A Steadfast Companion, page 5
As Maddie riffled through the mail, a business envelope drew her attention. It bore the logo of a Missoula pet supply store that supported Eventide both financially and with gifts in kind. Hopeful the envelope contained a sizable check, she tore open the flap.
But when she read the enclosed letter, printed on official company stationery, her heart sank. “No. Oh, no, no, no.”
Witt sidled closer. “Bad news?”
She thrust the page at him, then sank into the nearest chair and dropped her head into her hands.
Behind her, he read the words: ...re-evaluating the direction of our charitable giving...decision has been made to discontinue contributions to Eventide Dog Sanctuary...our sincere regrets...
“Oh, Maddie, I’m so sorry.” He plopped into a chair.
“This is my fault. Nana would never have let this happen.” She sniffed and sat back, her gaze sweeping the ceiling as if she’d find answers there.
Lips pursed, Witt massaged his jaw. “Maybe if you called them, spoke to someone directly—”
“That’s just it. I’m terrible at public relations—especially asking for money.” A sob caught in her throat. “All I want is to live a quiet life and take care of my dogs. I don’t have it in me to give fundraising speeches or sweet-talk business owners into writing big checks.”
“Is that what your grandmother did?”
“Yes, but much more gracefully than I made it sound.” She blew out a sharp sigh. “Nana was inspiring. She knew how to invite others into her vision for Eventide so that they wanted to contribute.”
Ranger whined and rested his chin on Witt’s knee. He gave the dog a loving scratch behind the ears. “Yeah, boy, I know. We’ll have to think of something.”
His choice of words caught her attention. “We?”
He blinked. “Sorry, didn’t mean to presume. It’s just... I’ve seen firsthand the difference you’re making in these dogs’ lives.” Glancing away, he murmured, “Mine, too.”
A look in his eye, a shift in his posture, a word softly spoken...he hid it well most of the time, but there were moments when Witt’s brokenness revealed itself in a way that stabbed Maddie’s heart. She could only wonder about the tragic turn of events that had once nearly destroyed this good man.
And here she sat fretting over the loss of one Eventide supporter. She had a brain and a voice. If she cared for her dogs as much as she claimed to, certainly she could step out of her comfort zone now and then to keep donations coming in—even if the mere thought made her stomach cramp.
She steeled her spine. “You’re right, Witt—we’ll think of something. I don’t know what yet, but we can’t let these dogs down.”
His smile returned. “That’s the spirit. Anything I can do to help, you only have to ask.”
“I will. And Witt?” She waited for him to meet her gaze. “You’re making a difference in my life, too.”
“That’s kind of you to say.” With a rough clear of his throat, he stood. “I’d best get on with chores. Those kennel pups will be wanting their supper pretty soon.”
“I’ll be out as soon as I finish with the mail.”
When he and Ranger had gone, she perused the usual assortment of ads and junk mail, then tossed most of it in the recycling bin. Elk Valley was too small to have its own recycling service, but once a month or so, she toted her accumulation to a drop-off in Missoula.
She deposited the rest of the mail on her desk in the study, then opened her sketch pad. After that first day, when she’d attempted to capture Witt’s expressive eyes on a piece of scratch paper, she’d hoped to improve on her efforts. She laid the original sketch next to the new one. Incredible that in only a week’s time, she discerned the subtle changes in him.
Turning to another page, she examined her first drawing of Ranger, the drooping head and listless eyes so different from the dog he was today. It was definitely time for a new portrait. She’d start tonight.
* * *
Later that evening, Witt propped up his pillows, turned on the bedside lamp and made room for Ranger alongside him on top of the quilt. He’d planned to do some reading, but he couldn’t get Maddie off his mind. As they’d taken care of kennel chores and then had supper together, she’d said nothing more about the letter. He could tell she was scared, though, and more worried about the future of Eventide Dog Sanctuary than she dared admit.
He couldn’t help worrying, too. If Eventide failed, it would break Maddie’s heart. And not only would all the animals be displaced but so would he. With Ranger by his side again, not to mention twenty-plus other dogs and a couple of horses to shower with affection, this was his home now. He couldn’t lose it. Not again.
