Rescued Heart

by Georgia Beers

  This had become their routine over her past several visits, and it was as relaxing for her as it seemed to be for him. Sometimes, she walked him. Other times, he’d already been walked and there were other dogs that needed the outdoor time. But she always set aside the end of her shift to sit and talk with Jax. It had become necessity. “Oh! I know what I forgot to tell you. Remember that silver Lexus I told you about last week, the one that cut me off on the way here? I swear to you, the exact same guy did it again today. Can you believe that? I should get his license plate next time. And do what with it, I have no idea, but I should totally get it. You think?”

  Jax was watching her with rapt attention, his brown eyes fixed on her face as she spoke.

  “You know what, Jax? It’s not so bad here, right? I mean, it’s warm. You get fed. You’re not homeless. I get that being adopted would be best, but…it wouldn’t be terrible if you just ended up staying here. You know?” She bent to place a kiss on the top of his big, square head.

  “It’s getting late.”

  Ashley flinched at the voice, then raised startled eyes up to the door of the cage to see Lisa Drakemore’s tall form leaning against it, arms folded across her chest. The outfit she wore was simple, almost utilitarian, but she somehow made khaki pants and a green polo shirt look sophisticated and even a little sexy, if Ashley was going to be totally honest. Her short, light brown hair was highlighted with a bit of gold, swooped to the side and tucked snugly behind her ear where small silver hoop earrings sparkled in the harsh overhead lighting. High cheekbones held a hint of pink, and the woman had the face of a model, something discussed by more than one employee here. Her green eyes—which Ashley had always found utterly dreamy despite the intimidation she felt around Lisa—crinkled a bit at the corners, and Ashley was shocked to realize Lisa was almost smiling at her. Lisa Drakemore was not a woman who smiled often, at least not in Ashley’s experience. That didn’t make her mean or angry or scary. Ashley just thought of her as…serious. Lisa was a very serious person, and serious people did not smile much.

  “Yeah.” Ashley tossed her an uncertain half-grin. “He’s a good listener.”

  Lisa continued to level that green-eyed gaze at her, face unreadable.

  “Okay. I’m heading out in a minute.”

  With a nod, Lisa turned and left.

  Ashley sat blinking at the empty space where she’d stood, then inhaled slowly to catch the last bit of Lisa’s intoxicating scent as it wafted away down the hall. Lowering her voice to the tiniest of whispers, Ashley leaned down to Jax and said, “That was actually three whole words. I think that’s the most she’s talked to me since I’ve been coming here.” In response, Jax lifted his head and licked the front of Ashley’s hat. Her eyebrows climbed up in surprise as she reached up, felt the hat on her head—still coated with large, dried chunks of frosting—and closed her eyes in mortified irritation, remembering once again that she hadn’t changed her hat before coming in the building. “Oh, that’s just great. God, I am such a dork.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  “She always smells like cupcakes. Ever notice that?” Bill Tracey asked, waving goodbye to Ashley as she left through the door of the dog wing.

  “Hmm?” Lisa asked, looking up from her desk, but not having really heard the question. That was normal when it came to Bill, a guy who talked endlessly. It was simple self-preservation to tune him out, lest your ears fall off from overuse. If she had to estimate, Lisa would guess she only actually heard about half of what the man said. Ever.

  “Ashley,” Bill clarified, gesturing to the now-closed door. “She smells like cupcakes.”

  Lisa followed his arm. “Huh.” She had noticed, actually, and Bill was completely right. Ashley Stiles, of the cute little blonde ponytail and frosting on her head, smelled liked baked goods, sweet and warm and tempting. All the more reason to keep my distance. Not that that would be anything new; Lisa kept her distance from most people at work. From most people in life, really. More self-preservation. At least, that’s what she told herself.

  She tuned back in to Bill in mid-sentence, saying something about a hinge on the door to cage seven. “…tomorrow, okay?”

  She blinked at him, tried to focus without looking like that’s what she was doing, and nodded her assent. “Sure, Bill. That’s fine.”

