A Steadfast Companion, page 2
“This’ll be the easy part.” He hoped. “Ten minutes and I’m done.”
She still looked doubtful, but after a moment’s consideration, she stepped aside and opened the door. He hadn’t expected her to follow him out into this weather, but she did. When she steadied the ladder without his asking, he wouldn’t deny his gratitude.
Using his coat sleeve to brush aside the snow, he quickly determined which shingles needed replacing. He snapped off what he could reach of the weaker branches from the offending tree, then made quick work of patching the roof.
Fingers growing numb again, he dropped to the ground. “There, almost as good as new. Once this weather clears, I can come back and make permanent repairs.”
“I—I’ll have to let you know.” She looked away and whisked snowflakes off her eyelashes. “How much do I owe you for today?”
As he folded the ladder, he nodded toward the kennel door. “Mind if we talk about that where it’s warmer?”
Back inside, he got his work order tablet from the toolbox. According to the Happy’s Helpers associates app on his phone, he’d spent about four hours on the job, which included the drive out, and he could add on another forty-five minutes for the return trip. Based on the rate he’d quoted, the app calculated the amount due.
Witt eyed the figure, then glanced at Maddie. Shifting from foot to foot, she chewed her lower lip. She gripped a checkbook like she could choke it to death.
Remember, Witt, “The labourer is worthy of his reward.” The line from First Timothy was a favorite of Carl Anderson’s, his counselor at the transitional home. If you don’t acknowledge your God-given value, how can you expect others to respect you?
Easier said than done, in Witt’s case. Besides, it didn’t take a mind reader to surmise the dog sanctuary was struggling, and it made his gnawingly empty stomach hurt even worse to ask Ms. McNeill to stretch her slim budget any further. Problem was, the handyman service would take their cut of the actual total no matter what. And Witt had less than two months to put aside enough money for a rental deposit on his own place before his time was up at the transitional home.
If he didn’t succeed—
Dear God, I’ve come this far. Please don’t let me end up on the streets again.
* * *
Maddie held her breath as she waited for Witt to give her the total. He frowned and scratched his head and squinted at his phone so long that she wondered if maybe he’d forgotten his reading glasses.
She ventured closer. “Is there a problem?”
“No, I’m...ah...just calculating your discount.”
“My discount?” That was unexpected.
“Yeah, last job on a Friday always means ten percent off. So it comes to...” He tapped some buttons on his phone, then read her the amount. “Make it payable to Happy’s Helpers, then put ‘Witt’ in the memo.”
Since when did a repair business give discounts for the last job on a Friday? Usually they wanted extra if the work bled into their weekend, but she wasn’t about to argue. She wrote the check, then tore it out and handed it to him. “I appreciate all you did, but now you’ll never make it back to Missoula tonight. About all I can offer is a hot meal and a place to sleep. There’s a room over the barn where a hired man used to stay. It hasn’t been used in a while, but it has heat and plumbing.”
Witt shot her a grateful smile. “That’s more than I could have asked for or expected. Thank you.”
“You should go on up and get the heater cranking. As soon as I settle the dogs for the night, I’ll start supper and find some bedding and towels for you.”
“I can help with the dogs.” A wistful look filled those shadowed eyes. “In fact, I’d enjoy it.”
She could hardly say no to a man who’d proven so kind and accommodating. With a shrug, she showed him into the kennel kitchen. A whiteboard over the counter listed each dog’s diet, so it was easy enough to get him started filling kibble bowls while she returned the two displaced dogs to their runs, then meted out medications and supplements. With both of them working, they finished quickly.
After the dogs had eaten and taken care of business, Maddie instructed Witt on how she cleaned the runs and disposed of waste. That done, she gave the kennel one last check, then bade the dogs good-night and dimmed the overhead lights.
Bracing herself for the blowing snow, she zipped up her coat. Witt did the same. They tromped through foot-deep drifts to the barn, where Maddie fed the horses and refreshed the shavings in their stalls. Outside again, she pointed Witt to the wooden stairs next to the barn door. “The loft’s unlocked. After you get the heater going, come on to the house while the room warms up.”
