m the teacher.”

  “I’ll raise the bars,” she decided. “Pepper can jump way higher than that.”

  “Not on leash she can’t. Safety first.”

  Melanie gave me an eye roll and went to get Pepper’s leash, scuffing her feet a little to show her disagreement with my edict. She’s not always a perfect child.

  The two goldens had long since lost interest in what we were doing, and were gathered at the opposite end of the ring, pawing and sniffing at the ground. This is never a good sign, since whatever is uncovered beneath a layer of dirt or grass is probably not going to be good for either my dog’s digestion or for my clean white shorts once I removed it from his mouth. I called sharply, “Cisco!” He looked up at me as I started toward him, then turned back to his explorations.

  I said again, “Cisco, Pepper! Stop that!” And Pepper, the little imp, suddenly snatched something from the ground, did a half-spin, and took off running with her prize.

  I called to Melanie, “She has something in her mouth!”

  Melanie got down on her knees, held out a piece of bacon, and called “Here, Pepper!” Pepper made an about turn and was sitting in front of Melanie munching bacon by the time I reached them.

  Melanie snapped on Pepper’s leash and stood, holding out a small metal tube in her hand. “Good thing you saw her,” she said. “She could have swallowed this.”

  I took the object from her, frowning. “Yeah,” I said, and glanced over at Cisco, who had broadened his search but was still sniffing the ground. “I’d better make sure there aren’t any more.”

  Cisco, not to be outdone by the little upstart Pepper, pranced over to me with his butt wiggling and his teeth clenched around another metal cylinder. Unlike Pepper, however, he dropped it into my hand on command, and then sat grinning at me expectantly, waiting for his treat. I dug into my pocket for the plastic bag of freeze-dried chicken and tossed him his reward.