  He bid her goodnight, and she realized, if he was leaving, it must be past nine. A glance at her watch confirmed her suspicions, but not before it occurred to her that Ashley had stayed later than usual as well. Must have been talking poor Jax’s ear off. The thought made one corner of her mouth quirk up as she neatened her desk and then made one last trek down the dog wing to check on everybody. The barking had died down at this hour, though it never completely stopped. Junebug Farms was not a place that was ever quiet, not for a minute, but Lisa had learned to filter it, or at least push it to the background of her brain, in the five years she’d been working there. Assured everything and every animal was in its place for the night, she hit the light switch to “overnight,” and the wing dimmed considerably. Donning her jacket and then shouldering her bag, she said quietly the same words she said to them every evening. “Good night, dogs. Sleep tight. You’re safe. Everything’s going to be okay.”

  The wind had gone from cold to icy since Lisa had been out for lunch earlier that day, and she huddled inside her coat as she speed-walked to her car, which sat alone in the empty lot looking like a single life raft floating in the middle of the ocean. Once ensconced in the driver’s seat, she cursed herself yet again for not splurging on the remote car starter when she’d leased the Toyota two years ago. This was her second winter of climbing into a freezing cold car in the dark and she was just about over it.

  The drive home was easy. Traffic was light and she pulled into her assigned space at her townhouse complex less than twenty minutes after she left Junebug. She hauled her stuff out of the car and waved to Mrs. Benchley, who was giving her poodle its final walk for the night. She slipped her key into the lock, turned it, and entered her small, cozy townhome, a sigh of comfortable relief pushing from her lungs as she shut the door behind her and four meowing cats of varying sizes and colors, and one very slow dog, came running (or meandering on the dog’s part) from all areas of the house.

  “Hello, my brood,” she said, bending to scoop up Groucho, a white cat with three legs and a black spot of fur just below his nose. She flopped him over her shoulder like a stole and he happily rode around the house that way as she put her things away and got their dishes out.

  At thirty-two years old, Lisa wasn’t old enough to be the Crazy Cat Lady, but she was well on her way, and she knew it. It only worried her sometimes. But not tonight. Tonight, she was happy to just be home and alone with her babies.

  Groucho was the newest addition to the family, having been in the Drakemore household a mere three months. His foot had been caught in an illegal trap in the woods not far from Junebug Farms, and a hunter with a heart had rescued him and brought him in. One amputation later, Lisa took him home. Clyde was the oldest of her quartet, a huge gray tabby with only one eye. He was discovered wandering a field. The farmer who found him wanted to keep him, but worried his disability would make him an easy target for his other barn cats. It was a good call, as it became apparent early on that Clyde was not an outdoor cat, nor a hunter. He preferred to sit on a comfortable chair in the sun all day and have his food delivered to him, thank you very much. Hubbard was a gray tiger cat and had been a stray, brought in to Junebug so pregnant, the staff was surprised she didn’t simply burst. She had a litter of five healthy kittens, all of whom were adopted, but became so depressed and despondent without her babies that she stopped eating. Lisa had taken to hand-feeding her and did so for weeks until the cat came back to herself. By then, Lisa was attached to Hubbard and Hubbard to her. She moved into the townhouse the next day. Tiny was just that: tiny. Black and white and itty bitty. He looked like a kitten despite his three-year age, his growth having been stunt
ed by a mother who was malnourished and abused during her pregnancy. Only Tiny and one brother had survived the birth. He was another one Lisa had hand-fed, this time with a bottle. She couldn’t give him up. Keeler was a Lab mix of some sort, a stray that had been brought into Junebug Farms by Animal Control, who’d found him on Keeler Street, and he’d been a mess. Abused, malnourished, and skittish, with haunted brown eyes and a frightened distrust of just about everybody. He was shaky and pathetic and did his best to make himself as small and unnoticeable as he could—which was difficult, as he was not a small animal. Lisa had worked hard over the years to school her emotions, to lock her feelings up tight when things bothered her, but something about Keeler got to her. From the moment he was brought in, she was the only one he trusted and they’d become inseparable. It was a foregone conclusion pretty early on that she’d be taking him home.

