have a free hand.
Chase opened the door into the kitchen, shooing the other dogs away while Jas went inside. She set Hope by the array of food and water bowls. The pup stood hunched and trembling. “She’s got to be hungry,” Jas said. But when Chase placed a bowl of kibble on the floor, she only stared mournfully at it.
Fifteen minutes later, after coaxing Hope to eat a few bites, Jas carried her to the laundry room. Chase had gathered shampoo and towels and had filled the deep sink with a few inches of warm water. When Jas set Hope in the sink, the pup scrambled and clawed to get out.
“At least we know she’s got some fight left,” Jas said, trying to keep the dog in the tub.
Chase picked up the shampoo. “Hold on to her while I squirt some soap on her back.”
“Why do I have to hold her? I’m getting soaked.”
“Can’t you handle a five-pound dog?” He squirted a stream of soap, hitting her arm.
“Can’t you handle the soap? You’re getting it everywhere but on her.” Jas gritted her teethas Hope struggled. “She didn’t move the whole ride here. Now she’s a tiny tornado.”
“Okay, you do the soap—since you are seriously messing up the holding part.” Setting down the bottle, Chase took Hope from her. “She’s probably never had a bath before. This will traumatize her for life.”
“Thank you, Dr. Chase, dog psychologist.” Finally, Hope stopped wiggling long enough for Jas to soap her back. As Jas scrubbed, she told Chase about the skeletal horse and finding Hope. “There was a second chain and bowl in the garage. Miss Hahn’s going to look around to see if there’s another abandoned dog.”
“I say we go back and tie up their so-called owners without any food or water,” Chase said.
“For once we totally agree.” Jas sprayed Hope with the hose. Dirt poured off as she rinsed, changing the dog’s fur from brown to white. “I wonder what breed she is?”
“Mutt.” Chase pulled the plug to let out the water. “Like all the dogs at the farm except for Old Sam.”
When Hugh had threatened to put down Grandfather’s aging German shepherd, Chaseand Jas had “dognapped” him from High Meadows Farm.
Jas finished rinsing Hope, careful to keep water out of her eyes and ears. The wet fur clung to the little dog. She could see every rib.
“Dang, she’s ugly and skinny,” Chase said. “And she’s got little scabby things on her. Officer Lacey should have named her Rat.”
“Rat? That’s disgusting.” Jas dried the pup with a towel. “She’s shaking. I’ll sit with her in the sun on the front porch.”
“Are you on lockdown now?” Chase asked, just as he’d asked every day since she’d arrived. At first, Jas swore he couldn’t tell time. Then she decided he was simply impatient with her schedule.
“Yeah. I’ll be so glad when I get this stupid transmitter off my ankle. Only three more days until my court date. Mr. Petrie, the public defender, thinks the hearing will go in my favor.”
“Then you won’t be a foster kid anymore,” Chase said. “You’re still staying here, though, right?” He was washing the mud down the drain, not meeting Jas’s eyes, so she knew the answer was important to him.
“Of course. Miss Hahn’s looking for a mobile home for Grandfather and me to live in.”
“Good.” Chase hid his relief by glancing down at the transmitter around her leg. “I’ll be glad, too, when the judge lets you remove that thing. Then you can start doing some real work around here instead of sitting on your—”
“I do
plenty.”
Jas threw suds at him, which landed on his cap.
“Hey,” he protested. “Quit messing with the Orioles.”
Wrapping Hope in two towels, Jas lifted her from the sink. “Chase, can you stop joking for one sec?”
“One sec …”
“What if Hugh shows up for my hearing?”
“I’ll lock him in the men’s room.”
“I knew you wouldn’t take this seriously. Forget I asked.” Plucking a dry towel off a
Michelle Pace, Andrea Randall