The Thief and the Dogs Read Online

  The Dog Thief

Marta Acosta

Published by Badinage Press, 2018.

This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

THE DOG THIEF

Outset edition. January 15, 2018.

Copyright © 2018 Marta Acosta.

ISBN: 978-1386019183

Written past Marta Acosta.

Too by Marta Acosta

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The Dog Thief

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Table of Contents

Championship Page

Copyright Folio

Also By Marta Acosta

Dedication

Description

Chapter one

Chapter ii

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Affiliate 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Affiliate nine

Chapter 10

Chapter eleven

Affiliate 12

Chapter 13

Chapter fourteen

Affiliate 15

Chapter sixteen

Affiliate 17

Affiliate 18

Chapter 19

Affiliate 20

Affiliate 21

Affiliate 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Affiliate 25

Epilogue

Other Books by the Author

about the author

Sign up for Marta Acosta'south Mailing List

Farther Reading: Fancy That

for Susan, with love

Description

"Acosta'south talent in staggering." —Romantic Times

From Library Journal'due south Women's Summer Reading Selection author Marta Acosta

Misfit. Outcast. Imitation psychic. Dog lover.

MADDIE WHITNEY, AKA Mad Girl, is a dog rehabilitator whose significant behavioral problems make her an outcast in the minor rural Northern California town of Coyote Run. When Maddie discovers a murdered woman in a field, she impulsively claims that she's an brute psychic to gin up business.

At present the girl who can't make eye contact is the focus of the wrong kind of attention.

Maddie'south forced to start a Search and Rescue team with her ex-girlfriend's twin brother, Oliver, a hostile sheriff, or run a risk losing her beloved sometime military domestic dog. As she teaches Oliver to be a dog handler, their relationship evolves from animosity to respect and more.

Meanwhile, Maddie's younger sis, Kenzie, who has always cared for Maddie, yearns for a life of her own, and the unknown murderer believes the creature psychic will find his identity.

Difficult and complicated Maddie makes new friends, faces life-threatening dangers, and tests her power to role without the protective walls she'south built around her.

"I SORT OF Dear THE way Marta Acosta tramples a lot of conventions. She writes messy love, screwed up characters, awkward situations and scathing diatribes."

—Alpha Books

Chapter 1

I HELD THE WOVEN NYLON LEASH and plastic cage loosely in my easily as I stood at the barn door, half in sunlight, half in shadow, and waited for move from backside the stack of alfalfa bales. On the rafters in a higher place, a cat's eyes glowed citrine similar the flame of a kerosene lamp, body lost against the darkness. Flies buzzed through the shafts of calorie-free, and ane landed on my wrist. I tried to ignore the awareness of those filthy tiny legs on my skin.

The shade was a relief from the sweltering leap day, and my wife-beater clung to my dorsum under my oldest long-sleeved flannel. I heard the slup-slup of Bertie lapping water from the trough by the tack room.

"She'southward back there. We phone call her Ghost, she'due south so spooky," Beryl Jensen gushed with the false bonhomie people apply with the hired assistance.

I had an urge to slap her face, or spank her ass—I couldn't tell which considering Beryl e'er confused the hell out of me. "You mentioned puppies."

"We've seen 2. Nosotros leave food, simply they won't eat if anyone'due south near. What happened to your High german Shepherd? He looks like he was in a burn down."

"He'south not a German Shepherd." From the corner of my eye, I saw Beryl'south long scarf palpitate upwards in a draft, drifting over her mahogany red hair, veiling her eyes, and I reflexively shrugged, which at least got the fly off my wrist. Her jeans were too tight for actual ranch work. Not Claire, I thought, because I divided humanity into two categories: Claire and Not Claire.

"Was information technology a car accident?" Beryl asked. When I didn't answer she said, "I'm glad you could come. Doc Pete always establish time to pop over when I needed him, but this new one, Ben Meadows, gave me some line most how he wasn't a dogcatcher. Have y'all met him yet?"