Heaving a sigh, he opened the mystery novel he’d borrowed from Maddie’s bookshelf a few days ago. He’d been marking his place with a folded piece of scrap paper Maddie must have left between the pages. He hadn’t paid much attention to the scrap, but now, out of idle curiosity, he took a closer look. On the outside, it appeared nothing more than an old grocery list—milk, eggs, soup, crackers...
But when he spread open the paper and flipped it over, the pencil sketch of a dog looked back at him. With one eye squinting, tongue hanging out and ears cocked, there was no mistaking the subject—Rocky, the mischievous three-legged beagle mix from the kennel. In a few deft strokes, the artist had captured the dog’s sassy expression perfectly.
He flipped back to the shopping list. The handwriting looked like Maddie’s. Was the sketch hers, too? If so, she had real talent, and he was eager to ask her about it.
Finding something else to use as a bookmark, he tucked the sketch into the pocket of the flannel shirt he’d laid out for tomorrow. Then, as best he could, he set his mind to unraveling the clues in the mystery novel.
The next morning, he was already at work in the kennel when Maddie came out. Yawning, she joined him in the kitchen, where he was measuring kibble into bowls. “You don’t have to do everything around here, Witt. Otherwise, I’ll start thinking I’m irrelevant.”
“Never in a million years.” He shook out two of Joey’s joint supplement chews and placed them atop the dog’s food.
Later, with the dogs sniffing around or chasing each other in the play yard, Witt pulled the folded scrap of paper from his pocket and nonchalantly handed it to Maddie. “Found this in the book I borrowed. Thought it might be important.”
“An old shopping list?” She scoffed. “Hardly.”
He stopped her before she could wad it up to discard. “Actually, I was referring to what’s inside.”
Casting a frown his way, she unfolded the paper. A small gasp escaped. “Oh, this. I’d forgotten all about it.” With a crooked grin, she added, “That Rocky’s such a character.”
“And you’re quite the artist.”
“Oh, please. Doodling is just a habit I fall back on when I need to de-stress.” Turning her attention to the dogs, she called, “Joey, be gentle with Phoebe. You’re a lot bigger than she is.”
He wasn’t going to let her shut down the topic so easily. “That sketch hardly qualifies as a doodle. Are there more?”
“A few.” Her indifferent shrug barely disguised the tension across her shoulders. She strode over to where one of the dogs was rolling in something. “Keep it up, Boots, and you’ll earn yourself a bath this afternoon.”
The toothless black-and-tan sheltie with four white paws immediately got up and sauntered off.
“I’d like to see them,” Witt called across the yard.
“See what?”
“Your drawings.”
“I told you, they’re just doodles.” She clapped her hands. “Come on, gang, time for naps.”
Stubborn woman. Was she merely being modest, or was there another reason she didn’t want to share her art?
As they returned the dogs to their runs, Witt got a handyman call and needed to head into Missoula. Ranger already looked forward to riding shotgun on these trips and was good about waiting for him in the pickup or, if it was an outdoor job, staying close by but out of the way.
This job involved repairing and staining a backyard deck, which likely meant two or three workdays. And a nice little check upon completion. Parking in the driveway of the attractive split-level home, Witt did his usual gut check. While he’d come to love working for Happy’s Helpers, he’d had to get past the fact that most of his clients enjoyed the lifestyle he’d forfeited all those years ago—and not merely the well-appointed suburban home, professionally landscaped lawn and a couple of shiny late-model cars in the driveway. Those were merely the outward symbols of success.
For Witt, the real loss had been the love and respect of his wife, his children, his friends. He’d burned too many bridges to ever hope for their forgiveness. Now, all he could do was lean into God’s mercy and continue rebuilding some semblance of respect for himself.
Next question—ring the front doorbell, or go around back? He gave Ranger a pat. “Better stay here till I get the lay of the land.”
He’d just stepped from the pickup when a tall, silver-haired man came down the front steps. “You must be Witt. Hi, I’m David Caldwell.”
“Yes, sir, I understand you need some deck work.” He gestured up the driveway. “Around back?”
