Pawprints On The Wall

By A.J. Maguire

One look at Michael and Sarah knew he would be trouble. Bossy, with a hero-complex to rival Hercules, he storms into her life with his ailing dog and though every instinct she has screams to turn him away, Sarah can't let an animal suffer. Her fears are proven right when Michael becomes a permanent fixture at the Almost Home Animal shelter

• Language: English
• Publisher: A.J. Maguire
• Release date: Nov 2, 2022
• ISBN: 9781087996585

A.J. Maguire

A.J. (Aimee Jean) Maguire is a science fiction junky and an outdoors enthusiast. She loves stories in all shapes and sizes; which means she reads a lot, watches a great deal of movies, and allows herself to be consumed by select television shows. A devoted parent, she believes her son is the greatest gift of her life and enjoys sharing all of her geekery with him. She graduated with honors from Northwest Nazarene University with her BA in Christian Ministries. Maguire has been weaving stories since she was very young and even confesses to having carried 3x5 cards in her cargo pockets while in the military just in case inspiration hit her away from the computer. Her writing runs the gamut from historical fiction to science fiction and she fully intends to be telling stories long into her old age.

Book preview

1

Michael York stepped into the Almost Home Animal Shelter and fought the urge to rub his nose. Heavy cleaners were fighting an uphill battle against the smells so many animals could produce, and the lobby was filled with the insistent barking of animals in their pens. One long counter ran the length of the wall to his left and he was reminded at once of a pub; all nicked wood and history, with a small space open so that the attendant could stand behind it. Except there were large windows here and the room was brightly lit.

And there was no bartender.

The wall behind the counter housed another window, this one looking into the room beyond where a tall figure in overalls and rainboots was scrubbing one of the kennels with a long, yellow-bristled brush. Her dark hair was doing its best to escape the bun at the base of her neck, and she glowed from exertion. Canine faces peered out of their gates, all turned to watch the woman’s progress, and he was able to pinpoint the more vocal creatures now.

One large gray pit-bull had a cone wrapped around his neck and was resting its big paws on the gated front door of its pen. He tilted his head back with every bark and that caught the woman’s attention for a moment. Michael watched as she smiled and dug a treat from her pocket to slide through the bars. The dog took the treat with surprising gentleness and hopped down, tail wagging as he retreated to the back of his kennel to enjoy.

There were no chain-link fences like he had been expecting, and he loosened the grip on his keys. It was not at all like the dreary, sad place he remembered featured in cartoons as a child and his estimation of the owner rose exponentially. Each animal was separated by wooden partitions, allowing some privacy, and giving the appearance of a small room rather than a kennel. Inside each kennel he could see doggy beds of varying sizes, most positioned on a raised portion of flooring that kept away from the drain. They all had two doors, one gated and leading to the open bay area where the woman was working, and the other steel, leading to what Michael presumed must be an outdoor enclosure.

He exhaled.

Maybe Brant wasn't crazy for sending him here.

Can I help you?

Michael turned. There were three other doors in the lobby, each leading to kennel bays with paned windows that allowed a clear view of the rooms beyond. Standing in the door labeled Cats, a freckled blonde was watching him with a mix of annoyance and curiosity, her eyebrow hiked as he took his time responding.

They were busy. He should come back another time.

But outside in the parking lot was his dreadfully silent truck and he steeled himself. My name is Michael York. I called yesterday.

The girl’s face underwent a dramatic transformation, one moment annoyed and the next lit with understanding and pity. Michael cleared his throat and glanced away. Eighteen months later and he still was not used to that look; the one that said without speaking that he was a widower, that he was due all consideration and space that polite society had to give.

While he couldn’t say precisely what he would prefer – his wife back from the dead and the last three years erased, possibly – he knew for a fact that he didn’t want either consideration or space.

The border collie? the girl asked.

He nodded, grateful that he didn’t have to explain himself.

I’ll go get Sarah.

Giving a brief thanks, he glanced over his shoulder at the open door to the parking lot. His green truck sat prominent in the nearest space with its windows open to the September air. The border collie in question could not be seen through the windshield, but he knew she was sprawled in the seat, head on her front paws, disinterested in all things.

Fresh grief washed through him and he had to take a steadying breath. So many things had changed after Laura died that he hadn’t noticed the pup was in distress. There had been whining, of course. Days and days of whining and pacing where Delta hunted the house, waiting for Laura to come home.

