Page 2 of Mountain Defender

I’ll get through it, if it happens, just like I’ve gotten through everything else. But it doesn’t mean I’ll like it. Or that it won’t hurt losing the only friend I’ve allowed myself to have in the nearly five years I’ve lived here.

Which, now that I think about it, is pretty sad.

I have Isla, my oldest and best friend from college, but she’s out in Texas starting a life with her new husband and baby. She’s not here to have wine nights and watch cheesy movies while we gorge ourselves on mountains of meat and cheese. Instead, my nights are quiet—after a final check of the dogs, I hunker down in my living room with my two adopted dogs and watch TV or immerse myself in a new book on my Kindle.

It’s not a bad life, considering. And I know I’m luckier than many.

But sometimes… I wish things were different. I’m just not sure how to do it.

A flurry of indignant yips sounds from the furthest fenced-in area around the kennels, yanking me from my maudlin thoughts. I set the bag of dog food I’m carrying on the floor and hurry to the exit, my heart speeding for a different reason.

Hopefully Charlie, my newest arrival, hasn’t found a way to get himself in trouble already. I put him out in the little play area by himself, just to let him get acclimated, and he seemed to beenjoying it when I last checked on him ten minutes ago, but now I’m worried.

What if he tried to scale the chain-link fence and now he’s stuck halfway over it? He shouldn’t be able to, not considering he’s just a little Jack Russel mix, but dogs can be creative when they want to be. Or what if he found a rabbit or a squirrel and decided to play with it, necessitating an unpleasant burial and another round of deworming?

My pace picks up as I rush down the path between the play areas, and I keep my head on a swivel, scanning for any sign of trouble. As I pass by the other dogs, they start barking, adding to the ruckus. I know they’re all excited, thinking I’m coming to play with them, or possibly to deliver the most treasured of all things—atreat.

Another high-pitched bark has me moving even faster.

I should have installed more security cameras, I scold myself. Gage offered to hook me up with his friend and teammate, Alec, who owns a security system company over in Stowe. It was a few weeks ago when Gage brought it up, saying, “Alec could install a gate at the base of the driveway. Motion sensors around the perimeter of the property. Security cameras around the barn, so you’d be able to see if anyone approaches.”

What he didn’t come right out and say, but his expression made clear, was that he didn’t think it was safe, me living on my own out here.

But who would rob me? Especially with somewhere between ten to fifteen rescues always on the property. And I have cameras inside the barn, where all the dog kennels are. So I can check on them at night, to make sure everyone’s okay.

Plus, I didn’t want to spend money that wasn’t necessary. Not that I’m broke—far from it—but it seemed frivolous when Gage brought it up. I’d rather use my money to rescue more dogs and bring them here.

Now, though? I’m rethinking things.

Another sharp bark sends my heart leaping to my throat. As I round the corner, my feet skidding on the dry dirt path, I call out, “Charlie! I’m coming. And if you’re torturing an innocent rabbit, I’mnotgoing to be happy!”

“No harming of innocent rabbits this time,” an amused voice responds. It’s deep. Rumbly. And this time, when my heart jumps, it’s not from fear or worry, but pleased anticipation.

A moment later, I spot the source of the voice. His big body is crouched on the ground with an excited Charlie dancing around him. Then I see the reason for all the barking—a new Kong dog toy that Charlie is furiously shaking.

Gage stands and turns towards me as I approach. He’s smiling, which is something different from when we first met. Back then, his expression was always somber, with lines etched across his forehead and shadows in his eyes. I think that’s one of the reasons I connected with him—though he never explained, I could tell he had ghosts, just like me.

Now he smiles more easily. And I find myself doing the same.

So with a lift of my lips, I ask, “Did you buymoretoys? I told you it wasn’t necessary.”

Gage walks over to the gate to meet me, reaching over to flip up the latch and open the door. As I walk past him, I catch a whiff of his scent—pine and citrus and a hint of something else I can’t quite define. My arm brushes against his, leaving a rush of tingles behind.

But I clamp down the sensation through sheer force of will.

We’re friends. But I know I have no business thinking of Gage as anything more.

“I couldn’t resist,” he replies. His amber gaze holds mine, the mid-morning sun bringing out flecks of gold and honey and copper. “After you told me this guy was coming, I had to bringhim a new toy. It wouldn’t be fair not to; considering I’ve gotten one for all the others.”

It’s true. Every time I bring a new rescue to Barks n’ Bliss—I know it’s cheesy, but it goes with the trend of all the other local businesses—Gage insists on getting them a welcoming toy. And it’s never something cheap, like a flimsy stuffed animal. It’s an expensive Kong or a triple reinforced stuffed toy that could resist even the toughest of chewers.

My smile widens as I watch Charlie nudge Gage’s leg with the toy. “Well. It looks like he likes it.”

“You think?” A rare flicker of uncertainty crosses his features. “I wasn’t sure if it would be too much for him, since he’s a little guy. I know Dewey loves these, but he’s so much bigger.”

I reach down to pat Charlie on the top of his head. Then I give his ears a quick scratch. “How’s Dewey doing? Still hiding your shoes all over the house?”

Dewey is his recently adopted rescue, and the reason for Gage’s initial visit. He came by looking for an older puppy, one he could still train, but wouldn’t have to worry about leaving for a few hours at a time. So I introduced him to Dewey, a German Shepherd Labrador mix, and the two of them hit it off immediately.

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