  She filled dishes with a small amount of wet food, added a little dry, and set them all down in various corners of the room for the cats. Hubbard and Groucho were not fond of other cats anywhere near their food, so they ate in the far corners. Tiny and Clyde ate side-by-side, happily munching and purring. Keeler got his own corner and took his time eating the raw diet Lisa painstakingly prepared for him. As he chewed, he looked up at her with adoring eyes. She smiled and he wagged his tail, then bent for another bite. It was their routine.

  As dinnertime progressed, Lisa grabbed a wineglass from the cupboard, opened the fridge, and filled the glass with white wine from the boxed Reisling on the top shelf. She allowed herself one modest glass each evening after work, sort of a reward for not killing anybody during the day. Today hadn’t been bad, but on days when abuse cases were brought in or somebody dropped off an animal because they were too damn lazy to care for it properly, Lisa allowed herself a second glass. Keeping her opinions to herself was not always easy, but it was necessary for the success and reputation of Junebug Farms.

  She sipped her wine and watched her animals finish up their meals, enjoying the blessed silence, which didn’t last long, because her cell phone beeped, signaling an incoming text. Hoping it wasn’t a problem at work, she dug her cell out of her bag and cautiously glanced at the screen.

  Been too long since we talked…

  With a grin, Lisa dialed. It was picked up after two rings.

  “Is this my favorite niece?” came the beloved voice

  “Only if this is my favorite aunt.” Lisa felt her entire being relax. The voice of her Aunt Joyce was like a balm to sore muscles, a massage to an aching back. Everything just felt…bearable when she talked to Aunt Joyce.

  “How are you, sweetie? Was it a work night?”

  “It was. Last one this week, though.” Lisa took her wine, kicked off her shoes, and flopped onto the couch. Crossing her feet at the ankle, she propped them on the coffee table and was immediately besieged by cats wanting to be close to her. Keeler laid himself under her legs.

  “How many assholes since the last time I talked to you?”

  Lisa choked back a laugh. Despite her age—68—Joyce Meredith had a mouth on her that would make a lumberjack blush, and she’d been known to let loose a string of profanities that brought an entire room to a screeching, silent halt. She was unapologetic about it, and Lisa loved her for that. She wished she had half the balls her aunt did.

  “Only one this week. Two pit bulls were brought in from the same house.”

  “Dog fighting?” Aunt Joyce knew many of the ins and outs of Lisa’s job, including from where certain dogs came.

  “Of course,” Lisa said, her voice colored with anger. “The poor things have no idea what to do with gentle treatment. Jamie’s going to work with them, see what she can do.” Jamie O’Connor was the resident dog trainer and behaviorist at Junebug Farms and sometimes, the girl had her work cut out for her.

  “How many is that now?”

  “Pit bulls? Ten as of today.” Lisa found a good spot on the back of Groucho’s head and his motor kicked up several notches. “I think people are starting to understand that they’re really great dogs who get a bad rap, but people still tend to be afraid of them. We’ve placed about six in the past two months, though.”

  “That’s great.”

  “It is. Placing ten more would be better.”

  “There must be a fundraiser coming up soon, right?”

  “Aunt Joyce, you just donated last month.”

  “Hush. You don’t get to tell me what to do with my money.” Her tone was playful enough to take any sting out and firm enough to let Lisa know there was no room for argument.

  “Yes,” Lisa said. “Later next month. I need to round up my volunteers next week for that.”

  “Some worthy ones this time?”

  Lisa chuckled, reminded of two fundraisers ago when she was stuck with a large number of volunteers who rarely showed up to the shelter. It was common practice with high schoolers. They liked to choose the shelter as their required community service for school, but few of them realized it was actual work to be there. Her mind flashed to this newest batch. Tammy and Ashley and Mark and Christian. They were all responsible volunteers that Lisa was certain would do more than their share of work during the endless hours of fundraising. “I’ve got a few.”