"Could you take off your scarf? The move bothers the animals."

"What? Oh, okay."

I stepped farther into the befouled. My eyes adjusted to the darkness, and the cat'due south body materialized around the glowing eyes. The cat's ears twitched forward and it gazed at a spot to the left of one of the taller stacks.

I turned toward Beryl, my finger to my lips, and then I slowly moved toward the bales. My new boots squeaked, and Bertie was right behind me, his big paws rustling the hay littering the floor. I signaled for him to stay.

The moment I heard a puppy whimper, I rounded the stack, blocking the get out. A mutt with matted fur the color of muddied milk faced me. Noting her stiff legged stance and hackles, I turned my back to her, letting her catch my odour.

A few seconds afterward, in that location was a soft swish, and I peeked to encounter Ghost sidling alongside the haystack belongings a pup past the scruff. I moved to block her path and waited. Then I waited some more than before I took three steps backward, pausing between each one, until I judged that I'd cornered the mutt.

A mottled brownish pup came to investigate me, snuffling at my dusty jeans. I lifted the lead until the loop was in forepart of the Ghost'southward cage. "It's okay, trivial mama, I'm getting you out of here." The fur nevertheless stood on her sparse spine, but she allow me skid the loop over her caput, around the puppy in her jaws, and I savored the stillness of the nighttime cool befouled.

And and then goddamn Beryl practice-si-doed in, saying, "Did you lot become her?" and Ghost dropped the puppy and leapt upwardly, contorting and snapping while I drew the lead high on her cervix and said, "Go out," keeping my voice even and low.

I was aware of Beryl retreating, only I focused on Ghost. I held on fifty-fifty when she fleck through my jeans into mankind. The pain took seconds to annals and I let out a grunt. I knew Ghost'south eye must exist racing; I kept calm because she needed me to be calm.

The instant she stopped fighting, panting and frightened, I led her straight out of the befouled, keeping the lead loftier to let her know I was in charge. The puppies tripped along backside united states of america, and I walked past Beryl into a twenty-four hour period so bright I was blinded by the reflection from one of the steel sculptures marking the belongings. I blinked rapidly and kept moving forrard.

A motion-picture show of my hand was plenty for Bertie to accept his place at my heel, and his ease reassured the devious. Nosotros strode into the green fields, blooming with chrome xanthous star thistle, blackness-eyed Susan, and golden poppies. I breathed in air so crystalline it went through me, sharp and pure. I ignored my creaking boots and listened to the pups dashing joyously through the grasses until we reached a narrow creek flickering silver over greyness stones.

The creek was lower than I'd ever seen this early in the season. The winter rains

hadn't been well-nigh enough later years of drought.

I stopped to permit Ghost beverage, pleased that she was already accepting me. The puppies approached Bertie and sniffed him, jumping in his face as puppies exercise, earlier he gave them a level glare. They scampered off to splash at the edge of the water and snap at skeeter bugs. They were insanely beautiful, most ix weeks one-time with round bellies and soft fuzzy fur. When Ghost didn't attempt to return to the barn, I knew there were only two pups.

I wanted to stay there in the dazzle of calorie-free, watching the pups play, basking in the sunday's warmth, smelling the wet soil and the rich vegetative rot at the border of the water, and hearing dragonflies flitting by. I wanted time to stop and worries to evaporate similar the dew from the drying grasses. I wanted to be alone with the dogs and the chilly water and the rocks born before time and a sky that was so very blueish, simply non blue, an illusion of clarity and color.

I looked back and saw Beryl making her way across the field toward me.

I didn't care that my truck was parked by the barn. I peeled off my shirt, tied the sleeves together, and looped it over my cervix and shoulder. I scooped upwards the puppies and placed them inside the sling. They squirmed against my ribs before settling downwardly. I liked the solidity of their little bodies snuggling confronting mine.