His brows drew together. He gave his head a doubtful shake. “That’s your home, ma’am. I can’t impose.”
“And I can’t let you freeze to death. It’s too cold out here to argue. I’ll expect you at my kitchen door in ten minutes.” Snow blurring her vision, she bustled across the yard.
After leaving her coat, cap and boots in the mudroom and shaking out her tangled hair, she padded in sock feet to the pantry in search of something she could serve a cold and hungry handyman. Canned chili and beans would do the trick. She found a box of corn muffin mix, too. By the time she had the chili on the stove and muffins in the oven, she glimpsed Witt slogging through the snow toward the back door. She tapped on the window over the sink and signaled him to let himself in.
Shortly, he stepped in from the mudroom. He looked different without his jacket and baseball cap, and the sight of a man in her kitchen—a rather handsome, clean-shaven man, graying at the temples—made her heart stammer.
She roughly cleared her throat and turned to stir the chili. “Supper’s cooking. Bathroom’s down the hall if you’d like to wash up. I’ve got to run down to the basement and tend to a couple more dogs.”
Witt gave a disbelieving laugh. “You have more dogs?”
“These have special needs, so I keep them close.”
“If there’s anything I can do—”
“Give the chili a stir, if you would. And make sure the corn muffins don’t burn. I set a timer, but my oven gets a little flaky.” At the basement door, she smiled over her shoulder. “Thanks. I shouldn’t be long.”
Maybe she should be more uncomfortable about allowing a strange man into her house, much less leaving him upstairs while she ventured alone to the basement. At least if he followed her down and wanted to try anything, the rear corner of the basement was on a downhill slope and she could escape into the fenced backyard.
“You’re being paranoid,” she muttered. If Witt had evil intentions toward her, he could just as easily have acted on them in the kennel or the barn.
A soft whimper came from the dog crate across from the steps. Poor little Phoebe, an eleven-year-old bichon frise mix, had come to the sanctuary with a case of ringworm, large bald patches marring her fluffy white coat. Meds and ointments had helped tremendously, and hopefully in another few days Maddie could start socializing Phoebe with other dogs her size.
Once she’d seen to the little dog’s needs, she washed her hands at the basement sink, then prepared a bowl of food for her other problem dog. Every day for the past five months, she’d hoped in vain for a breakthrough with the reclusive creature who could rarely be coaxed from the farthest corner of his pen. He’d come to the sanctuary with no collar and no history, other than that he’d been found running loose in downtown Missoula about a year ago. When the no-kill shelter where he’d been taken had declared him unadoptable because of his chronic depression and withdrawal, her friend Julia, who volunteered veterinary services for the shelter, suggested they call Maddie.
Julia guessed the black-and-tan dog to be part German shepherd, possibly with some kind of long-haired working dog mixed in. Bear, as the shelter had named him, would have been a handsome fellow in his prime, but eating barely enough to stay alive, he was a good ten pounds underweight. Try as she might, Maddie had made little to no progress rehabilitating him.
She expected no different tonight as she carried Bear’s bowl to the pen. So when she saw him standing at the gate, ears pricked and his full attention focused overhead, she gasped in surprise. “Hey, boy, what is it?”
The dog glanced her way, then toward the basement stairs. He let out a sharp bark—a sound she’d never heard from him in all the months he’d been here.
As she eased open the gate to his pen, the door at the top of the stairs creaked. “Ms. McNeill? The corn muffins are out. Can I—”
Barking wildly, Bear charged past Maddie, and the bowl of kibble went flying. She regained her footing in time to see the dog bounding up the steps. Next came the thud of two bodies colliding. From the bottom of the stairs, all Maddie could see was a fiercely wagging tail and the soles of Witt’s gray wool socks.
