six

I took two jerky steps forward and spun around. Jay was behind me, his back end wiggling like a Tahitian dancer and his front feet doing a tap dance. Tom’s black Lab, Drake, stood beside him, whapping Tom’s leg with his beater of a tail and grinning at me. The next thing I knew, I was on my knees, my arms around Jay and my face buried in the thick silky fur of his neck. Drake shoved his cold nose into my neck and I pulled him into a group hug.

“Some guys have all the luck.”

At the sound of the voice, I took a deep breath, squeezed Jay a tiny bit tighter, stroked Drake’s velvety cheek, and disengaged. Jay got me with one good cheek slurp before I got to my feet and turned on the man at the far end of the dogs’ leashes.

“You scared me to death!”

Tom Saunders is the last person in the world likely to hurt anyone’s animals, and the first person I want at my side if there’s trouble. During the year I had known him, I’d seen him shine in the worst of times, as well as the best. Besides, gray highlights in his beard and yummy brown eyes aside, he had a way of wearing his jeans that made my insides go gooey. But not at that moment.

“What were you thinking?”

Tom looked as if I’d slapped him. He leaned slightly back and said, “He had to pee. What’s wrong wi—”

“Where were you? I looked … Oh my God. I think I’m going to barf.” Or cry. I didn’t want to do either.

“We went for a little walk,” said Tom. “I left you a note. I thought—”

“You didn’t think!” My mouth was set on anger blurt, and I regretted the words as soon as they were out. Adjusting my volume and tone a bit, I said, “A note?”

Tom pointed at the bottom of the crate. A green index card lay on the green rug I used as a crate pad. A note.

“I didn’t see it.” I was blinded by terror. Part of me wanted to slug Tom for not using a large poster board and Day-Glo paint to let me know he’d taken my dog. The other part wanted to slap me for missing a perfectly thoughtful note, although green on green had made it hard to spot. I knew I should apologize, but decided he could go first. “If I’d known you were coming I might have … What are you doing here, anyway?”

Tom didn’t say anything and I couldn’t tell whether he was hurt or angry or surprised. All of the above, I decided. We stared at each other for a few seconds before we both said some version of, “Sorry, I should have—”

“I didn’t think you were coming today,” I said. “I thought you had papers to grade.”

“The realtor called. Drake and I had to clear out for a showing, so we came to see what’s happening in herding-dog land.” Then he asked me why I had gone into a meltdown over something we did with each other’s dogs all the time.

“You hear those wackos over there?” The little nag in my head whispered you’re a bit of a wacko yourself, Janet, but I ignored her. “I thought someone … They’re over there … Someone took …” As I struggled to speak a complete sentence, I stepped out from behind the van and spotted Edith Ann and Kathy coming our way.

“I don’t see him down that way.”

“He’s here!” I smiled as she reached us, and Edith Ann squirmed her way to Jay and Drake and rolled belly-up at their feet. When Jay snuffled her neck, she jumped up and all three started the requisite canine sniffing routine, twisting their leashes into a tangled mess. I held my hand out to the woman and introduced myself, Tom, Jay, and Drake.

“Kathy Glaes,” she said. “We’re on our way to Chicago and stopped by for the disc event.” We talked a bit more, and she led a reluctant Edith Ann back toward the disc practice area.

Jay sat in front of me and cocked his head to the left. Tom stood beside him and cocked his head to the right. Drake stood behind Tom, watching Edith Ann’s departure and slowly waving his tail. I sat back against the van’s bumper. As if they had choreographed the move, Jay put a paw on my foot and Tom laid a hand on my shoulder. My adrenaline level was tapering off and my inner crybaby had crawled back to her crib, so I signaled Jay to pop his front end into my lap, massaged behind both his ears, and looked at Tom.

“You didn’t hear the ruckus over by the sheep pens?” I asked.

Tom looked toward the structures on the far side of the field. “I heard voices, but figured they were just getting organized.” When he looked at me again, a line had formed between his eyebrows. “Why? What’s going on?”

“Wackos were going on,” I said. “And on and on. Animal rights nuts. They were over there waving signs, you know, ‘liberate the enslaved animals’ and that stuff.”

“So that’s why the Sheriff is here?”

I shook my head and eased Jay back to the ground. “No, but it’s good timing.” My butt was protesting the sharp edge of the tailgate, so I stood up and took Jay’s leash from Tom. “Summer actually called the Sheriff about the sheep.”

Tom raised an eyebrow and said, “The sheep did something illegal?”

“Part of the flock disappeared during the night.”

We had talked a few times about incidents of livestock rustling around the area. Several recent cases had been reported in the news, but they had all involved cattle. Ten head of Black Angus had been stolen from a pasture near Auburn, and some Herefords from a farm east of Fort Wayne, near the Ohio line. The newspaper said there was evidence the animals had been hauled off in stock trucks. I was just thinking that there was no way anyone pulled a semi-trailer onto the property without being seen when Tom spoke again.

“So the rustlers are branching out,” said Tom. “That’s disturbing.”

Just what we need. Thieves and wackos.