* * *
It had been years since Kurt had felt genuine peace slip over him after the sun sank below the horizon and stars studded the sky. In Afghanistan and in the jungles of Honduras, he’d rarely been able to relax, even on nights when he was tucked in a bunk and crowded with the sounds and smells of other marines and a handful of dogs not far away. He hadn’t expected to be able to do so here either.
But the calm cradled his skin despite the surprise that accompanied it.
Standing under the stars, Kurt set his beer on the table and headed into the screened-in half of the porch. The pregnant Rott let out a whine as he approached. Kelsey had taken her outside an hour or so earlier, after making sure she ate a plentiful dinner.
Kurt hooked a leash onto the dog’s collar and led her around the yard long enough to ensure she was calm and obedient, then asked her to sit on command. When she did, he gave her an affectionate pat and a treat from his pocket, then made a show of letting her off leash.
He needed all these dogs to understand that freedom was earned and not taken. Elsewhere, most dogs could fail to understand this and there’d be little risk associated with it. Here that wasn’t certain. Most of these dogs matched or exceeded his strength, and their journeys so far in life hadn’t given them much reason to trust people. Even though it was in a dog’s nature to trust humans, seeing how willing and obedient the dogs were still amazed him.
Free from the confines of a leash, the Rott—Pepper, as Kelsey was calling her—gave her massive head a shake and trotted off into the yard before squatting to pee. Kurt headed back onto the porch for his beer. As a rule, he drank water, coffee, and beer—a variety of it—and, every once in a while, a cold glass of milk. He didn’t care for soda, and since he was eighteen, he’d never drunk anything with an alcohol content greater than beer. And as with his grandfather, none of his acquaintances since high school had ever seen him inebriated. Drunken sprees and ADHD weren’t a good combination. Thankfully, he’d figured that out without causing any harm.
It had been dark when Kelsey left, and she’d looked tired. She’d commented before heading out how it was ironic that before this started, she swung by here every night on her way home from the shelter to feed Mr. Longtail. Now, she’d be leaving here and heading back to the shelter to pick up a dog to take home with her for the night. She didn’t have a dog of her own, she’d explained. Instead, she brought one of the shelter dogs home every night, and if she broke the habit now, she’d feel too guilty to sleep a wink.
She was all heart. This both touched and troubled him. Working with her would be a pleasure, even if it was one he wouldn’t allow himself to truly embrace. Everything would be fine so long as he kept her at a distance.
Other than when Kurt had looked out the front window and seen the Rott staring her down, only inches from that remarkable face of hers, Kelsey had proven to be smart and rational and to have a way with dogs. He thought back to that split second this afternoon when he’d bolted for the door, bracing himself for whatever was about to happen outside and knowing he was too many feet away to prevent it.
It had been all he could do not to hold Kelsey by the shoulders and lecture her until he was certain she understood what could’ve happened out there. He was committed to getting her through this with no harm coming her way or to the dogs. But he needed her not to take unnecessary risks. He’d managed to hold back, but she’d seemed to understand his thoughts anyway. And she’d shown she wasn’t one to back down easily from an argument. That was one more thing he liked about her.
Taking a swig of beer, Kurt eyed the silhouette of an owl standing watch on an exposed branch of an enormous oak tree at the back of the yard. If Kurt hadn’t been outside when it let out a series of soft, low hoots, he wouldn’t have known the owl was there. It seemed to be watching the dog sniff around the dark yard as if it had come across an interloper in its nightly hunting spot.
Inside, the rest of the dogs were quiet and calm, having settled down for the night. Out here, a cool, gentle breeze swept over Kurt’s skin. He was thankful to be back in the temperate zone where he’d grown up. Thankful to be out of the heat. The dry oven that was the desert, and the wet, stifling tropics. He wondered how long it would be before he forgot the sensation of the heat rising off the desert sand late at the night as if he were holding his hand over a radiator. Or standing guard in the jungle at night, listening to the howler monkeys crossing the tree canopy while he scoped openings in the thick, tropical forest for insurgents. One night he’d spotted a small, wild cat hunting at the edge of the base. About the size of a slender coyote, it had unusually large eyes and a sleek coat with spots and stripes. It was the most magnificent wild thing he’d ever come across. Later, he’d learned it was an ocelot.
He was still thinking about it when a very different feline stalked into view. Mr. Longtail. Who knew where the unusual cat had been this evening, but he was headed confidently