No matter how many times he told the pup that Laura was gone, she wouldn’t be coming home, Delta didn’t understand. How could she?

If he was honest with himself there’d been days, he almost asked Laura a question, expecting her to be in the next room or something. Her shadow was everywhere in the house, lingering but still somehow gone. It was no wonder Delta had not been able to settle, heaven knew Michael hadn’t.

He was beginning to think he never would.

Mr. York?

Sarah turned out to be none other than the overall wearing, brush-wielding woman he spied earlier. Her rainboots glistened with soapy water, and she left footprints on the tile as she strode forward, hand outstretched. He took the hand by instinct and shook it, not at all surprised to find her grip firm as she introduced herself.

I’m Sarah Riley, we spoke on the phone yesterday.

She had a pleasant face, perhaps too round to be called pretty these days, but her expression was more of concern than pity and Michael felt another knot loosen in his back. At least he would not have to endure condolences from another stranger, no matter how well-meaning.

Thanks for seeing me on such short notice, he said as they turned for the door.

It’s not a problem, Sarah said. When was the last time Delta ate?

I got her to take some roast beef by hand last night, but it wasn’t much. I know table scraps aren’t healthy…

At least it was something.

Michael wasn’t certain if he heard disapproval in her voice or not, and truly he didn’t care. He was at his wits end and had to do something.

This was Laura’s dog. He could not let the creature die.

They stopped at the passenger side of his truck and Sarah peered inside. Delta lay just as he left her, one blue eye and one brown eye watching the window but otherwise unmoving. She was merle patterned, sable spots peppering white fur, mixing in places to make gray freckles across her muzzle and back. He had an image of her the day Laura brought her home; still young enough that her white legs looked lanky paired with a slender body, and a muzzle shorter than it was now by a good inch, everything in her face clinging to puppy phase. But what caught him then, as it did now, was the way her ears stood only half upright, folding down at the tips so that they danced whenever she walked.

Hello beautiful, Sarah said, leaning against the door so she could cross her arms on the window frame.

Delta did not seem impressed.

Nonplussed, Sarah continued; Want to go for a little walk with me?

Taking that as his cue, Michael opened the door and took Delta’s leash. The dog obliged, albeit slowly, and jumped from the seat. Sarah was already reaching for the leash, cooing at his dog in real admiration, and Michael found himself handing control over to this stranger with a mix of pride and uncertainty. He wanted Delta to get better, but an accusing voice in the back of his head insisted that he should be the one to fix his dog.

Didn’t it say something about his state of mind that he was incapable of working this out on his own?

Still, he watched Sarah take the leash and turn Delta toward the woods. His dog walked sedately next to her, tail drooping in a further display of distress, and he had a pang in his chest at the sight. He could not remember the last time her tail was up, its white tip wagging like a flag as she chased a ball or a frisbee.

She’ll be alright, said the freckled woman from before.

She managed to walk up while he was distracted, and it was only when she propped a hand on her hip that he noticed the swell of pregnancy under her shirt. Her smile was full of compassion and curiosity, and she nodded out at where Sarah neared the tree line on the other side of the parking lot.

Sarah’s a bit of an animal whisperer. She’ll find a way to help.

Michael found some comfort in the girl’s words, even if he thought the idea of an animal whisperer was a little ridiculous. Then again, he didn’t have faith in much these days.

Cramming his hands into his pockets, he watched as Sarah and Delta disappeared into the forest. The leaves were beginning to turn, the full green of summer bleeding out into burnished shades of orange and red, and the air had that faint crispness to it that promised winter was coming. Several birds flitted from tree to tree, their tiny forms cutting across blue sky.

Laura would have photographed it.

The thought knifed across his heart, and he turned to shut the truck door, perhaps more forcefully than he intended. Thankfully, the girl didn’t flinch. Instead, she looked back to the shelter and heaved a sigh. The barking had not ceased, and he could see a few other shapes through the windows.

Tall white fences stretched to either side of the building and he realized with a start that there were people out playing fetch with various dogs. How had he not noticed them before? None of them were paying him any mind, but he felt somehow exposed, as though everyone were aware of his circumstances and his poor, ailing Delta.

Well, those litter pans aren’t going to scoop themselves. I should get back in, the girl said and took a step to leave. But she paused and gave him another smile. I’m Lisette, by the way.

