CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Noah walked Harley through the double-gated entry in the hurricane fence that surrounded Fort Woof. The park, located on Beach Street just north of I-30, was built especially for Fort Worth dogs and their owners. There were two fenced-in areas, one for larger dogs and one for small dogs under forty pounds. Small dogs could run in the large-dog area, but not vice versa. Each area had picnic tables—though food was forbidden—benches for humans, watering stations for humans and dogs, as well as poop disposal stations with plastic bags. The park opened at 5 a.m. and was usually busy. But early on this Sunday morning, only a few eager beavers were out on the large expanse of grass.
Noah pulled the collar of his jacket up around his neck to block the chilly breeze. It would be in the mid-70s by noon, but just now winter was making a mild protest at being pushed aside.
The 40-ish degree breeze didn’t bother Harley, who danced on the end of his leash in anticipation. The park was a familiar place where he could free play.
They had an hour before reporting for a side job at the North Texas Speedway. It was obvious from Harley’s highly antsy attitude that the big shepherd needed to work off some edginess before they arrived to work the crowds. Make that both of them needed to blow off steam. Noah was feeling pretty torqued himself. With three hours of sleep under his belt, he should have been okay. But his mind was revving like a street racer before the beginning of a competition.
He’d had to pick up most of the mess left by the police searching his home before he’d turned in. Maybe that’s what was wrong. He felt like he was living on borrowed time. Having sex with Carly was either the best or worst decision he’d made in years. His opinion on the subject changed each time it floated to mind. It had done so with every other thought before he fell asleep. He tried an old trick of tying a mental weight to the memory, in the hopes it wouldn’t float to the surface again until he had time for it.
Noah looked around before unleashing Harley. The only other dog he saw in the main yard was a Yorkie tentatively climbing a brightly painted A-frame. The park had built an agility course for more-ambitious owners and their canines. Unfortunately, the Yorkie seemed anything but eager. The frightened pup paused before reaching the top of the A-frame and turned to yip at its owner.
A tall man in a puff vest and knee-length shorts that were exactly the color of his untanned legs waved a hand at the dog. “Go on, Larchmont. I promised Mommy you’d get the hang of it today.” The man sounded as forlorn as the dog had.
Larchmont glanced at the peak that was his goal, then turned back to his owner, his lower body shimmying in fright. Three yelps, and he was headed back down the way he had come.
Noah turned away with a small smile. Clearly, “Mommy” was in for a disappointment. The little fellow wasn’t Dog Agility material.
Harley, on the other hand, was born to run. As soon as he was off the leash, he barked repeatedly as he jumped back and forth before Noah, waiting for the right word.
“Release!” Noah’s voice was high with encouragement.
That’s all the shepherd needed to hear. He turned and shot straight across the field, as if a big juicy bone lay unclaimed on the far side of the park green.
Noah grinned as he watched his partner speed away like a shaggy arrow. Whoever had thought he’d make a good service dog had miscalculated Harley’s drive. He was a natural born seeker, with a nose so sensitive he’d scored in the ninety-fifth percentile on his final test for certification as an explosives K9. No small feat for a repurposed canine. Luckily, Harley had been sent by ATF for reschooling at the prestigious Harmonie Kennels. The kennel, located in the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia, was the top privately owned school for law enforcement, as well as for specialty government and military K9 training. When ATF decided to place Harley with the Fort Worth Fire Department, Noah had volunteered as a handler.