Sheltered Hearts (A Hidden Hearts Novel Book 2) Read online

  I’ve worked with dogs long enough, it only takes me a matter of seconds to size up the situation and when I do, my rage kicks into high gear. Before I can fully engage my brain, I take off into a dead sprint and run toward the bright orange sport utility vehicle.

  “Ugh! That’s not what I meant!” Stuart calls after me as he jogs around me and runs ahead of me with a pair of blunt nosed scissors and an emesis basin. “What is it about these dogs that makes you lose your ever loving mind?” he wonders, as he stops beside the passenger’s door.

  When I reach the Jeep, I’m so anxious to reach the dog that I practically rip the hinges off the door. I want to kick my own butt. I know better. I probably just freaked out the dog.

  The woman occupant of the car shrieks in surprise at my abrupt intrusion. I hear a strange huffing noise and a growl unlike any I’ve heard. Like a shape-shifter from the movies, the shepherd mix which had been casually looking out the window moments before, is now fiercely standing over her and challenging me to take one step closer.

  “Call your dog off!” I command as I freeze in place, not wanting to agitate the dog any further. Every indication of that dog’s body language shows that if I make one false move, I could be spending the night at the hospital being treated for severe dog bites. That certainly is not my idea of fun. I’ve done it before; I just don’t want to do it today. As we have our silent stare down, I take the opportunity to study the dog’s predicament a little more closely. What I see makes me angrier by the second.

  “Listen, it looks like your dog might have some issues with aggression, but that’s not the way you take care of it. Haven’t you ever heard of obedience training? I ought to call the police and have you arrested on the spot,” I threaten.

  As the volume of my voice increases with each word, the body language of the German Shepherd grows more tense. From the other side of the Jeep, I hear Stuart caution, “Buddy, don’t you think you ought to at least hear her side of the story? I know you're mad about the dog’s condition, but you don't need to take it out on her.”

  “The dog can’t exactly tell me her side of the story, so the interview would be rather skewed, don’t you think?” I retort sarcastically.

  The color starts to come back into the woman’s face as she turns to address Stuart, “I guess I’ll talk to you since you seem to be the only person inclined to listen to me. You’re welcome to call the police on me if you want to. I don’t really have anything to hide. I came here because I thought you might want to help. Maybe I was wrong. If you aren’t going to treat her any better than you’re treating me, I guess I’ll just keep driving until I find somebody that does.”

  Stuart starts to apologize, “I’m sorry, Ma’am. He's not usually like this, but something about seeing a dog like this makes him lose his manners and his common sense —”

  I’m not ready to give up quite so easily; there’s something about this that isn’t quite right. “You’re going to have a hard time going anywhere else since your dog isn’t trained well enough to get off your lap so that you can reach your steering wheel,” I observe.

  The woman gathers her stunning red hair in a ponytail and twists it before tying her hair in one big knot at the base of her neck. She rubs her shoulder as if it’s sore. She mutters to herself, “Oh, for God’s sake — it’s too early for this kind of garbage.” She blows a puff of air out the side of her mouth and removes her aviator sunglasses.

  As far as I’m concerned, she should never wear those shades again. I know that this is Florida, and the shades probably have some good UVA protection, but they are really doing humanity a disservice by hiding her face. As soon as I get a close up look at her, I almost forget why I’m so furious— that is — until she speaks.

  “I’d be happy to call this dog off, except I don’t really even know her real name or why she’s doing this. My only guess is because you scared the bee-jeebies out of me and she doesn’t care for your tone. In case you’d bothered to ask, I could’ve told you that I brought Hope here to be rescued.”

  “I thought you said you didn’t know her name —” I accuse.

  “Are you always this rude, or am I getting some bizarre two-for-one special today?” she asks with a deep scowl.

  “Don’t mind my friend here, somebody took the prize out of the bottom of his Lucky Charms box this morning,” Stuart says with a smirk. “Why don’t you explain to us how you came to find out Hope’s name?” he suggests.

  “First of all, I don’t really think that’s her name. I just made it up. I gave her that name because she looked so gosh-darn-hopeful that something good was going to happen in her life for a change.”