He gave his name again, awkwardly realizing she already knew it from before, and kicked himself.

Lisette grinned but had mercy enough not to tease him. Instead, she asked; When Sarah gets back, could you tell her that the volunteers who were going to fix the food shed today canceled?

Food shed? he asked.

She nodded over at a little structure set off to the side of the shelter. Blue tarp was lashed across its roof, and he could see one side sagging, sloping toward the ground in a lump of tarp and wood. It looked more like a sad cupcake failure than a shed at all and he stared at it for several seconds.

We’re going to end up fixing it ourselves at this rate, Lisette said.

What happened?

Lisette shrugged. A storm took down that tree branch, which crashed its way through the roof.

And now he could see the large branch tossed to the left of the structure. The last big thunderstorm had been several weeks ago, he knew. Delta hated storms and he’d been forced to wrap her in a special blanket for the night.

He frowned. How much food did you lose?

At least half, Lisette said, becoming more animated, But Annie put the call out that following Sunday and we got a ton of donations. Sarah says we have more now than we did before the shed broke, so that’s good. We put what we could in the attic and the rest is under the tarp.

Well, you’re not going to want that tarp through the winter.

No kidding.

They lapsed into a brief silence before Lisette, remembering she had work to do, flashed a smile, and hurried back inside. Michael leaned against his truck and watched the rotation of dogs through the yard. Most of the handlers were proficient, giving each animal time to stretch their legs, do their business, and zoom for a ball. There were a few unpracticed hands that interrupted the rhythm, but no one could say the animals here weren’t loved and cared for.

Not that they should stay, of course. For better or worse, this was a kennel, and each pet deserved a home of their own, but it seemed that Sarah Riley was doing her utmost to keep them happy while they were here.

Alright, Brant, he thought, maybe this will work.

Please, let this work.

It was some time before Sarah emerged from the woods again, Delta in tow. Michael squinted at them as they approached, trying to see if there was any improvement in his dog’s demeanor, but her tail was still down.

That was to be expected. It had taken a year and a half to get to this point, one meeting with a stranger was not going to miraculously cure the creature. Still, he held his breath and waited for Sarah’s assessment as she delivered Delta to him.

Well, Mr. York, she’s grieving, Sarah said and reached down to smooth back Delta’s ears.

Michael ground his teeth. Tell me something I don’t know.

She gave him a sharp look, hazel eyes alight with challenge, but seemed to master herself in the next instant. You said you already took her to the vet and nothing physical was wrong with her?

Yes, he said, wrestling for patience.

They went over this on the phone yesterday.

She hummed and continued to stroke Delta’s head, who sat quietly beside her. Did you know, Mr. York, that there are some breeds of dog who love their masters so much that when the two are parted, the dog simply shuts down? They don’t eat, they don’t drink, they just wait to die.

He looked down at Delta. Her mismatched eyes stared unblinking at the truck door, still disinterested, still lost, and Michael felt his gut clench. Is that what she’s doing? Waiting to die?

If we let her.

The words were quiet and heavy, delivered with a matter-of-fact tone that held no malice. Michael was grateful for that much. He knew it was his fault that Delta had fallen so far into her depression, he practically watched it happen over the course of several months, but Sarah had the grace not to point this out.

Another consideration, he supposed.

He was a widower, who could truly blame him?

Heaven help him, he hated that word, widower.

Clearing his throat, he met Sarah’s patient gaze. What can we do?

If she noticed how hoarse he sounded, she didn’t mention it. Her attention switched to Delta, and she heaved a sigh. I’m sure I don’t need to explain grief to you, Mr. York. It’s not something we can fix, and it’s not going away. But there are some things we can do.

Such as?

Remind her that she’s not alone. Sarah rubbed the back of her neck and looked suddenly uncomfortable. Look, I know this is going to sound weird, but my dog is particularly good at helping others. She seems to sense anxiety and has a way of putting other animals at ease. If you’re willing, I’d like the two dogs to meet.

You’re right, that does sound weird.

They both chuckled and Sarah shrugged, leaving the decision to him.

Beyond that, she said, crouching down to give Delta more attention, you can try canned cat food. It has a stronger smell and might get her to eat a little more. It’s not recommended for the long run, but some food is better than no food.

