The Trail to You Š 2019 by Lindsay Detwiler All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any written, electronic, recorded, or photocopied format without the express permission from the author or publisher as allowed under the terms and conditions with which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized distribution, circulation or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly. Thank you for respecting the work of this author. The Trail to You is a work of fiction. All names, characters, events and places found therein are either from the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to persons alive or dead, actual events, locations, or organizations is entirely coincidental and not intended by the author. For information, contact the publisher, Hot Tree Publishing. www.hottreepublishing.com Editing: Hot Tree Editing Cover Designer: Claire Smith Formatting: Justine Littleton ISBN: 978-1-925853-13-1
Author’s Note
This book began as a tribute to the greatest love I’ve known—the love of a dog. Specifically, it began as a celebration of a love for my mastiff, Henry, who appears in every single one of my novels. I want to make it clear that this story is fictional. Henry has never ended up in a shelter. He has never been separated from my family like the Henry in this novel. He didn’t bring my husband and me together. However, for me, this book wasn’t about writing a true tale of Henry. It was about two things: the power of the love of a dog, and the beautiful people who work to preserve that every single day. If you’ve ever known the love of a dog, you know it’s something almost magical. That connection with a four-legged creature is one that can change so many things. It can save you. It can
transform your whole perspective. I wanted to capture that in a story. It’s also something that can be devastating. To lose a dog is to know true pain. Life throws so many curveballs. I hope my Henry never ends up in the position of the Henry in this book. However, life is unpredictable, and you never know what can happen. That’s partially what this book is about. It’s also a tribute to those who tirelessly work to help animals dealing with life’s curveballs. There are so many amazing people and organizations out there who help dogs like the Henry in this book and dogs in all kinds of situations. Thank you for working to show dogs the love they show to us. Although Henry was not adopted from a shelter, he has five cat siblings who were rescued. It is my hope to illuminate the beauty of the bond between a human and a dog in order to help us all remember what a special gift it is.
Thank you for going on this journey with Ronan and Henry. Purebred or not, all dogs deserve love. All dogs deserve someone to care about them. And, in addition, all humans deserve to understand that the bond between a person and a dog is something magical.
To anyone who has ever loved a dog, to those who tirelessly devote themselves to making dogs’ lives better, and to my best friend, Henry.
Prologue Ronan How do you say goodbye to your best friend when he can’t possibly understand? Throwing the stick for the fifth time as the brindle mastiff plodded after it down the trodden path, Ronan Carter tossed the question around in his head again. The familiar pang of leaving Henry constricted Ronan’s heart as the floppy, clumsy dog snatched the stick. Henry ambled back, dropping the craggy piece of wood into Ronan’s hand. This wasn’t their first time here on the Deerbrook Trail. On the contrary, they’d spent many weekends over the past few years on this dusty, rutty path. Wordlessly leading Henry to their bench at the edge of the forest trail, Ronan thought back to that first day they’d come here, years ago, the first day he knew the relationship growing between him and the dog was more than a master/animal relationship. Their friendship, in
truth, was forged right here on this trail all those years ago. The then thirty-pound pup tripped over his own feet, barking excitedly at every rustle, every scent of an animal. Back then, Ronan had tried with all his might to entice the mastiff to pick up the stick and bring it back, but Henry had other ideas. He’d been too curious exploring things like grass, leaves, and a solitary mud puddle to care about a spindly twig. Over the years, though, Ronan had taught Henry to fetch—even though he was, arguably, the slowest fetching dog ever. He had taught Henry to sit, to stay, and to give paw. He’d taught him to wait patiently outside of Chuck’s Quickstop when he ran in for a newspaper on Sundays. He taught him his routine, a routine that would quickly become both of theirs. But what Henry taught Ronan was so much more. Those soulful eyes and those droopy ears that flapped in the wind reminded Ronan that friendship could be unconditional and that love didn’t always disappear when things got