  “How did you end up with her?” I press. “She looks comfortable with you and pretty protective.”

  “I don’t really know why. I was just minding my own business, feeding hummingbirds in my backyard at around six thirty this morning when I recognized a car that has been causing some problems in our neighborhood. After it left, I thought I heard some weird noises. I went to investigate. I didn’t have any shoes on so I had to go back to the house. By that time, I lost complete track of her and it took me a bit to find her. I couldn’t figure out why she wasn’t crying like a normal dog.”

  “That was a really dangerous situation. You should’ve called in professionals,” I lecture. “She could have been really sick or something. You never know.”

  “What good would it have done me to call in the professionals? You would’ve just threatened to call the police on me again,” she replies pointedly.

  I feel my face grow hot. She’s right; I did jump to every wrong conclusion I possibly could have. “How did you get her to trust you so quickly?” I ask, unable to contain my curiosity.

  She rolls her eyes at me as she asks Stuart, “Did he forget to eat his Lucky Charms, too? It seems to me that he might be lacking in some brain food or maybe it’s because he’s eaten too many Lucky Charms over the course of his lifetime and they’ve caused permanent damage.”

  Stuart just chuckles and shrugs.

  I shoot him an exasperated glance which I hope sends the message, “Gee, thanks for the support, I thought you were my best friend.”

  The little spitfire looks at me and says, “I’m going to go over this one more time with you. Maybe after that, you can actually focus on treating Hope. Are you ready? This is not my dog. Before about two hours ago, I had never seen her. I know nothing about her. I found her this way under someone’s hedge. I walked her to my car using my student ID as a leash. She is incredibly mellow in the car. She seems to like the name Hope — as much as a dog can like a name. She doesn’t particularly care for grey cars or loud stereos. That’s the grand total of everything I know about this dog. Oh wait… I know something else. Someone treated this dog like crap and they deserve to have the absolute shit beaten out of them. Someone should tape their mouth shut so they can’t scream and set their ass on fire. Of course, that’s only my personal opinion.”

  She gently rubs Hope’s ears and murmurs, “I know you were trying to protect me, Baby, but I need you to get out of my personal space because you’re squishing me. Out, please.”

  Hope briefly lays her head on the woman’s shoulder as if to apologize and then goes back to the passenger seat as if nothing happened.

  The woman looks up at me and says, “I guess I know one more thing —”

  “Yeah? What’s that?” I ask.

  “She responds to the command ‘out’,” she answers with a cheeky grin.

  I can’t help but answer with a smile of my own as I concede, “I think you’re probably correct. It’ll be interesting to see if she knows anything else.”

  I am once again reminded why Stuart is studying to be a veterinarian. Very quietly without any drama, he opens the door of the Jeep and starts to cut away the layers and layers of duct tape around Hope's legs, feet and tail. He grimaces as he tells the woman, "I can try to start cleaning her up here where she's most comfortable, but we're going to
have to move her eventually. This poor girl is just a mess."

  A feeling of dread grows in my stomach as I watch the woman try to keep it together and contain her sadness as she attempts to keep the dog calm enough so Stuart can work. It occurs to me that I have completely misjudged the situation and unnecessarily complicated matters. "Can you and I start over? I’m sorry I jumped to all sorts of incorrect assumptions. I’ve just become a little jaded, I guess. I’m used to people giving me all sorts of excuses and not enough truth,” I try to explain.

  A sad faraway look crosses her face as she says, “True. Very true.”

  I extend my hand for her to shake as I introduce myself properly as I should have done from the start, “Hi, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Mitch Campbell. I’m a volunteer here.”

  I watch in fascination as a blush creeps up from her neck all the way to her hairline. I didn’t think I said anything all that controversial. Suddenly she stammers, “Mitch, if I even start to explain to you how small the universe is right now, you would never believe it — not even in a million years.”