Nodding, Mr. Caldwell glanced in the pickup window. “Brought a helper, I see. Your dog’s welcome to come along.”
Witt liked the guy already. He opened the passenger door for Ranger, then hefted his toolbox from the pickup bed and followed the man up the driveway.
At the rear of the house, an aging wooden deck jutted out on four-foot support posts. A slender woman, her long dark hair in a ponytail, was moving potted plants off the deck. Mr. Caldwell introduced her as his wife, Alicia. She looked his way with a warm smile. “Hello. I’m glad you were available so quickly. Our son used to take care of the yearly maintenance, but he’s living in Texas now.”
A quick inspection proved quality workmanship and regular upkeep. However, winter had taken a toll on the steps and a few of the boards. One of the support posts had gotten a little wobbly, too. After taking measurements and jotting some notes, Witt headed to the builders’ supply. Returning with wood, deck screws and two cans of water-repellent stain, he set to work.
It was turning into a warm spring day, and by noon he was peeling off his flannel shirt and mopping his brow with the sleeve of his gray T-shirt. About that time, the Caldwells carried out trays of sandwiches, chips and canned drinks.
“Thought you might be ready for some lunch.” Mrs. Caldwell arranged the food on the glass-top patio table they’d moved under a shade tree.
In the meantime, her husband refreshed the water bowl Witt had brought for Ranger. “Feel free to wash up in the house. The powder room is just off the kitchen.”
“Thanks. This is real nice of you.” Witt kicked off his work boots and left them by the door as he went inside.
When he returned, Mr. Caldwell was fawning over Ranger, and the dog was eating up the attention. Over lunch, the Caldwells asked how Ranger had come into Witt’s life. He couldn’t give a full answer without admitting his former homelessness, but their kindness quickly put him at ease, and the more he talked, the less inclined he was to gloss over that part of the story.
The part he loved telling most was how he’d been reunited with Ranger when Maddie called him out for a job at her dog sanctuary, and then the Caldwells wanted to hear all about that.
“She’s doing a wonderful thing for those dogs,” he said, then remembered he’d rescued the sketch of Rocky from the trash can after they’d finished in the kennel that morning. He reached for his flannel shirt and plucked the scrap of paper from the pocket. After smoothing it out on the table, he showed the sketch to Mrs. Caldwell. “Here’s a drawing Maddie did of one of the pups.”
“What a cutie! Look, David. Wouldn’t it be fun to have an artist at the fair who could do on-the-spot drawings of people’s pets?” She turned to Witt. “Our church hosts an annual Memorial Day arts and crafts event. I realize it’s last-minute, but do you think she’d be interested?”
“I don’t know...” He couldn’t forget Maddie’s evasiveness about the sketch.
“Would you ask her, though? Animal lovers can be big spenders when it comes to their fur babies. Our vendors keep seventy-five percent of their sales, and it’s just a hundred dollars to rent a booth.”
His ears had perked up at the mention of the vendors’ percentage, but the cost of the booth would be a deal breaker. “Her finances are kind of tight right now. The booth rental would be a stretch.” And that didn’t count persuading her to take the risk and share her talent.
Mrs. Caldwell pulled her lower lip between her teeth. “As the committee chair, I have some leeway about discounting or even waiving the booth fee. Please, will you at least ask her? I’m sure we can work something out.”
All he could do was try. And this opportunity did seem like yet another answered prayer. Lord, if this is how You want to help Maddie keep caring for those dogs, You’ll have to help me convince her.
* * *
“No! Absolutely, positively no!” Cast-iron skillet in hand, Maddie stomped to the pantry. Good thing Witt had already fixed the floor, or she might have ended up in the basement with a broken leg—or worse. At the moment, she was seriously considering using the skillet on Witt’s thick head.
“Come on, Maddie, it’s a chance to raise a little money for the dogs. Would you at least look at the brochure Mrs. Caldwell gave me?”
She set the skillet on a shelf, then waved away the shiny trifold he was brandishing and stepped around him. “You are entirely too presumptuous. And too nosy. And too...a whole lot of other words I’m too much of a lady to say.” At the sink, she pulled the stopper and watched the dishwater drain out. To herself, she muttered, “Give the man an inch and he takes a mile.”
