Page 2 of Wag More Bark Less

Except my first guest booked a full fucking month.

With the pup that failed training.

I had no qualms with dogs. I loved dogs.

There was still a Wicket-sized hole in my heart I suspected would never fully heal. He’d been my best friend growing up. Every time I considered adopting a new pup, grief sucker-punched me right in the gut before I could go through with it. Someday, I hoped that awful feeling would weaken.

Until then, I got my dog fix from Husker, my sister’s pup. Even if the blond husky did shed like it was his life’s mission, his heart was in the right place.

I gingerly pulled open the front screen door, stepping across the threshold with an eye for alternate exits. I kept the large crow in my sightline. Far as I could tell, it didn’t appear to be injured. No blood, not favoring a leg. In fact, it looked right at home atop Dana’s floral-patterned couch.

My boot caught on the runner rug with my second step, and the bird raised its tucked wings in warning as it watched me.

“Be careful!” Dana shrieked, startling the bird further. It let out a warning caaaaw as it flapped its wings wide. The lamp beside the couch wobbled at the contact of rustled feathers.

Dana gasped, not at all quiet about it. As though the bird had just insulted her prize-winning chili.

“Mrs. Wilcox, I need you to remain calm,” I said over my shoulder, my tone even as the lamp settled. I kicked the upturned corner of the rug back into place. “Can you do that for me?”

“Only if that rascal doesn’t break my Pairpoint lamp. Dennis bought that for me on our fortieth wedding anniversary.”

She sounded less afraid now and more like she might march inside and take a broom to the bird. It was a good thing I left animal control out of this matter. That surly man would probably insist I take Dana away in handcuffs for making an implied threat. That argument could easily eat away an afternoon.

The crow eyed me as I moved into the house, headed for the kitchen. It might’ve been curious or it might’ve been plotting my demise; it was anyone’s guess.

My phone pinged again, twice this time.

“Come the fuck on,” I muttered under my breath.

“What was that?” Dana asked from the front porch. The ears of a teacher never lose their superhuman strength.

“Nothing, Mrs. Wilcox. Stay there, please.”

I considered, not for the first time since my irritating tenant started blowing up my phone, whether I should sell the duplex and buy a single cabin with a view of the lake. One perched atop a hill so I at least had some warning if someone wanted to disturb my peace. Though it was nice to have my mortgage payment covered, I was nearly at my limit for dealing with renters. What once seemed like a wise business decision now seemed more like a headache I couldn’t shake.

Several pings came through rapid fire, and my boot caught on the opposite corner of the runner rug. For the second time, I nearly stumbled forward. My palm caught the staircase banister, but the intruder was not amused.

The bird hopped off the back of the couch and onto the middle cushion, tracking my every movement.

Dana muttered a whole host of curses from the porch about the cost of replacing custom fabrics. I pressed my lips together to hide my smile. The woman lacked a filter, freely expressing her opinions to anyone and everyone without a second thought to holding them back. But it took a lot to truly piss this woman off. The crow had managed it. I couldn’t decide whether I liked the bird better for it or not.

To say the Dana Wilcoxes of Bluebell Springs were a thorn in my side was the understatement of the century. But my vow to serve and protect the citizens of this mountainside town included all of them, no matter how eccentric, meddlesome, or irritating. And this town had them all.

At last, I spotted the jar of peanuts on the kitchen counter amid an array of canned goods and produce from a fresh grocery trip. The lid rested beside the canister. Had Dana been enjoying a snack before a bird crashed through her living room window?

The sightline from the broken window to the kitchen counter was clear and direct. Coincidence? Doubtful.

I’d no sooner reached for the canister than the crow appeared in the doorway, its head tilted. It reminded me of a dog expecting a treat. As though it’d been looking for the peanuts all along.

I tossed a single unsalted nut, and it landed at the bird’s feet.

The crow quickly snatched it up, then looked at me expectantly.

“You like these, huh?”

Light on my booted feet, I shuffled backward, headed for the door through the laundry room off the kitchen. I tossed another peanut, this one a few feet farther into the kitchen, and the crow leapt toward it.

My phone pinged again as I pressed my back against the screen door to open it, and the bird stilled. I didn’t dare reach into my pocket to silence it, despite the multiple chimes in a row. Not now. Not when I was so close to convincing the feathered creature to exit the premises.