  Stuart and I look at each other and then back at the mystery woman. For the first time today, she looks more than a little nervous. The playful bravado that was there just a few minutes ago seems to have completely vanished. To be honest, her reaction is freaking me out a little. Now, I’m beginning to wonder if my first response to the situation was more accurate than my second. When this all started to unfold, I figured she had something to hide. Now, I wonder if I was spot on. Her body language is suddenly very closed off and, quite frankly, she looks mildly embarrassed.

  “What in the world are you talking about?” I demand, feeling defensive again.

  “Let me put it this way — of all the ways I anticipated meeting you — this definitely wasn’t one of them. I thought that I would get the chance to get all dressed up, looking fierce, like a million dollars — not in my most disgusting Sunday morning I’m-down-to-my-last-pair-but-that’s-okay-because-no-one’s-going-to-see-me-today wardrobe.”

  “Who are you and why do you think that we would meet?” I ask warily.

  “I don’t know that you would even recognize my name, you interacted mostly with my roommate. However, our mutual friends have been trying to persuade us to get together for more than a couple of years now. I guess maybe fate decided to take a hand.” She extends her hand to me and says, “These aren’t the circumstances under which I’d hoped to meet, but my name is Jessica Lynn Walker. You probably know me better as Ivy Montclair’s former roommate.”

  IF THE CIRCUMSTANCES FACING US weren’t so dire, the expression on Mitch’s face would be worthy of a Vine video. My acting coach at school would’ve been in seventh heaven if he had seen how clearly Mitch shows his emotion in every muscle twitch in his face. It’s a sight to behold.

  “Damn that stupid dating site. I don’t care if I was raising money for charity by joining that stupid thing. It’s going to haunt me for the rest of my life. Tell me, how did you track me down here? Did you put tape on this dog just so you could get my attention?” he asks me, anger accenting every single syllable.

  Two can play that game. I am not a natural redhead for nothing. My temper can flare with the best of them. Now that Hope has moved over to the other seat, I am free to get out. I take advantage of that freedom and I step out of the car. Although, even when I do, it is really not that big of a deal. I had forgotten how tall he said he was in his profile; he dwarfs me. So much for creating a strategic advantage by standing. I might as well be a kid sitting in my timeout chair in the corner for all the impact it has. I feel compelled to poke him in the chest as I set him straight, “Listen before you bury yourself in another hole. You need to know that I didn’t have any idea that you still work in Florida, I figured you would graduate from college and take off out of here like every other college student. I didn’t even know your full name, let alone your career plans.”

  “Several of the guys did that. I was planning to graduate with honors, but life got in the way,” Mitch admits with a sigh. “I don’t think my parents have quite forgiven me for not finishing. I was going to be one of the first people in my family to finish college.”

  “How can you not have a degree? I read your profile a couple years ago and I thought you were almost finished then,” I remember.

  Mitch shrugs and answers, “I guess it’s like my grandmother used to say, ‘I’m a jack of all trades and I’m a master of none.’ Originally, I wanted to teach economics at the college level, things didn’t go as planned.”

  “Maybe it’s not too late. My grandfather went back to school in his mid-thirties to get his degree from seminary to become a pastor. He injured himself on a combine and wasn’t able to do farming full-time,” I reply, feeling awkward. It’s strange to have this kind of personal conversation with someone that I was just having a hostile interaction with a few moments before.

  Feeling awkward about our strange interaction, I retreat to the Jeep and start to gently stroke Hope. I’m not sure whether I am actually soothing her or myself at this point.

  I vividly remember the first time I encountered Mitch via the Internet. I was instantly attracted to the person that he projected through his profile on BrainsRsexy.com. It’s fascinating to come face-to-face with him. In many ways, he seems radically different from the person he presented himself to be during the brief interactions Ivy and I had with him when we were trying to figure out whether Ivy was being cat-fished through the dating site. Eventually, with the help of Tristan, we determined that she wasn’t the victim of fraud at all. She is actually a twin and didn’t know it. During those interactions, he seemed open and friendly, almost flirty. Right now, he’s not that way at all. Yet his disclosures about his past are giving me a glimpse of the type of person he was when he was talking about his academic career with Ivy. I almost feel like I need to ask him to have the real Mitch step forward. There is one undeniable fact though: he is incredibly cute. He looks like he could be on one of those fundraising calendars for smokin’ hot rescue workers. I think he’s some sort of heroic volunteer somewhere with search and rescue or something like that.

