Best Friends Read Free Page A

snoring bloodhound, she let herself outside.
    A warm shed abutted the sixty-footer Faith called home. She had but taken a step inside before a dozen felines were curling their bodies around her ankles, purring with pleasure. Faith repeated the petting routine, assuring each it would be fed soon, before opening the door to the outside compound.
    Faith scanned her own personal sanctuary. In the adjacent enclosure a fat, white sheep snored, head on his hooves in the thin winter sunshine. Three hens roosted comfortably on his broad back. As always, there would be chicken poop to wash off later.
    In a big hutch next door, seven rabbits snuggled in their straw-plumped bed. Six tiny hamsters snoozed in a spacious neighboring cage, safe, yet close to the bunnies for company. Nothing stirred in the emerging dawn. All was well.
    Faith sipped her coffee slowly. She loved this time of morning: the palpable quiet that wrapped her in a cloak of serenity. All she could hear was the swish of a hawk’s wings flying low, a raven’s caw, the chattering of a creek as it wended its way to the Grand Canyon that seemed to deepen rather than shatter the tranquility.
    She stood silently, watching the dawn sweep the shadows from the valley floor, higher and higher until the naked cliffs of the red-rock gorge were brushed with the delicate pinks and blues of a Monet painting. No wonder the Anasazi Indians had gathered here to beg plenty from Mother Earth.
    A distant barking told her the sanctuary was awakening. Faith stepped back to the trailer, turning her mind to what must be done this day.

    â€œI’m at a pay phone outside of Kanab. I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” Lydia was almost shrieking with excitement.
    â€œStop by the Welcome Center and get directions. You’ll find me outside Building Three at the WildCats Village,” Faith said.
    As usual, the feral cats’ habitat looked like a disaster area first thing in the morning: overturned water bowls, toys flung everywhere, scatters of granules around the litter boxes betraying nighttime toiletries. Faith smiled as she surveyed the damage. Partying all night, the lucky pussycats.
    To a casual observer there was not a feline to be seen, but Faith knew to look up at the redwood joists. She counted twenty-one pairs of wary eyes watching her every move.
    A serious young man pushed a cart laden with bowls into the room. Judah grinned when he saw Faith and waved “hello” before proceeding to ladle vittles from a red bucket.
    Within seconds the room erupted in a flurry of fur. Down from the roof joists they scurried, jumped, or climbed with dainty precision. From behind litter boxes, from carpeted climbing trees and shocking blue sleeping tents they emerged in full meow, tails swishing, all wariness abandoned. The cats knew Judah. They knew feeding time.
    Faith felt the vibration against her hip. She pulled the cell phone from her jacket. “Lydia’s just left the Welcome Center. She’s on her way.”
    â€œPlease let Francis and Dr. Allen know, and Michael needs to talk to her, too,” Faith instructed.
    A minute later, Faith stood assessing the woman she’d talked with many times but had never met. Lydia Rice was slender, with dark hair cut short and chic. Light wrinkles fanned from intelligent eyes. More than anything, Lydia radiated a sense of confidence and reliability as she stood beside her rental car, appraising Faith in turn.
    Faith closed the gap between them and the two women hugged in wordless conversation. “I’ve wanted to come here for so long,” Lydia finally offered.
    They both turned as a white Jeep slid to a stop behind them. A tall, lean man with a shock of red hair unfolded himself from the driver’s side and strode toward them. “Michael Mountain,” he introduced himself. Faith smiled as she saw Lydia take in his impeccable khakis and matching vest, the crisp cotton of his precisely pressed