Dog Gone (19 page)
Authors: Cynthia Chapman Willis
G.D. shakes his head to confirm
no way.
“Bob Kryer and the farmers mostly want the dog gone,” Lyon continues. “And they calmed some when I told them Dill and I would pay them to replace their lost animals, including Fred Barley's steer.”
For a second, my stomach clenches again as I picture all my savings going to drippy Mr. Kryer and the farmers. Good-bye to my dream of having my own horse. Good-bye to my stable money.
Lyon closes his eyes, rubs them. “I spoke to the sheriff and Ms. Hunter, told them of my plans before I did anything with Dead End.” Lyon chews on the toothpick for a moment. “Sheriff Hawks is spitting mad about the killings, but he's a dog lover.”
“Knew I liked that man,” G.D. mutters.
“And you know Tucker Hunter has a huge heart,” Lyon says, opening his eyes and looking right at me. “In the end, everyone agreed to try my idea of putting Dead End in a home somewhere far away from sheep and farms, rather than having him put to sleep.”
Still wet and sniffling, more zombie than girl, my anger cools to smoldering as I think about Dead End leaving to go searching for Mom, but finding a pack instead. Does this make him a bad dog? Or only a sad dog?
“I gave everyone my word that Dead End would not set a paw within ten miles of this county ever againâand I meant it,” Lyon continues, looking hard at me. “But Dill, that's not the end of this mess. You've got to talk with Sheriff Hawks. You'll have some community service to do to atone for your part in this disaster. And Ms. Hunter wants to talk to you, too. She's hurt that you weren't honest with her.”
I squirm, as uncomfortable as a horse in a bur blanket.
Lyon's stare drills into me. “But I doubt that either of you will be out of work. And I think Tucker Hunter still wants you to ride her horses, Dill. Even in that regional show coming up. But you've got explaining to do first.”
Mucking out a thousand stalls with a teaspoon would be better than facing Sheriff Hawks and Ms. Hunter head-on, but it's clear that no one is giving me a choice in this. I suck in a deep, shaky breath. “Will the farmersâ¦?” I swallow hard. “Will they stop going to your store?”
Lyon pushes his hand back through his hair. The toothpick shifts on his lips. Again, he looks smack into my eyes. “I don't know, Dill. If the killings stop, they might not hold this mess against me.”
I focus on my feet. “I'm sorry,” I squeak.
For more than you know,
I don't add.
Lyon moves closer to me, and places his hands on my shoulders. “Dill, we'll get through this.” He blinks. “We've still got each other.” But then he raises his eyebrows, gives the backpack a once-over. “Unless you're leaving.”
“To go off wanderin',” G.D. says in a soft, low tone. He stares at the table, shaking his head in his disapproving way.
And then Cub grunts his own disapproval.
Unable to speak from all the feelings wading in my throat, I shake my head
no
.
“Good.” Lyon's grip tightens on my shoulders. “Then tomorrow we'll start putting things right. We'll start by going to Fairfax to visit Dead End, maybe even take him with us to visit your mother's grave.”
Even though this plan turns me rigid at first, I nod because knowing I'll see that dog again relaxes me some. The time has come for me and Dead End to deal with everything wrapped around Mom being gone. The hurt let out of the smashed jar didn't suffocate me after all. In fact, the crying made me feel lighter, but also stronger somehow. Sure, the pain might still stomp me like an oversized boot, but it won't kill me. I know that now.
Cub jabs his elbow in my side as if trying to knock a reaction out of me. “Everything will be great after all, Dill.”
Possibly. Because Dead End can no longer run off to search for Mom. Because they are together again, in Fairfax. In that way, Lyon has helped our dog to find her. And in a way that I'm not sure I totally understand, Dead End has helped
me
to find her. So now, even though losing Dead End and Mom rips my heart in two places, visiting them both, with Lyon and maybe even G.D. and Cub, feels like the thread that could mend the tears. Once that happens, perhaps I can face life head-on after all.
“There's one more thing.” Lyon glances at G.D. and winks.
G.D. smiles. Then Lyon turns and stomps back across the kitchen, through the family room. He opens the door to the garage and disappears.
Cub turns his questioning self to G.D., who, still smiling, focuses on his old hands, folded on the table. Cub raises his eyebrows at me. “What now?”
Wiping at my eyes again, I barely get out a shrug when the garage door opens and closes again and Lyon steps back into the family room.
Cub turns to him. “Jeez!”
I gasp. “Lyon! It's a, a⦔
“A puppy.” A slow, tired smile shifts across my father's face as he offers me the squirming and grunting ball of black fluff.
“A puppy,” Cub repeats in a breathy voice that sounds both stunned and amazed at the same time.
“Straight from St. Bernard's Animal Shelter,” Lyon adds, his smile becoming real for the first time in a long while. I can almost picture him reaching for his guitar, clearing his throat the way he does before he busts out into a song.
“He's ⦠He's⦔ I can't get the words out.
“Cute!” Cub announces, laughing.
“He's a fresh start,” Lyon points out.
G.D. bobs his head in agreement.
Cub grins all over. “You saved a puppy, Sir!”
Lyon strokes the wriggling, tiny dog. “If you raise the little guy right, Dill, we'll have a pet that won't take off or threaten other animals.”
Even though Lyon holds the puppy out to me, I only stare at the squirming, grunting lump of fluff.
Cub moves to my side, nudges me. So I take the pup, and pull him to my chest. He smells something like warm milk. When he gives me a small grunt and a whimper and licks my chin, my heart goes softer than ice cream in July heat.
Cub strokes the pup's face with one finger. “Guess you couldn't leave now even if you wanted to, Dill. I mean, you got to stick around and raise this pup. Right?”
I can't help but crack a half smile at the hope in his tone. What would I do without old Cub by my side, talking sense and helping me face things head-on? And for that matter, could I really be happy without Lyon and G.D. around me day by day? I can almost hear Mom whispering in my ear,
Of course not. Now more than ever, you need them as much as they need you.
So I give the pup a pet, tipping my face down to kiss his forehead. And then I let G.D.'s knapsack slip off my shoulder. It hits the floor with a thud. “Yeah,” I say, looking up to meet my father's smile. I guess I will stick around.
First and foremost, I wish to acknowledge, with heartfelt thanks, my agent, Steven Chudney, of the Chudney Agency. I am deeply grateful for his support and guidance, but most of all, for his believing in this novel.
I am also most grateful for my editor, Liz Szabla, who asked all the right questions and offered incredible insights and enthusiasm. I feel so fortunate to have worked with such talent.
Additional gratitude, given with lots of love, goes to the following wonderful people: to my husband, Bill, and my stepdaughters, Jessica and Alex. Their patience and support as I worked on the final stages of this novel made it possible. And to my mother, Judy Chapman, my sister, Carey Kopf, and her husband, Rich, for their faith in this dream. And special thanks to Emily, Andrew, and Derek for their inspiration.
Many thanks, too, to my writing group companions and friends, Barbara Ford, Joan Williams, Don Hinkle, Diana Simon, and Kathy Wilford. Their valuable perspectives helped shape this story.
And last but nowhere near least, a big
thank you
to Esta Schwartz and her crew at the Bridgewater, N.J., Barnes and Noble Café for always making a writer feel welcome.
A F
EIWEL AND
F
RIENDS
B
OOK
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DOG GONE
. Copyright © 2008 by Cynthia Chapman Willis. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information, address Feiwel and Friends, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
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First Edition: May 2008
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