Behind her, he’d gone silent except for his annoyed breaths. Well, let him be annoyed. He had no right butting into her business. Maybe if she ignored him long enough, he’d take the hint and leave.
“I’m not leaving till you sit down and listen to me, Maddie McNeill.”
A low growl rumbling in her throat, she slowly turned to face him. “All right, Angus,” she began, having quickly learned how the use of his given name raised his hackles, “say your piece if you must. But it won’t change my mind.”
He disappointed her with barely a flinch, then waited for her to return to her chair before taking his seat. Ranger dropped to his haunches beside Witt and glared at Maddie with the same intensity as his master.
Great. Two against one.
Fingers laced in her lap, she sat back and challenged the meddlesome handyman with a direct gaze of her own.
Releasing a weary sigh, he closed his eyes and dipped his chin as if praying. He ought to pray she wouldn’t evict him over this. When he looked up again, his expression had softened. “Maddie, I just want to help. If you can dash off such a realistic sketch of Rocky on a tiny scrap of paper, imagine what others would be willing to pay for a professional drawing of their pets. Mrs. Caldwell thinks you could easily ask twenty dollars apiece, fifteen of which is yours to keep. Even if you had only ten customers—and she expects you’d have a lot more takers—that’s an easy hundred and fifty dollars. Tell me it wouldn’t be worth it.”
“Easy? Easy?” Her stomach heaved at the very thought. “I can’t put myself out there like that. It’s—it’s too much pressure. And I’m certainly no professional. What if I...”
“Fail? Not gonna happen.” With a gentle laugh, he pulled something from his pocket—the grocery list with Rocky’s sketch on the back that she distinctly recalled tossing in the trash can that morning—and laid it on the table in front of her. “I’m no art connoisseur, but I know what I like.” He jabbed pencil-Rocky’s nose with his index finger. “This is good, really good, and don’t try to deny it.”
She couldn’t, not if she was being honest with herself. Even so, she couldn’t imagine why anyone would willingly pay twenty dollars for a simple pencil sketch.
Biting her lip, she stood. “You should probably look at some of my other drawings before you pass judgment on whatever talent I may or may not have.”
His self-satisfied expression said he’d won—the opening skirmish, anyway. Convincing her to sign up for the church fair would be an uphill battle.
On their way to the study, she realized he’d stopped in the living room, his attention captured by Nana’s watercolor portrait of Stormy, a gray-muzzled Lab mix and one of Eventide’s first residents. “This is beautiful,” he breathed, then pointed to the signature. “Sorcha Madigan?”
“Yes, my grandmother. I’m named for her. Madigan... Maddie. It’s an old Irish surname meaning ‘little dog.’” She gave a muted laugh. “Fitting, huh?”
“I like it.” His warm smile made her pulse beat a little faster. “Artistic talent obviously runs in the family.”
She looked away before he could notice the flames rushing up her cheeks.
Flicking on the light in the study, she strode over to the desk. Then, as she was about to hand Witt the sketchbook, she remembered it contained the unfinished drawing of him. She hugged the book to her chest. “Maybe you should let me pick out the best ones to show you.”
“Okay.” He stretched the word out in a dubious tone as he moved a straight-back side chair closer. Ranger sprawled on the floor beside him.
Taking her seat, she swiveled his direction just enough that he couldn’t see as she paged through the sketchbook. Each time she found a drawing she was particularly happy with, she turned it around to show him. After presenting eight or ten sketches, she closed the book and tucked it away in a drawer. “So now you’ve seen my doodles.”
Hands braced on his thighs, he leaned toward her, his expression hardening. “If I ever again hear you referring to those works of art as doodles, so help me—” He clamped his lips together, then took a deep breath before continuing in a kinder tone. “You may not be the fundraiser your grandmother was, but there’s money in your drawings. Maddie, please, you have to sign up for the fair. Consider it an experiment, a trial run just to see how it goes. It’s one weekend, not a lifetime commitment.”
