Searching for Always(51)
Stone brooded. They were similar. Both shared a passion for animals. He worked for charity. Good-looking guy, too. Looked Italian, so the guy probably knew how to cook. If she were smart, she’d date this guy and stay away from him. Stone couldn’t promise her anything but the best night of her life. Oh, and hanging out with a workaholic, anger-ridden divorcé who wanted no children.
Yeah, it was a real win-win.
His mood soured. He trotted behind Anthony, learned the rules, and then was handed back to his teacher. They both smiled so brightly at each other, Stone wondered if he’d be blinded for life. He got a fucking cavity looking at them. Weren’t they just perfect together?
Anthony squeezed her hand, leaned down, and whispered in her ear. She laughed, swatted his arm playfully, and turned back to the group. “Okay, guys, we’re going to focus on the dogs today. Listen to Anthony’s instructions and go by the color-coded tags. Green is acceptable to take for a walk. Blue is no touch. Yellow is needs social interaction.”
She led them to the long, narrow aisle of gates. The smell of earth, rotting leaves, and dog poop rose in the air. The whines and barks grew to a shrieking level as the dogs recognized company and tried to get noticed. He watched Luther and Eli choose their dogs, clipping on the leashes and leading crazy bundles of energy out the squeaky gate door. Luther seemed delighted with the large black Lab rushing toward freedom, and Eli had a small smile with the medium-sized mutt with the long snout.
Stone took in their lolling tongue, sharp eyes, and big snouts. Then he freaked.
Sweat broke out on his skin. A low panic clawed at his stomach. He took a few steps back.
“Stone, are you okay? Just pick one and clip on the leash.”
He stared back at her, shaking his head hard. “I’m more of a cat person. I’ll go to the cat house instead.”
She frowned. “The cat house is being refurbished, so it’s off-limits today.”
“Then I’ll hit the stables.”
“Horse training is an entire day.”
The image of the pit bull leaping at him, teeth bared, drawing blood while he screamed like a baby and writhed on the ground hit him full force. It was suddenly hard to breathe. He was getting the hell out. “Well, I’ll help in the office or something. I’m not doing this. I told you I hate dogs and always have.”
He beat a hasty retreat, but she was suddenly in front of him, placing her hands gently on his arm. “Stone? I’m so sorry, I didn’t know.”
He gritted his teeth. Wished for a cigarette so bad he figured the patch would explode off him. “Know what?”
“The dogs. Did you get bit?”
The horror of her knowing his one weakness made him snap. “I’m not afraid of the damn dogs, okay? I just don’t like them. Is that a fucking crime?”
Instead of yelling back or telling him to breathe, she smiled. Her voice lilted like soothing music, and her fingers interlaced with his. The touch of her skin against his grounded him back to earth. “No, it’s not a crime,” she said. “Neither is being skittish around an animal you don’t know. It’s called being smart.” She gazed at the kennels, her eyes sad. “Many dogs, especially the pit bulls, are bred for meanness. It’s almost like having something good but shaping it into evil. Some can’t even be saved, they’re too far gone in the darkness and fighting for survival. Others still manage to see the light and the goodness. See, they’re just like people. Some good, some bad, some right in the middle.”
She faced him again. “It’s my fault for not checking with everyone about how they feel about animals. I’m sorry. And if you were bitten, that’s a traumatic experience very difficult to get over. Dogs need to earn your trust back, just like we need to earn theirs sometimes.”
He suddenly felt stupid being embarrassed over something that wasn’t his fault. How did she do that? Make him see things in a different way? He cleared his throat. “Sorry. I was a kid and a pit bull knocked me down, bit the hell out of my leg. The owner just laughed and urged the dog on.”
She nodded. “Yeah, I hear those stories a lot. Most dogs don’t start off that way, but it’s probably too late. We can’t save them all. That’s why I wanted to rescue Pinky so badly. I thought maybe there’d be a chance.”
How often had he uttered condolences to a family member who lost someone? A weak excuse but all he had left to offer. The tightness in his chest eased. In her own way, Arilyn knew the battle he took on every day. So much loss, but you did it for the occasional win.
“Why’d you name that thing Pinky?”