  I can’t help but watch as he starts moving dog crates so he can get to a large one at the bottom of the stack. I’m not the only one watching him do his thing. Hope is watching his every move intently. Mitch walks over to the car with a leather lead in his hand. As soon as Hope sees it, she shies away.

  Stuart is observing this interaction with obvious amusement. “I don’t know what to tell you, Buddy. It looks like you’re losing your magic touch with the ladies, both canine and human,” he teases with a grin.

  Mitch rakes his hand through his short hair making it stand on end. “I don’t know what’s going on today either. I seem to have gotten up on the wrong side of the bed. I’m generally much nicer to both kinds of creatures. Generally speaking, neither species tends to be afraid of me.”

  “Then again, you’re not known for being rude either, so I guess you have a point,” Stuart acknowledges with a grin, but grows serious as he advises, “I’ve done about all I can do for her here. I need to get her onto a table where I have some better light and can further access her wounds. We need to move her. Do you think she’ll co-operate?”

  Just then, Hope shifts in the seat and lets out a small whimper, reminding me once again that this is not a social gathering or a TV dating show. I blow my bangs out of my eyes as I impatiently ask, “Do you mind just handing that to me? We need to be doing something for her – sooner rather than later.”

  Mitch shrugs as he hands the leash to me and says, “Look, I don’t mind. In rescue work, there’s not much room for ego. Whatever works, works.”

  After I have the leash in place, Mitch walks up to the side of the Jeep and opens the door to help get Hope out. Unfortunately, she does not agree with that decision and climbs back into my lap. However, this is not a great move on her part because the steering wheel is in the way. There’s not a whole lot of roo
m in my small Jeep for a large dog. I’m short and I drive with the seat ridiculously close to the steering wheel so that I can reach the pedals. There is no space for her to be a lapdog, yet it appears she just doesn’t care. Mitch sees I’m being squished and makes a grab for Hope. Immediately, the hair on her haunches stands on end.

  “Easy, Baby, he’s just trying to help you,” I soothe. As soon as I speak, she seems to calm down.

  “Maybe I should just let you handle her, she seems to react better to you than to me. Maybe her abuser was someone who resembled me,” Mitch concedes.

  “Hope, out!” I command hopefully. Much to my relief, she complies and returns back to the passenger seat, although she does look really disappointed that she can’t sit on my lap. I turn to Mitch as I comment, “That’s just a really weird command. It’s totally not the word I would use for that. Clearly at one point she was taught that. It doesn’t seem to be an accident. I wonder if the rest of her commands are all scrambled?”

  “I know, it is strange, but I’ve learned after so many years in this field never to try to second-guess what people are going to do with their animals,” Mitch replies.

  “Hey, Mitch, remember that one guy who taught his dog to bring him a Budweiser if his team won and to bring him his Jim Beam if his team lost?” Stuart reminisces.

  “Yeah, I remember thinking what a waste of a good dog. That dog would’ve made an amazing service dog,” Mitch responds with a grin.

  “You couldn’t talk him out of the dog, even for such a good cause?” I inquire.

  “No, unfortunately not — not that we didn’t try really hard. The guy said his refrigerator was too far away for it to be worth his effort to get off the couch,” Mitch answers shaking his head.

  For once, I’m glad that my Jeep doesn’t have a hardtop on it. I hop out of my side of the Jeep and walk around the vehicle. Fortunately, the leash that Mitch gave me to put on Hope is really long and I’m able to hold onto it while I walk around to the passenger side. Although, I don’t think she would really go anywhere. She looks pretty cozy sitting in my passenger’s seat. After I open the door, I ask Hope to come. She stays put in the chair as if someone poured rubber cement in the seat. Out of curiosity, I command, “Stay”. As I had feared, Hope eagerly jumps out of the Jeep. I glance up at Mitch and ask him, “Care to guess what the command is for h-e-e-l?”