High in Trial

SIX

Twenty-one hours, thirty-two minutes before the shooting





The only thing faster than a border collie at an agility trial is a runaway border collie at an agility trial. Cisco on a mission might run a close second. That being said, the entire thing was over in a matter of seconds.

I bolted to the gate and stumbled through, shouting for Cisco, just in time to see my champion careening after the border collie, his ears slicked back and his golden tail whirling, a grin of pure delight on his face. They raced down the corridor that divided the livestock barn and out into the sunshine, a chorus of barking following them. A dozen curious heads appeared from within the stalls as the two burst from the barn and made a beeline toward the open field. Along the way, others took up the chorus, “Loose dog! Loose dog!”

As everyone knows, the worst thing you can do when your dog is running away is to chase him. A dog being chased only runs faster, delighted with the opportunity to prove once again to all concerned that nothing on two legs will ever match the speed of a canine on four. Nonetheless, when your dog is headed toward the horizon at the speed of light, it’s almost impossible not to run after him, so run is what I did.

I reached the outside of the barn just as Miles called, “Raine, catch!”

I spun around and snatched the bag of cheese puffs he tossed from the air. I called, “Cisco, here!” and snapped open the bag in the same moment.

Cisco had to be fifty yards away, but, like most dogs, he can hear the opening of a treat bag from the other side of the continent. He stopped, turned, pricked his ears, and raced back to me, the little border collie tearing along beside him. They were in full-out play mode now and were not about to break up the team.

From out of the corner of my eye I saw someone jogging in my direction and I heard her call out, but I was entirely too focused on my dog to pay much attention. Cisco galloped toward me, his eyes on the bag of cheese puffs and the border-collie zigzagging at his side, when I heard a woman call, “Bryte, come!” The border collie veered off and Cisco’s head turned in her direction. I called, “Cisco, no!” and he swung back. The two dogs collided, rolled in the dust, and bounced up again just as the woman plowed into the fray, moving too fast to stop. She went down in a tangle of arms and legs and paws and tails.

You might think the proper thing to do in a situation like that would be to rush to help the fallen, but if I had done that I would have lost both dogs again. So I mustered my most commanding voice, said again, “Cisco, here,” and plunged my hand into the bag of cheese puffs. Both dogs skidded to a stop in front of me.

“Hold on to her!” cried the woman, stumbling to her feet.

I slipped the leash that I keep perpetually draped around my shoulders over Cisco’s neck and plied both dogs with cheese treats and praise while the woman hurried toward us. I glanced at her long enough to inquire, “Are you okay?” and I saw it was Neil Kellog’s girlfriend, Marcie.

Her white shorts were covered in dust and dog slobber and her tee shirt was ripped from collar to hem, apparently the victim of a careless dog claw. She held the remnants closed with one hand, barely covering her satiny bra, as she grasped Bryte’s ruff with the other.

“Thank God you caught her,” she said, gasping. “This is Neil’s dog. I was putting her back in her crate when she took off. She never would listen to me. He’d kill me if anything happened to her.”

This was a far different woman than the one I’d seen arguing with Neil earlier, and the fact that she seemed inclined to overlook Cisco’s part in the fiasco—as well as her own bleeding knee—made me more disposed to like her than I had been earlier. I noticed Bryte wasn’t wearing a collar, and I said, “Hold on. I’ve got a spare leash.”

I took Cisco back to our stall and zipped him securely inside his crate. “This is starting to look more like the roller derby than a dog show,” observed Miles as I dug through my bag for a first aid kit and spare leash.

“I just hope she doesn’t realize it was Cisco who tripped her,” I muttered in reply. I grabbed my spare sweatshirt from the bag and ran back out to Marcie.

“Here,” I said, offering her the sweatshirt. “Yours is kind of…” I made a fluttering gesture across my chest to indicate the scraps of her tee shirt that remained.

She looked up from dropping the loop leash over Bryte’s neck and seemed surprised at the extent of the damage as she glanced down at her clothes. “Oh,” she said, once again pulling the pieces together with one hand. She accepted the sweatshirt and transferred Bryte’s leash to me. “That’s nice of you…”

“Raine,” I supplied. “Raine Stockton.”