What just happened here? Maddie knew from painful experience that she wasn’t always the best judge of a man’s character, but...could Bear have sensed something sinister about the handyman that she’d completely missed? Worried more for the dog’s safety than her own, she seized the nearest thing to a weapon she could find—the heavy, enamel-coated metal bowl she used for custom-blending dog food—and crept up the stairs ready to strike.
Chapter Two
“Hey, hey! Take it easy, fella!” Witt clutched at the cheek fur of the black-and-tan beast that had him pinned to the floor. He turned his face away from the dog’s hot breath and the slobbery tongue scraping across his cheeks.
Ranger?
“It is you! I can’t believe it!”
Beyond the dog’s shoulder, a mass of copper hair appeared at the top of the basement steps. Wielding a lethal-looking bowl, Maddie lunged for Ranger’s collar. “Bear, stop! What’s gotten into you?”
By now, Witt was laughing hysterically, while happy tears poured from his eyes. Arms wrapped around Ranger, who yipped like a puppy and hadn’t quit licking his face, he tried to sit up. “This is my dog. I lost him over two years ago.”
“What? Are you sure?”
“Not a doubt in the world.” Taking a moment to catch his breath, Witt looked deep into the warm brown eyes of the dog who’d literally saved his life that snowy December day and then was hauled away by the animal control officer. “His name’s Ranger, because when I found him, he—we were both—” His throat closed over the words he couldn’t bring himself to say: Lost. Lonely. Forsaken.
Collapsing to the floor, Maddie sat back on her heels and shook her head. “I’m stunned. He’d been so depressed that I’d all but given up hope of ever seeing a spark of life in him. All this time, he was missing you.”
As if to convince her he was fine now, Ranger whirled around to bestow a few doggy kisses on Maddie. Instantly, the dog was all over Witt again.
The clatter of a pot lid sounded behind them.
“Oh, no, the chili.” Maddie scrambled to her feet and hurried to the stove.
Witt’s hunger had been all but forgotten at the sight of his dog. As both his and Ranger’s initial rush of elation ebbed, he could no longer stem his emotions. A sob burst from his chest. He buried his face in the dog’s fur. “Ranger. My sweet boy Ranger.”
Maddie’s hand settled on his shoulder, tender and reassuring. “Are you okay?”
He looked up with a shaky but grateful smile. “Better than I’ve been in quite a while.”
“Well, I rescued the chili, and we should eat the corn muffins while they’re hot. Let me go down and get Bear’s—excuse me, Ranger’s food, and we can all have supper together.”
By the time Maddie brought the meal to the table, Witt’s appetite had returned with a vengeance. The not-too-spicy chili and corn muffins with butter and honey hit the spot.
Maddie had set Ranger’s bowl on the floor near Witt’s chair, and the dog chowed down with gusto. “Not so fast, boy,” she cautioned with a laugh. “There’s more where that came from.”
Witt kept glancing at Ranger to reassure himself this was real. Countless nights he’d dreamed of reuniting with his dog, only to awaken and find himself alone. Worse were the nightmares when his brain conjured up all the horrible things that could have happened to Ranger. What if somebody with a mean streak had claimed him? What if he’d run away again and was fending for himself in unfriendly back alleys? What if he’d come to a cruel and untimely end?
“How?” he asked, awe in his tone. “How’d you come by him?”
She described how dogs typically came to her through local veterinarians and animal shelters. “My vet, who’s also a good friend, happened upon him at one of the shelters. When he wouldn’t eat and wouldn’t make up to anyone, I became his last resort.”
“Praise the Lord you could take him.” Witt’s voice broke. He shifted sideways to give Ranger another cuddle. “And that you hadn’t given up.”
“I don’t give up easily,” she stated. “And never on one of my dogs.”
He met her firm gaze. “I got that about you right away.”
Her glance wavered. She fiddled with her crumpled napkin. “At least I haven’t so far. But unless—” She cut herself off with a head shake and pushed away from the table. “I should get started on these dishes.”
“Let me help.” Gathering his bowl, glass and flatware, Witt followed her to the sink.
