Page 23 of Second Chance for the Grump

I’d hoped she’d forgotten that part, but I should have expected she’d want to come along. Maisey was feisty that way. “Fine, but you have to listen to my every direction.”

“Okay, as long as the direction isn’t to stay in the truck. I’m not doing that. I won’t leave Charlie.” Her voice broke on her dog’s name. I kept picturing a fluffy Golden Retriever, not the standard poodle she described. What was a standard poodle doing in a place like this?

“Alright, let’s go save our dog.”

Victory flashed across her face, and the worry in my chest doubled. That expression had trouble written all over it.

“Stay behind me,” I said with my hand on the door handle. “That’s the compromise.”

Maisey nodded. “Absolutely.”

Why did it sound like a lie when she said it that way?

Every instinct was screaming to force her into the car, but she followed me outside of it. The whole place felt wrong. Like evil was in the air.

It was too quiet.

Besides the breeze rustling the grass, there was nothing. No livestock or machinery. No signs of life from the old, flaking, white-paint farmhouse that once probably held a plethora of noise from its wide wrap-around porch.

But even with the silence, my body knew someone was here besides us. The barn door stood partially open, and the fresh pair of tracks led right through it.

We walked slowly, and I kept my line of sight in front of me. Maisey inched behind me with a piece of my shirt wrapped around her hand.

Then…

A bark.

Maisey froze. Her lack of steps soon caused her to pull on my shirt. My pulse kicked up, and I stopped too. Both of us waited to make sure we’d heard it correctly.

Another bark, faint one from inside the barn.

“That’s Charlie,” Maisey whispered with the first bit of excitement in her voice. “I’d know his bark anywhere.”

A third came from the barn as I reached around to grab her hand. “We’re not leaving without him.”

Maisey’s eyes filled with tears instantly. Charlie wasn’t just a dog. He was family.

We approached carefully, with me in the lead. I snuck us around the side of the barn, stopping at the door to peek inside. Sunlight spilled into the dark interior. Rows of empty stalls stretched toward the back of the barn. Dust mites floated through the air from years of dirt and mud.

Another bark from the back of the barn. Maisey almost rushed forward. Only my outstretched hand kept her from running headfirst inside. “Not yet, babe.”

“But it’s Charlie.”

It was, but I couldn’t see who was with him, and since he wasn’t running toward us, he wasn’t alone. “Call him.”

“Charlie!” Maisey yelled, her voice laced with excitement.

Something hit against wood a second before the full-sized poodle ran out of a stall. His short tail wagged wildly as he tried to get to Maisey. A thick white rope stopped his movement only a few feet after he got started. Secured to a support beam, it jerked against the excited dog, keeping him where he was.

Charlie twisted against the rope, staring at Maisey and barking—loud, happy, desperate barks.

“Charlie!” Maisey said and tried to charge forward again.

I grabbed her arm to keep her safe.

Movement erupted from the shadows, freezing us. A man stepped out from behind the door Charlie had run from.

Jonathan.