“I’m Marcie Wilbanks. Thanks,” she added, “for catching Bryte. And for this.” She managed a quick, if weak, smile as she nodded toward the sweatshirt.

“I brought these too.” I held out a package of antiseptic wipes. “You should probably take care of that knee.”

She turned away to pull on the sweatshirt and clean her injured knee, and I took advantage of the moment to slip my phone out of my pocket and snap a photo of myself with Bryte. I tapped out the caption, “Here I am with National Champion Bryte!” and sent it on to Facebook. Melanie would get a kick out of that.

“What the hell are you doing with my dog?”

I barely had time to get to my feet and stuff my phone back into my pocket before Neil Kellog snatched Bryte’s leash from my hand with such abruptness that the dog’s two front feet left the ground as he jerked her to his side. “Hey!” I objected. “There’s no need for that!”

“Calm down, Neil.” Marcie came forward quickly. “She’s okay. She got out of her crate and went for a run, but this girl caught her. You should be thanking her—”

Neil turned on her. His face was red and his eyes were snapping furiously. “So this is your game now? Stealing my dog? Do you really want to play by those rules, Marcie? Do you?”

“Are you crazy? Nobody tried to steal your dog!”

“Yeah, I’m crazy all right! Crazy for thinking I could trust you with her. The minute my back was turned—”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Neil, it was an accident! If you hadn’t trained her with that cockeyed method of yours, she would’ve come when I called her and—”

“I’ll show you accidents, Marcie.” He took a step toward her that couldn’t be construed as anything but threatening. I could see the veins on the side of his neck bulging. “If you ever touch my dog again, you can look forward to an accident that will take you weeks to get over.”

I said, trying to sound reasonable, “Listen, any dog can get loose. The important thing is—”

He turned on me. The color of his face and the fire in his eyes actually made me shrink back. “Who the hell are you?” He was in my face, practically roaring at me. I threw up an instinctive hand in self-defense. “You need to stay out of this if you know what’s good for you!”

“For the love of Pete, will you lower your voice?” Marcie caught his arm and he flung her away. She stumbled back.

“Everything okay here?” A hand fell lightly upon my shoulder, the touch casual, the gesture unmistakably protective. And though Miles’s tone was mild, I didn’t have to turn to look at him to feel the steel in his eyes. I’d seen that look before, and I could see it now in the way that Neil, subduing the blaze of anger in his face, looked away and scowled. I could see it in the breath of relief that passed through Marcie’s parted lips. And I could hear it in Neil’s tightly muttered, “I’m taking Bryte home.” He turned on his heel and strode away with Bryte prancing to keep up.

Alarm flashed in Marcie’s face. “You can’t do that!” She ran after him. “Stop right there! That’s not our agreement!”

I blew out a long, slow breath and turned to look at Miles. I felt as though I should apologize on behalf of the AKC—he was, after all, a guest of the sport—but I honestly didn’t know what to say. He said it for me.

“Roller derby,” he repeated. He squeezed my shoulder and added, “Do me a favor and stay out of that guy’s way, okay? I don’t like the way his eyes were spinning around in his head.”

I shrugged uneasily. “Some people get a little carried away when it comes to their dogs.”

He pretended surprise. “You don’t say.” Then he winked and tugged my ponytail. “Okay, I’m outta here. Text me your score.”

“Time,” I corrected him. “In agility, it’s time.”

“Right.”

I couldn’t help smiling as I tiptoed to brush a kiss across his lips. “Thanks for coming, Miles,” I said, because, as my mother always said, you should never fail to reward the effort. “That was nice of you. It showed real character.”

“Hey, I’m all about character.” His eyes danced with amusement and he cupped my neck lightly as he turned to go. “Run fast.” His phone rang and he took it out, glancing at the screen. “Love you, babe,” he said, and blew me a kiss just before he punched a button and said into the phone, “Yeah, I’m on my way.”

I just stood there in silent astonishment, watching him walk away.



~*~