tough. Henry had become his confidant, his pal. The two were inseparable; the dog never left his side, following him in their humble abode, always leaning on him. He didn’t even need a leash anymore because Henry was always glued to him. Now, Henry rested his chin on Ronan’s lap, as was their custom. “All right, buddy. I’ve got you,” he said to the dog as he reached down to rub Henry’s ears. They’d walked this same trail over and over. They’d played their sluggish game of fetch— mastiff speed moved on its own time, Ronan quickly learned. Henry marked his favorite tree. Then they’d sit here, Ronan looking at the peaceful forest, contemplating where the hell his life went to shit, and Henry getting the best damn ear massage out there. Henry never left his side, but now, Ronan was leaving his. Again. It’d been a rocky few years. He’d felt the gut-wrenching ache every time he left. Still, knowing Henry was safe and sound with Monica
each time he left made it easier. Knowing he was cared for and loved helped Ronan feel better about leaving. He was proud of his decision and, although the past few years had been hard, especially when he was away, he’d made it. He’d finally found something in his life that made him feel like he was doing something worthwhile. He had accomplishments beyond just earning a paycheck or helping a corporation get rich. He was doing something honorable. He was doing something that mattered. Right now, though, with the prospect of a hard goodbye ahead of them, Ronan didn’t feel brave or honorable. He simply felt awful, those trusting eyes looking up at him. How could he say goodbye to the one being in this world who had never left him, who had never turned his back? Ronan knew it was his calling, and it was his duty, but it still felt like a betrayal. It still felt impossible to leave Henry for months, alone in the truest sense.
“I’ll be back, buddy,” he said, more to himself than the dog. “I’ll be back. I promise. Then it’ll be you and me.” Henry looked up at him with those eyes that seemed to suggest he understood. Ronan knew, however, there was no way Henry could possibly understand. Maybe, in some ways, that was a blessing. They got up from the bench, Ronan shrugging off his worries. Sure, his mom wasn’t perfect, and he was worried, but it would only be nine to twelve months if all went well, and it wasn’t like he had a choice. He’d looked into every avenue, every option. No one was interested in fostering a two-hundred-and-ten-pound mastiff, not anyone remotely reliable. Monica wouldn’t take his calls, long gone to the Florida sun. There was simply no one. His mother wasn’t reliable, but she was his best option. “It’s going to be okay,” Ronan said to Henry, who tiresomely trudged beside his master
over the snow-laden trail, the two walking into the sunset, neither really prepared to face the big changes coming the very next day.
Chapter One Rose Her back weary from bending over into the pens and her rheumatism causing her fingers to throb from too much paperwork, Rose plopped onto the wobbly stool at the counter as Tina flipped the shelter sign to Closed. “How many today?” Tina asked on her way back. It’d become a habit over the past five years they’d worked together at Second-Hope Shelter, the counting of their blessings, which, in this case, was the counting of adoptions processed. “Two. Lefty the cat and Bart the Shih Tzu.” “That’s good news,” Tina said, heading behind the register to the coat closet turned coffee closet to pour each of them a cup. “Yeah, good news for those two. Not good for the fifty-eight left,” Rose murmured, sighing from both exhaustion and frustration. “We can’t save them all, Rose.” Tina was always the practical one. She was the glass-half-
full girl. Rose was the “there are still fifty-eight unloved animals,” glass empty kind of woman. “I know,” Rose admitted, defeated. And she did. Over the past fifteen years she’d worked here, she’d seen too many good animals get passed over. She’d seen sweet angels pass on without knowing the love of a family. She’d even saved a few of them herself, filling her two-story brick home with a menagerie of cats and five dogs. But Moe said they were at capacity. They were at their limit, with their bones getting older by the day. Rose, although her heart disagreed, knew in her head he was right. They weren’t the spry chickens of their youth who could take on saving the world for every animal. She should be glad they could save the world for the few they called pets. At least she had the chance here to save a few now and then. Looking through the glass window into the back room where the big dogs were housed, the
familiar brown eyes caught hers and she shuddered. Hank. Poor sweet Hank sat huddled in the corner of his pen, his droopy muzzle making him look like a posterchild for one of those sad shelter commercials Rose couldn’t stand to watch. She worked here, yet those commercials made her weep like a baby. Rose got up as Tina handed her a coffee. “Visiting time with your favorite?” Tina asked, smiling. “Visiting time with the neediest. Poor guy. Been here so many months. Day in and day out, I try to find him someone, but everyone just says he’s too big. I don’t understand it. He’s such a sweetheart. Those sad eyes just about crucify me every single day.” “And I don’t understand why you don’t take him. You love him, admit it.”