I waded across the shallowest part of the creek, hoping to stretch my boots. My right leg throbbed where Ghost had bitten me, and a rivulet of blood ran downward to my sock every bit I cut through another field to attain the route leading into town. My heels clacked against the asphalt and we found a rhythm, walking by a vineyard, which was showtime to leaf out.

The xanthous roses planted at the border of the vineyard were about to blossom. Yellow like canaries in a coal mine, my female parent used to say, because the sensitive roses would be the kickoff to betoken bug with the soil or h2o.

An engine'south roar broke the silence, and I moved to the clay path abreast the road and glanced behind me. The tricked-out Ford slowed and one of the hardware store jerks bashed his horn then screeched, "Crazy whore!" earlier vehement off.

Bertie tensed momentarily before dropping to his usual footstep. I scratched his caput. "The grand thing about yous, Bertie, is you lot don't rush into brawls. Now, the mystery is: how tin can that piffling prick afford a Raptor?"

He wagged his long tail, and I thanked him for modeling social behavior for the mutt and perchance complained the condition of my truck even though Bertie enjoyed the smells that had layered and adult the years.

We arrived at the border of the one-half-mile comprising downtown Coyote Run. Many shops were boarded upwards and others looked as if they were begging for a wrecking ball to put them out of their misery. The veterinary clinic was an avocado greenish stucco bungalow and an bordering cottage. The kennels were fix at the back nether sprawling walnut trees. A newly painted cream and burgundy sign reading Coyote Run Veterinary Clinic, Benjamin R. Meadows, DVM had replaced the old peeling sign, but Doctor Pete'south rusty horseshoes were however nailed to the corrugated metal awning.

When nosotros walked into the clinic, Ghost skittered on the slick linoleum and Bertie immediately began a perimeter check of the anteroom, sniffing out recent visitors.

Douglas O'Donnell stood on the other side of the reception counter, looking similar the middle-anile stoner he was, with a monk'south fringe of blond hair gone silver, and a turquoise stud in one earlobe. His features were oversized in a weathered face shrunken with the years. He wore a purple and orangish aloha shirt and jeans. His blind scruffy mutt, Gizmo, snoozed on a absorber behind his chair.

"Afternoon, Maddie. Beryl Jensen just called maxim you caught her stray and ditched your truck at her place. Yous got a babe tucked in your shirt?"

"Babies, plural, and fortunately for all of us not human being." I reached into the sling, pulled out the puppies, and set them on the flooring. "I thought a walk would work off the mama's feet before coming here. When did Beryl become a redhead?"

"With your nighttime skin and optics, you'd look hot as a pistol in that color, Maddie. Geez, I call up I've captivated fashion tips from the married woman'south magazines.

"My sister is obsessed with dying my pilus the same colour as hers. She'd dress us in matching outfits if she could. Beryl gets on my nerves."

"How many times did Md Pete tell yous canine valium is perfectly rubber for human utilise?"

"Too many. People always think that giving me pharmaceuticals volition make me less annoying to them. If they don't want to be bellyaching, they should take the pills."

"Which reminds me, if you need to decompress, I've got enough in my personal stash to parcel out."

"I'll pass. Tin can't you get something mellower? I want something that volition level me out but not go out me paranoid or comatose."

"I don't have the time to store around for yous, hon. I have whatever'southward available at the Ring-A-Bell."

"The problem with this stupid town is at that place'south no medical dispensary with reliable product standards. Have yous ever thought most opening one?"

"Right, because the economy is booming and I'd love the paperwork of a business where Federal law prohibits banking company accounts," he said. "I'd appreciate if you didn't say anything to Dr. Meadows."

"I don't want to say a goddamn matter to New Doc beyond 'Hither's the dogs," and "Adios, sucka."

Dawg laughed his depression hrr, hrr, hrr, which sounded like a dying coffee grinder.

"Dawg, why weren't you at Md Pete's going away political party? The only reason I went was because I expected y'all to be my buffer between the jerks who materialized for free booze."

"Wish I coulda been there, Maddie, but I had to deal with family stuff."

