Read Online Finding Home by Georgia Beers - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Georgia Beers
Tags: Fiction, Romance, Contemporary, eBooks, Lesbian, BSB, bold, strokes, e-books, "You're getting rigid and predictable."
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that stood near the bike rack and she squinted against the glare of the daylight. Shading her eyes with her hand, she saw the words: DOG FOUND.
Moving closer for a better look, she saw that the sheet of paper stapled to the pole was a makeshift ß yer of some sort. It was battered and faded and she wondered how long it had been there. She could make out most of the verbiage, as well as the phone number to call at the bottom. The details were vague. It basically just said this person had found a male dog and to call if you thought he might be yours.
“I suppose keeping a description a secret would keep the crazies from claiming him,” she muttered aloud. Tugging gently, she pulled the ß yer down and read it again. Her parents lived in PenÞ eld. Though it wasn’t more than a twenty-minute drive from where she stood, she found it hard to believe that there was any way Bentley could have run away from their house and made it this far. With a sigh, she folded the paper up and stuck it in her pocket anyway. She had no illusions that this would have anything at all to do with her dog, but she knew if she didn’t at least give it a shot, she’d wonder forever if she should have.
Besides, what would it hurt to call?
v
The tattered sheet of paper sat on Sarah’s dining room table for most of the weekend. Every time she walked by, she glanced at it, but for some reason, she couldn’t seem to bring herself to simply make the call.
What the hell is wrong with me?
She wasn’t sure exactly what the issue was. It was nothing
• 62 •
FINDING HOME
more than a phone call. Maybe she was worried that she’d get her hopes up? She had done a pretty reasonable job getting used to Bentley’s absence. She supposed she might have an underlying concern that she’d slide backward, fall back into the depression that had threatened to overtake her at the realization of her complete aloneness. It made sense. It did. She was sure any therapist worth her salt would agree.
So just make the damn call already.
With a grunt of determination, she picked up the handset of her cordless phone. It was Sunday evening and she’d stared at the beaten-up piece of paper for more than two days. It was time.
She dialed.
v
“You are such a good boy, Chino.” Natalie smiled exuberantly at the little dog, then giggled as the fur on his backside began to shake, indicating that he was wagging his nub of a tail. They had just returned from an afternoon of romping in the park, and Natalie had decided to try taking the dog off the leash for the Þ rst time. She suspected he was some kind of herding dog, judging from his coloring and his build, and she hoped he’d stick around.
Much to her delight, he’d never left her side, except for when she threw the ball for him to fetch. He brought it right back to her every time and she praised him with enthusiasm. Once or twice, he’d noticed another dog or a person who, for whatever reason, interested him, and he stopped what he was doing and focused on them. Natalie gave a Þ rm warning of, “No, Chino. Stay.” It seemed to work.
As she reÞ lled her water bottle in the kitchen sink and tucked it into the small fridge, she noticed her answering machine light blinking a bright red. She took a modest piece of beef bone from the freezer and set Chino up on a large towel on the ß oor, hoping to protect the throw rug from meat stains.
• 63 •
GEORGIA BEERS
“Here you go, buddy. For being so good today.” The dog went to town, gnawing and smacking as he enjoyed his treat, his stumpy tail still wagging furiously. Hitting Play on the machine, Natalie said to him, “I bet it’s Aunt Andrea.”
She was wrong and she frowned when she didn’t recognize the voice.
“Hi, my name is Sarah Buchanan and I saw your ß yer this weekend about the dog you found. I have no idea if he could be mine, but I thought I’d give it a shot. My dog ran away from my parents’ place in PenÞ eld about three months
Moving closer for a better look, she saw that the sheet of paper stapled to the pole was a makeshift ß yer of some sort. It was battered and faded and she wondered how long it had been there. She could make out most of the verbiage, as well as the phone number to call at the bottom. The details were vague. It basically just said this person had found a male dog and to call if you thought he might be yours.
“I suppose keeping a description a secret would keep the crazies from claiming him,” she muttered aloud. Tugging gently, she pulled the ß yer down and read it again. Her parents lived in PenÞ eld. Though it wasn’t more than a twenty-minute drive from where she stood, she found it hard to believe that there was any way Bentley could have run away from their house and made it this far. With a sigh, she folded the paper up and stuck it in her pocket anyway. She had no illusions that this would have anything at all to do with her dog, but she knew if she didn’t at least give it a shot, she’d wonder forever if she should have.
Besides, what would it hurt to call?
v
The tattered sheet of paper sat on Sarah’s dining room table for most of the weekend. Every time she walked by, she glanced at it, but for some reason, she couldn’t seem to bring herself to simply make the call.
What the hell is wrong with me?
She wasn’t sure exactly what the issue was. It was nothing
• 62 •
FINDING HOME
more than a phone call. Maybe she was worried that she’d get her hopes up? She had done a pretty reasonable job getting used to Bentley’s absence. She supposed she might have an underlying concern that she’d slide backward, fall back into the depression that had threatened to overtake her at the realization of her complete aloneness. It made sense. It did. She was sure any therapist worth her salt would agree.
So just make the damn call already.
With a grunt of determination, she picked up the handset of her cordless phone. It was Sunday evening and she’d stared at the beaten-up piece of paper for more than two days. It was time.
She dialed.
v
“You are such a good boy, Chino.” Natalie smiled exuberantly at the little dog, then giggled as the fur on his backside began to shake, indicating that he was wagging his nub of a tail. They had just returned from an afternoon of romping in the park, and Natalie had decided to try taking the dog off the leash for the Þ rst time. She suspected he was some kind of herding dog, judging from his coloring and his build, and she hoped he’d stick around.
Much to her delight, he’d never left her side, except for when she threw the ball for him to fetch. He brought it right back to her every time and she praised him with enthusiasm. Once or twice, he’d noticed another dog or a person who, for whatever reason, interested him, and he stopped what he was doing and focused on them. Natalie gave a Þ rm warning of, “No, Chino. Stay.” It seemed to work.
As she reÞ lled her water bottle in the kitchen sink and tucked it into the small fridge, she noticed her answering machine light blinking a bright red. She took a modest piece of beef bone from the freezer and set Chino up on a large towel on the ß oor, hoping to protect the throw rug from meat stains.
• 63 •
GEORGIA BEERS
“Here you go, buddy. For being so good today.” The dog went to town, gnawing and smacking as he enjoyed his treat, his stumpy tail still wagging furiously. Hitting Play on the machine, Natalie said to him, “I bet it’s Aunt Andrea.”
She was wrong and she frowned when she didn’t recognize the voice.
“Hi, my name is Sarah Buchanan and I saw your ß yer this weekend about the dog you found. I have no idea if he could be mine, but I thought I’d give it a shot. My dog ran away from my parents’ place in PenÞ eld about three months
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