“Of course I do. But Moe would kill me if I brought home a Chihuahua at this point. A mastiff? I think I’d be buried in the backyard.” “Oh, come on. He’s not that big.” “He’s a big baby is what he is. He needs the right person with a big heart. Obviously, whoever had him didn’t have one, tying the guy to our front door without even a note.” Rose shuddered thinking about the morning she had come in to find Hank, as she’d named him, tied to the front door. No note, no bowl, nothing. It wasn’t rare. People did it all the time. Rose liked to think it was just because they were so saddened by the prospect of saying goodbye that circumstances gave them no choice. Moe said that for a glass-half-empty kind of woman, she was too apt at finding the good in people that wasn’t there. In truth, the reality was probably much more cowardly and heartless. Still, she had to try
to have faith in humanity or this job would drive her to drink. Rose opened the lock on the door to the big dog room. Artie the pit bull growled in his pen, banging against the gate. He was all bark, but it surely didn’t fare well for him when people walked by looking for a dog to adopt. Rose smiled and talked to Champ, the lab, and Sonnie, the golden retriever who had just arrived that morning. She went to the corner cage, the biggest pen. “Hey, sweetheart, come here,” she said, Hank still hanging his head in the corner. He looked up at her with the kind, brown eyes that seemed to know her. He perked up at the sight of her as she opened the gate and climbed into the pen. Rose’s bones ached as she eased herself to the cold, cement floor. She was getting too old for this. Still, as Hank plodded over, tail barely wagging, she smiled as her heart warmed. She’d
never be too old for this. This was where she belonged. Hank sat down next to her, leaning against her with his huge, brindle body. As she reached up and rubbed his ears, he sank down beside her, groaning in happiness. For the next thirty minutes, she sat on the cement floor, rubbing a forgotten dog’s ears, telling him about her day and about the people she’d met. When Hank fell asleep beside her, she leaned down to kiss the giant dog’s head, whispering into his ear the words she still believed in her gut. “I’ll find you the right one, baby. I’ll find you the family who will love you. Don’t give up.” Wiping away a tear, she slowly got to her feet and tiptoed out of the pen, the behemoth of a dog finally snoring and looking peaceful. And she knew it was true. It had been four months, but she wasn’t giving up. She’d find the right person to love him if it killed her.
*** “Now remember, you have to be super kind to good old Hank here. No pulling on his ears or his tail, right, kids?” Rose asked the ten- and six-yearold one more time. Their little heads bobbed up and down, the smudge of dirt on their cheeks from running wild in the parking lot making Rose want to reach out and wipe them. The mom, Gloria, readjusted the threeyear-old on her hip. “Is that the last paper then?” she asked, as if signing her name was the biggest imposition in life. Rose tried to qualm the fears rising. This was not a good idea. Looking through the window at Hank as he turned his characteristic five turns before lying down, she had a feeling she should shred the application, should tell them no. Three kids in the family normally would be a good thing for a friendly guy like Hank, but Rose had a feeling this wasn’t the family that would be playing with Hank in the backyard and taking him for ice cream.