She relieved him of the dishes as the sink filled with sudsy hot water. “I’ll finish these later. The loft should be all warmed up by now, so I’ll get you some supplies, and you can...” She hesitated, looking from him to Ranger, who was pressed against his knee. “You two won’t stand for being parted again, will you?”
He chuckled. “I think not.”
“Then you’d better take Ranger’s bed and water bowl. His kennel’s in the far corner of the basement, near the door to the backyard, if you don’t mind running down to get them.”
“Sure thing.” Like there’d be any chance the old boy would be sleeping on the floor instead of snuggled on the bed next to Witt. How he’d missed draping his arm across that warm, furry body every night.
Ranger stayed right next to him as he made his way downstairs. He paused to greet a little white dog who appeared chipper and well-fed despite the healing skin lesions. Maddie McNeill clearly took good care of her animals. It wasn’t her fault Ranger hadn’t fared as well.
Overhead, the floor creaked beneath Maddie’s footsteps. Witt glanced up, his attention caught by sagging joists, a sign of worse problems to come. Should he say anything? She might think he was only trolling for more business—maybe even trying to cheat her. He shuddered and clamped down on a repulsive memory.
But if one of those joists were to break, she could be hurt, or worse, and Witt couldn’t live with that. Best case, she’d be saddled with some pretty expensive repairs, and she’d dropped more than a few hints today about her cash flow problem.
You’re needed here, Witt.
Maybe so, but he couldn’t work for nothing. He had to afford a place of his own—a place for him and Ranger now—because his two years at the transitional home would end June 1.
He clenched his jaw. He’d have to leave Ranger here until then, if Maddie didn’t mind. Maybe she’d let him visit on the weekends. He could trade odd jobs around the place for Ranger’s care.
“Finding everything okay?” she called from the top of the stairs.
“Yes, ma’am, be right up.” Reaching into Ranger’s pen, he grabbed the stainless-steel water bowl and a soft, fuzzy dog bed.
He emptied the bowl into the sink near the stairs, then headed up, careful not to be tripped by the dog glued to his side. It was as if Ranger wanted to make sure Witt never left his sight again. The feeling was mutual.
In the kitchen, Maddie had stuffed an oversize paper shopping bag with bedding and other supplies. “The snow’s let up a bit, but it’s pretty deep out there. Think you can make it across to the barn?”
“It’s a straight shot. We’ll do fine.” As he set the dog bowl in the top of the bag, the floor creaked underfoot, and his thoughts returned to the structural problems he’d noticed in the basement. Tomorrow would be soon enough to approach Maddie about his trade-off idea. He’d do just about anything in his power to repay this woman for her kindness toward both him and his beloved dog.
* * *
Maddie watched from the mudroom door as Witt and his dog plodded through the drifts, the automatic yard lights illuminating their way through the deepening dark. What kind of a God thing was it that the very person she’d hired to repair the kennel roof should turn out to be the answer to her prayers about Bear?
Ranger, she corrected herself.
And half-hearted prayers at that, because most days she wasn’t so certain God even listened.
She turned with a sigh. If this is Your doing, Lord, then thanks. I’m glad for Witt and Ranger. Now, if You could show me how to keep this place going on a shoestring budget, please? Because these dogs need me.
Truth be told, she needed them. Most of the dogs had been around since before her grandmother had passed away, including Joey, the white shepherd mix. He’d been Nana’s favorite, and he’d known she’d died even before Maddie. One afternoon last fall, his mournful howls had alerted her as she’d been cleaning out dog runs. She’d gone to see what the matter was, only to find Nana collapsed on the kennel kitchen floor, her face serene but lifeless.
Distraught, Maddie had called 911, but the EMTs assured her there was nothing she could have done. The cause was later confirmed as hemorrhagic stroke, and death had followed almost instantly. It was small comfort.
She returned to the dishes she’d left soaking and made quick work of them. In the morning she’d have to figure out something to feed Witt for breakfast. Since she’d missed her chance to run to the market before the snow blew in, oatmeal would have to do.