I thought he'd be happier if he'd never won the lottery, never married a beauty queen, and never bought the expensive house at Vineyard Garden Estates. Since then he'd diddled through near of his fortune partying and gambling. When he was flush, he'd fly his family off to the Caribbean, and when he was broke, he'd trade in his cars for economic system models.

"How are the kids?"

"They're cracking. Heather's talking about usa selling upward and moving to a beach where it'due south e'er summer for them. Yous've got claret on your jeans, Mad."

"Occupational hazard."

"I figured. So what'due south the dealeo with the pups?"

"They need to be vaccinated and get a checkup, but they're fat and sassy. Beryl wants the mama spayed. She wanted to gossip almost New Doc."

"She was just beingness friendly."

"Friendly is for friends, otherwise it's a waste of my goddamn precious time." I put my flannel shirt dorsum on, feeling the fabric rub against my sunburned shoulders. "I may as well become this over with."

"New Md—is that what we're calling him?—volition be with you in a few minutes."

"New Medico is good enough for now. No demand to remember his proper noun when he'll undoubtedly bail earlier the winter storms." I studied the huge former chart of domestic dog breeds. "My goal is to train at to the lowest degree five dogs in each alphabetical category by the terminate of side by side year. A was a piece of pie. I had an Akita, an Anatolian Shepard, lucked into an Airedale, and had two Aussies. D's are giving me problem, only because I'1000 holding out for a dingo."

"You're dreaming. Become with the default breed—damn dogs. Gizmo'south as pure as they come." At the mention of his name, Dawg's little mutt's ears perked. "Things are going a lot better since I've been post-obit your advice."

"You were pitying him. Gizmo doesn't want or need your pity. He thinks he'due south totally the shit."

"Did he tell yous that?" Dawg's forehead furrowed. "Does he always tell yous anything about...about dwelling?"

"Gizmo focuses exclusively on Gizmo topics. Tasty treats, interesting smells, cozy places to slumber," I said, non wanting to get involved in Dawg's marital issues. "Oh, I was going to bring your last mix record. Information technology's continuing a slow broil in my glove compartment with my phone as we speak, but, really, Nick Cave? Impale me already."

Dawg s

tared downwards at his date calendar. "He understands a soul's trouble, I guess, when I go the blues."

"I mean, uhm, I was just talking virtually his singing, non the lyrics or music."

"Non everyone can have the vox of an angel, Maddie." Dawg's grinning returned. "Bertie's looking fit. Bring him to the calibration and permit'south encounter where he'southward at."

I took my dog to the black rubber mat of the electronic calibration and watched the glowing ruby numbers tick upwardly to 78 lbs.

"What was Bertie when y'all first brought him in?" Dawg went to his keyboard and tapped rapidly. "Only 51 pounds of bones and a chip of flat fur so. He'due south back to his fighting weight."

"Nah, he's retired from the ring." I scratched the thick golden fur of Bertie's shoulders, and his black ears and long dark cage and avoided the crude patch of skin on his dorsum, which still pained him. I was thinking there were few things more beautiful than a healthy animal, when the door from the consulting room opened and a very salubrious specimen stepped out and said, "Are you Madeleine Whitney?"

"The very one."

He looked a little dubious, and I supposed he was trying to puzzle together my name with my advent. "Come on in. Doug, go on the pups out hither, would you lot? I'm Dr. Meadows."

Benjamin Meadows was a tall tanned man with nighttime eyes, glossy brown hair and a thick bristles. I followed him into the exam room, noticing his easy movements as he closed the door and pulled a clean newspaper cover over the exam table. He had the heft of a guy who'd washed harder work than treating miniaturized accessory dogs.

"Call me Maddie. I've brought Beryl Jensen'southward stray—her name is Ghost, stupid name—to be spayed."

"Can you lot set her on the table or do you need assistance?"

"I can exercise information technology." I lifted her onto the table, feeling her tremble. "It's okay, daughter. I'm correct here."

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