Michael regarded his dog, watching the way she endured Sarah’s affections. It wasn’t clear whether Delta appreciated the attention or not, but neither was she snarling for Sarah to stop. She simply did not care, and that, above anything else, made his decision for him.

When would you like the dogs to meet?

2

Morning fog drifted over Silver Lake, blurring the trees on the far shore into smudgy green and orange. Deep water shimmered silvery black in the early light, and in the distance was a solitary fishing boat that drifted in and out of the mists. Sarah inhaled deep, smelling damp woods and faint traces of fish before she crouched beside Shelby and ruffled the old dog’s ears. The mutt was a bit of a mystery, with the colors of a golden retriever, the face of a lab, and a strange fluffiness Sarah had never been able to identify.

They watched the lake in companionable silence. Shelby never had been much for barking, not even when Sarah found her behind the dumpsters of an old theater. Either luck or providence helped Sarah spot the creature’s feet through the pouring rain. At first she hadn’t known what she was looking at. Shelby’s fur was drenched down to skin, and malnutrition shoved the poor thing’s bones into view, but after a staring moment Sarah had seen Shelby’s sad eyes and her heart threatened to lurch out of her chest.

There’d been no hope for it, Sarah lured Shelby out from behind the dumpsters with a bit of jerky and soothing promises. She got her in the car the same way, not caring how soaked the seats got because at that point she was dripping wet herself. Nana Faye liked to say the car smelled of wet dog for weeks after that.

Her phone trilled, disturbing the still morning, and Sarah reached for her back pocket with a sigh. She answered without looking; Hello?

Got room for a boxer?

Great, just what she needed to start her day. Good morning to you too, Richard.

There was barking on the other end, and an alarming sort of growl that set her instincts on high alert. Richard continued as though he hadn’t heard her; He’s a bit of a beast. Coming out of an abusive home, so he’s terrified of men especially. I’m hoping a woman can calm him down.

Did you try your wife? Sarah thought but swallowed down the impulse to ask. Bitterness never looked good on anybody, and anyway, it had been three years now. Time to move on.

She rubbed her face and said, I’ve got space in quarantine. How old is he?

Three or four, Richard said. The guys in blue were having a hard time nailing down a straight story.

Of course, they were, Sarah said. Where are you and how long will it take to get here?

I’m parked in the lot now.

Sarah ground her teeth and counted to ten. Leave it to Richard to show up and assume there would be room in the back. Not that she didn’t want to help an animal in crisis, but there was such a thing as kennel cough, or giardia, or any number of ailments that might be plaguing the shelter. Unless he was keeping close tabs on her vet bills – unlikely, everything regarding the shelter was supposed to be in her name now – then there was no reason for him to believe she could help.

And yet, they both knew she would.

There was a confusing mix of fury and pain balled up in her chest, but she fought it down and straightened to her feet. Alright, I’m on my way.

She heard him say thank you and ended the call. Shelby stared up at her, tail wagging, and Sarah relaxed. I’m sorry, pup. Looks like we have to cut it short today.

Turning from the lake, they made a quick progression through the woods and back to the house. The fog was lingering, drifting between trees in wisps of gray and muffling the sound of their footsteps. Several feet into the forest, home began to take shape, silhouetted against the gray at first and becoming more visible with their approach. The two-story colonial was positioned between the shelter and the lakeshore, well hidden from both by tall, leafy trees. It had ivory walls and cylindrical pillars on the porch, and pleasant blue shutters that never failed to put her at ease.

There had been some fuss with the family when Sarah decided to open Almost Home six years ago, but legally the land was hers. And since she couldn’t sit on her hands after leaving the military, she had to do something. Rescuing animals, finding them good homes, seemed a worthy cause, if a trifle messy from time to time.

Her parents thought she lost her mind, surely due to some trauma suffered overseas, and her sister Beth never forgave her for not selling the property and splitting the money. Which was fine. Her parents were in Austria, ostensibly for skiing even though Maggie Riley, Sarah’s mother, had never once shown an interest in anything athletic. She supposed her father, Frank, at least rode the ski lifts and took in the air, but he didn’t like anything with speed behind it, so she doubted he participated in the sport.

Still, it kept them out of sight and out of mind.

As for Beth, she was pursuing an acting career on the west coast. Her visits were infrequent, her phone calls even more sporadic. None of them were around long enough to make a true nuisance of their feelings about the shelter, and that gave Sarah space to breathe.

