Page 4 of Wag More Bark Less

TWO

MAGGIE

“Of course the code doesn’t work,” I muttered as the keypad device warned me I’d made too many attempts. As of now, I was officially locked out, and the vacation rental host wasn’t responding to my messages.

Unbelievable.

I’d been going round half the day with the exasperating man about Ellie and her credentials, but I thought the matter was settled an hour ago when we agreed he could meet my dog in person. I hadn’t anticipated him going AWOL and holding the code hostage.

If I didn’t have to pee so badly, I’d be more irritated about his insufferable argument. One that contradicted his clearly listed pet-acceptance policy. It wasn’t my fault he forgot to update the terms before I booked the condo and paid the deposit. And how was one supposed to prove that their dog was not a chewer, anyway?

I offered to send him pictures of my luggage, the interior of my car, and her basket full of socks to prove everything was intact. I probably went a step too far when I proposed providing a notarized non-chewer certificate from the Department of Barketing, but I was simply meeting him at his own level of ridiculousness.

But I had a more pressing matter to deal with than my MIA host.

My bladder was full to the brim with forty ounces of Dr. Pepper, courtesy of the last gas station’s ninety-nine-cent sale on their mega gulp fountain drinks. I considered myself a person with strong willpower. But when it came to a road trip, those damn gas station fountain drinks and a good sale, I was the weakest person alive.

I sat on the porch swing—the perk that made me book this rental instantly—and crossed my legs as tightly as I could. I rocked back and forth, biting down on my bottom lip as I pictured Ellie and me out on this front porch day after day. After the last few weeks of utter chaos, I was ready to just take a freaking breath.

Dammit, I really had to pee.

I forced myself to focus on the pile of luggage in front of me—the oversized dog bed that would likely go unused because Ellie much preferred human beds to her own; the three suitcases that contained the majority of my fall wardrobe since I had no idea if the shipping container would actually arrive with the rest of my clothes before I made it to my final destination; the wicker basket full of a random assortment of socks that Ellie was already sniffing at, probably because she sensed how on edge I was.

“Sorry, Ellie Belly. The lid’s staying on until we get our stuff inside.” I could just imagine the look of disdain I’d get if the host showed up and there were socks strewn all over the front porch. He’d no doubt claim it was proof my dog was a menace.

Crossing my legs tighter, I typed out yet another message I suspected would go unanswered, warning him I was at DEFCON level one.

Silence.

Of course it was silence.

After the final failed plea, I gave up. Standing, I shoved my phone in my back jeans pocket and left the porch behind. I surveyed the neighborhood hoping for a single friendly face—there was no time to backtrack downtown. I wouldn’t make it. But the quaint neighborhood lined with cabins and condos, illuminated by a beautiful array of autumn colors, was oddly deserted.

Just my luck.

My Bernese mountain dog shepherd mix looked up at me, then back toward a bush off the covered front porch, and back again.

“My teeth might be floating, but I do have limits, Ellie Belly.”

She let out a heavy sigh, as though annoyed at my easy dismissal of what she no doubt considered a practical solution.

A distinct mechanical creak echoed faintly, and I searched the area for the opening door.

“I’m saved!”

Directly across the street, an elderly man stepped out onto his front porch. My shoulders sagged with the kind of relief that could bring someone to tears. Though I was above hiding behind a bush when my host could show up mid-squat, I wasn’t above begging a stranger to use their restroom.

“C’mon,” I said to Ellie, clipping on her leash before she could grumble about it. If she had it her way, she’d incinerate every last leash in existence.

I hurried across the street, praying to all the gods that I didn’t pee myself on the way.

“Good afternoon,” I called to the man after he finished locking his front door and turned around. It was clear the elderly gentleman was on his way out, but I refused to give up hope. With any luck, Ellie would charm him with one of her affable puppy-dog stares, and he wouldn’t even notice me slipping inside in search of a restroom. I was that desperate. “Or I guess it’s almost evening, isn’t it?”

“Can I help you?” he asked, his gruff tone rightfully suspicious as he adjusted the Korean Veteran ball cap perched on his head. It matched the insignia on his jacket.

“I’m Maggie. I’m staying at that condo across the street.”

“Ah, Luke’s new tenant, then?”