Page 4 of Declan
“So, if you’re lucky, you get close to five hours sleep.” Sam shook his head. “That’s not good, Declan. Even if I kept you on night shift, you’re still not getting enough sleep.”
“That’s the hours, Sam.”
“Declan, you know you don’t have to take it, but if you don’t, I don’t know what will happen with Tank.”
Declan sighed again. “Tank is my dog,” he said with conviction.
“I know how you feel about him, but he’s your partner and I want him on days.
“I think if you hire someone dependable, it will be better for you. You’d get some much-needed rest.” Sam raised his hand up when Declan opened his mouth to speak. “Declan, you’re a damn good deputy, but if for some reason, you can’t find someone you can depend on to work at your place, we’ll have to take it from there.”
“I get it, Sam.”
“I hope you do, Declan. We’ll see what happens if you can’t find someone, but make sure you get references. I might know a few of them and I can let you know who’s a good match.”
Declan nodded, left the office and drove to The Feed Store.
The memory of the conversation faded as Declan snapped back to reality when he slammed on the brakes; a deer had suddenly burst across the road, its white tail flashing in the darkness.
Taking a deep breath, he paused on the empty road, his eyes scanning for any sign that more deer might be following the first. When no additional runners streaked across the pavement, he eased his SUV forward, the engine humming softly in the quietnight. Earlier, he had swung by The Feed Store, carefully noting down a handful of unfamiliar names on a scrap of paper.
Declan returned to the small town of Clifton ten years ago after working for the Montana Highway Patrol for eleven years. It had been his lifelong aspiration, a path lit by the legacy of his father and grandfather. His father had ascended the ranks with relentless determination, reaching Chief in less than fifteen years before retiring at sixty-five, after an enduring forty-four years of service. The only thing that had finally enforced that decision was the relentless grip of rheumatoid arthritis in his knees, a condition that might have been a daily hindrance, had it not forced him to hang up his hat. It got so bad that he couldn’t even work in the barns at his ranch. There were good men at his father’s ranch, and he had a good manager. Now, Declan needed to do some hiring if he did choose to go to day shift. The only thing about not going to daylight was that he’d have to give up Tank and he couldn’t see that happening.
At just twenty-one, Declan had started his career at the MHP, then his heart pulled him toward the specialized and challenging work of the K-9 unit, a decision that led him into additional rigorous training, learning not just how to handle a canine partner but how to form a bond with a four-legged comrade in arms.
Declan spoke to Sam about a job, since he’d been more than ready to come home. Sam was happy to have him and his K-9, but it did wear on Declan working in his barn most of the day and the long hours on night shift.
His current partner, Tank, had been by his side for three years. Tank was not his first companion. His previous K-9, Buster, had met a tragic end during a harrowing robbery attempt. That day, the chaos had left Declan reeling with despair; he wasn’t sure he could continue in the K-9 division after that devastating loss. Buster had charged after the fleeingassailant with fierce determination, only to be struck down in a single, ruthless moment when the criminal turned and fired. Declan had felt the sting of a stray bullet graze the protective vest he wore, a sharp reminder of the ever-present threat of harm. Despite his personal anguish and the intense surge of anger that urged him to repay the violence with violence, he had managed to chase down and arrest the suspect without ever crossing that dangerous line.
After Buster’s solemn farewell, the loyal dog was laid to rest in a quiet cemetery dedicated to K-9 officers, a somber, sun-dappled site where Declan had stood for over an hour, his heart heavy with grief yet filled with pride over the sacrifice made in the line of duty. Letting go had been agonizingly difficult, but he found solace knowing that Buster had died doing what he loved, and that was protecting him.
Declan had confided in his father, declaring that he was done with that particularly painful chapter of his job, yet his mother had reminded him that the bond forged with a canine partner transcended individual losses. “It’s all the same, no matter who it is,” she had said gently, insisting that loss should never mean quitting. Accepting her counsel, Declan had embraced the healing passage of time, and six months later, he welcomed another K-9, Tank, into his life.
Glancing into the rearview mirror, he caught sight of Tank, whose playful attempt to lick through the protective wire sent a grin spreading across Declan’s face. Patting the dog’s muzzle affectionately, he turned his focus back to the darkening road as they made their way home under the veil of darkness.
Upon arriving at the attached garage under the house, Tank began whining softly as Declan pulled up, a familiar sound that tugged at the edges of his tired heart. He pressed the button to close the garage door, the mechanism’s hum mingling with the evening’s gentle ambient sounds. Stepping out of the vehicle,he swung open the back door, setting Tank free. The eager dog sprang from the SUV, his paws skittering lightly on the cement floor, and trotted toward the door leading into the warmly lit kitchen.
Declan shook his head fondly and murmured, “You just want to go to sleep,” as though understanding the simple, honest needs of his companion. Tank barked in reply, a playful yet insistent sound, prompting Declan to pause and gently rub the dog’s ears. Together, they stepped into the house.
Inside, after removing his vest and khaki shirt, Declan sank onto a wooden bench and removed Tank’s protective vest and hung it up, then Declan took off his boots, jeans, boxer briefs, and socks, each article of clothing a testament to the day’s work. With a tired, dragging gait, he made his way toward the bedroom, the anticipation of rest urging him on.
Once within the soft sanctuary of his room, he cast a weary glance at the bathroom door, a silent reminder of the refreshing shower awaiting him, and then collapsed onto the inviting expanse of his bed, his body heavy with exhaustion. Just as his eyes were about to surrender to sleep, Tank leaped onto the bed, circled around in a small loop, and settled down with a deep, satisfying sigh. In a few quiet moments, both man and dog melted into a deep, dreamless sleep.
****
A month had passed since Elise opened her dance studio and she was overwhelmed by the amount of people who had signed up for both ballet and dancercise.
“Why am I so tired?”
She’d been pushing herself too hard trying to get the place ready. She was so glad that the apartment didn’t need much work and with it being above the studio, she didn’t have to worry about staying too late and driving home in the dark.
She had hired a few people who had experience with ballet since she would be teaching both dancercise and ballet.
Pulling around the back of the building, she parked, opened the door, then stepped out, closing the door behind her. She gazed up at the flight of stairs and wondered if she could just crawl up them.
Taking a deep breath, she ascended the stairs, unlocked her door, then aimed her fob at her vehicle to lock it before stepping into her apartment. She hung her keys on a peg beside the door, then dropped her purse onto a small table.
She had made the decision to call the studio, Let’s Dance! She really hoped it worked out for her.