She opened the sliding glass door at the back of the house and let Shelby inside. Through the space between rooms, she was able to spot the television mounted to the wall and squinted at it. The weather channel was warning of a storm system building off the coast, but a quick look told Sarah it would miss their section of the state. She leaned inside the house to holler; Lisette! We’ve got a newcomer!

A moment later Lisette’s voice floated down from the nearby stairwell; Now? But it’s Sunday!

Blast! She’d forgotten what day it was. Annie would be expecting them in church.

Shelby traipsed about the kitchen and visited her water bowl while Sarah calculated time. Richard was already in the lot. All they really needed to do was get the dog inside and settled in a kennel, which shouldn’t take more than twenty minutes. That left forty minutes to change, shower, and get across town.

Sarah chewed on her lower lip.

She could skip the shower and use dry shampoo.

Lisette showed up at the bottom of the stairs, hair up in a towel and a big blue robe wrapped around her. Freckles rioted across her face, and she scrunched her nose in annoyance. Who would call you on Sunday for this? They obviously have your personal number.

Sarah took in Lisette’s bare feet and sighed. Setting up a kennel wasn’t hard, but she’d hoped she wouldn’t need Richard’s help getting the dog indoors. She re-calculated. Don’t worry about it. I’ll get the dog settled and be back in time to go.

Are you sure? I can throw some clothes on.

Nah, get ready for church. I won’t be long.

Sarah turned and slid the door closed. Quickening her pace, she hurried around the side of the house, weaving past the half-empty woodshed – got to call and get more firewood delivered – and broke into a jog toward the shelter. The forest abruptly opened into a hillside several feet past the house, and she was able to see the shelter and its parking lot. The front of the shelter faced away from the forest, making it visible to the winding country road on the other side of landscaped lawn. Behind it were more sloping hills and forest, and she blessed her grandfather for having chosen such a remote spot to buy land.

She slowed, not wanting to roll an ankle, and surveyed the animal control van idling by the front doors. Richard’s tall form leaned against the side of the van, and she could see him reviewing the property. An uneasy knot coiled in her chest, cinching tighter the closer she came to him.

He’d grown a beard. It was dark and neatly trimmed and blast it all if he didn’t look handsome with it.

What’s this dog’s name? she asked by way of greeting.

Richard straightened and flashed a tight smile at her. The food shed went down?

Glancing at the tarp-laden structure at the side of the lot, she shoved her fists into her jacket and prepared for a fight. I’ve got volunteers coming in to work on it.

Does Jack know? He could have that thing up by the end of the week.

She scowled at the side of the van and took a breath. Jack already got all the supplies for it. He just can’t come out and put it together. He already has three worksites splitting his attention, I’m not pulling him away from good pay. Now, tell me who we’re dealing with today.

Sarah…

She cut him off; Richard, it’s Sunday. I have places to be in an hour, so let’s focus. Tell me about the dog.

It was his turn to scowl, but the beard covered most of his mouth, so the effect was lost. She didn’t give him a chance to say more, choosing instead to walk around to the back of the van. Without asking, she opened the doors, shedding light on the caged animal within.

He was a boxer all right, blunt-nosed and lean. He began barking the moment light hit him, his stance all fear and aggression.

Sarah exhaled.

The poor thing was terrified.

This is Otis, Richard said, sounding angry.

She regretted opening the van so soon. Otis was going to sense all that anger and it wasn’t going to help. Still, she didn’t have time to argue with her ex-husband. Why he thought it was his business to discuss the state of the shelter anymore was beyond her, so she concentrated on the dog.

I’ll go inside and set up a kennel, she said. Then, to Otis, It’s alright, baby, we’ll get you sorted.

The dog stopped growling for a moment and Sarah stepped away. She heard Richard closing the van again, muttering something under his breath that she imagined had more to do with her than with Otis. Which was fine, he’d been muttering about her long before they’d divorced and to be fair, she’d done her share of complaining about him.

Pushy, overbearing, suffocating; towards the end she’d even started calling him First Sergeant again. It might have been a reminder of how they met, and in a more perfect world could have softened their hearts and led them back together, but the world was not perfect, and Richard wanted the one thing she couldn’t give him: children.

Her heart ached with memories she fought to push away as she strode through the