  “Well, that’s good. You should mention it to your mother. I bet she’d like to help.”

  Lisa barked a laugh, causing Groucho to flinch and jump away. He was immediately replaced by Hubbard, and Lisa continued scratching as if nothing had changed. “Subtle, very subtle.”

  Joyce had the good sense to laugh along. “I thought it was. No?”

  “Not so much.”

  “Well. How many of her calls have you dodged this week?”

  Lisa felt her face heat up, unsure if it was from anger or the shame of being called out. “Only a couple.” Or six. Maybe seven… “I did answer one, but I was at work, so I couldn’t talk.”

  “Convenient. You know what you could do? Be the bigger person.”

  “I was the bigger person. For my entire childhood, I had no choice but to be the bigger person thanks to her.” Her voice was hard, despite her attempts to keep it nonchalant. It happened whenever the subject came up, which was why Aunt Joyce didn’t take offense.

  “Don’t you get tired of carrying it around?”

  “Carrying what around?”

  “That big, heavy grudge.”

  Lisa pressed her lips together and said nothing as she let out a frustrated breath.

  “Never mind,” Aunt Joyce said, obviously understanding she’d pushed enough. “I just want you to think about it. She’s been back in town for almost a year now, Lisa, and she’d just like to spend more time with her daughter.” When Lisa stayed silent, her aunt repeated, “Just think about it. Okay?”

  “Okay.” Lisa sounded very much like a teenager with that answer, and she knew it.

  “I love you, Favorite Niece of Mine. You know that.”

  She was never able to stay mad at her aunt, a fact she found incredibly frustrating sometimes. “I do. I love you, too.”

  “All right. Well, have some wine before bed. It’ll help you sleep.”

  “I am way ahead of you. Though mine’s not in a tumbler like yours.”

  “Too bad for you.”

  They hung up laughing, Lisa staring at the phone for a long beat afterward. Thank God she had her aunt. There were times when it really did seem like Aunt Joyce was the only person in the world who got her, who completely understood what she was thinking and feeling and why. She may have had little input from her actual mother from her late teens on, but Aunt Joyce had never let her down.

  Lisa sat there for another half hour, sipping her wine, loving her animals, and allowing her brain to decompress. Her job wasn’t stressful beyond belief, but it could get hectic. Combined with having to monitor her volunteers and the never-ending noise of the place, it was a lot, and Lisa’s favorite thing to do when she got home was sit in the blessed quiet and just…breathe. Just be. The cats
surrounded her like the Greek gods around Mount Olympus, and she spent the next several minutes scratching, petting, cuddling, and cooing to each of them. Animals amazed her. With their unassuming trust and their unconditional love, she would much rather be around them than people. That’s why the job at Junebug Farms was so perfect for her. True, she often wanted to throttle people who dropped off pets for ridiculously lazy/stupid/asshole-ish reasons, but she had become a pro at controlling her facial expressions so she looked completely neutral. Opinionless.

  Which she was not.

  All she had to do was remember what Keeler looked like when he was brought in. Or look at Groucho’s stump of a leg or Clyde’s closed-up eye socket or think of Tiny’s beaten and abused mother to get her ire up. But she’d also learned not to do that. Instead, she looked at her cats with love. They were her babies. They loved her no matter what her hair looked like, whether or not she came home late, with no regard to the anger she had toward her own mother. They were sure and solid and Lisa held onto them like a buoy when she felt herself drifting into sad or worrisome territory in her head.

  “Okay, gang. This girl has had a long day. Let’s head up.”

  As if they completely understood her, all four cats jumped off the couch and followed her into the kitchen. She rinsed her glass, set it in the dish drainer, and scooped a handful of small cat treats out of the cookie jar on the counter and two dog treats from the smaller jar next to it. Then she headed upstairs to her bedroom, four cats trailing behind her like a string of children following the Pied Piper, Keeler slowly bringing up the rear.