Something about Gloria, despite her charming smile, told Rose she wasn’t the right one for Hank. But who was she to argue? They’d come in looking to save a dog, as Gloria had put it. The kids had, naturally, crowded around Hank. He was the biggest, and those sad eyes just seemed to invite children in. Most people, however, realized how big of a responsibility Hank would be and kept walking. Not Gloria, though. Not this family. It seemed to Rose like Gloria just sort of threw her hands in the air and decided to quiet her kids screams and pleads with a “yes.” Rose hoped her feeling was wrong. Looking at Hank, the sad guy cuddled up on the bed on the cement, she hoped she was sending him off to a future of camping, stray Cheerios, kisses, ice cream cones, and giggles. She hoped she wouldn’t be seeing him again. She wanted to quiet the fears rising because poor Hank had been here so long. She’d made it her biggest focus these
past few weeks to find him a home. She’d succeeded today. She should be happy. Still, there was the gnawing feeling that was just never wrong… As she handed Hank’s leash over to Gloria, giving him one final pat on the head, something told her this wouldn’t be the last time she saw Hank. Something told her it wasn’t time to break open the fake champagne and celebrate. Her prayers weren’t answered. She knew it. And something told her that when he did come back, he would be even more dejectedly downtrodden than ever.
Chapter Two Rose “I’m sorry, but this dog is defective,” Gloria said five days later when she shoved the leash into Rose’s hand, Hank on the other end. For five days, Rose had smiled at the end of each shift, knowing Hank hadn’t been back. Maybe that gut feeling had been wrong. Maybe she should pop open the fake bubbly. She’d succeeded. If they made it past three days, it was usually a good sign. She imagined the dog, who had somehow managed to worm his way into her heart more than most did, sitting with the kids in the evenings, watching the stars and counting lightening bugs. She imagined him cleaning up mac and cheese off the floor and playing pirates with the little boys, jumping in mud puddles and licking their faces when they erupted in giggles. She imagined Hank had finally found the family he deserved, the love he obviously hadn’t had in his last home.
But now, that hope was smashed with the sight of the woman dragging in a plodding Hank. Rose’s heart sank. The happy ending she’d so desperately clung to was nothing but a façade. Hank’s forever family was short-lived, and a success story was out of grasp again. Slumped before her was a browbeaten version of Hank, who was hanging his head even lower. Seeing Rose at the other end of the leash, though, he perked up, managing a single tail wag. “What are you talking about?” Rose asked, reminding herself to stay calm and to stay professional. It was going to be tough. Gloria’s charming smile seemed like an ugly scowl now. “That thing is deaf. He doesn’t come when we call him. He just prances around our yard like he’s lost and refuses to listen. He got mud on our white sofa, and he eats more than I can even think about carrying into the house. I’m done. Sorry, but no.” And with that, the tiny blonde pranced out of the shelter without looking back.
Rose sighed, creeping down to the floor, wrapping an arm around Hank. “I’m sorry, buddy. I thought maybe, just maybe I was wrong about them. But I’m never wrong about this. I should’ve known. I can sense the real animal lovers from a mile away. I’m sorry I made you go with them. There, there. It’s going to be fine. We’ll think of something, okay?” The dog leaned his head on her shoulder, and for a long while, they sat in the lobby, a sad dog and an even sadder old woman, wondering if a miracle was ever going to come.
Chapter Three Ally With her feet propped up on the scratchy, tan sofa she’d found in the Bargain Counter, Ally Hunter exhaled as she appraised her surroundings. The bare, peeling, white walls were closing in on her, boxes of belongings stacked all around the place she’d now call home. She blew a piece of her ragged bangs that desperately needed to be cut out of her eyes, inwardly scolding herself for being so rash. It was just like her to get herself into a mess like this, only to instantly regret her decision, to immediately want to dart back into the rabbit hole and tumble down, down into a fantasy world where she could choose again. But there was no Mad Hatter here, and there were no do-overs. She’d made her decision, and even though sitting here in the sad, slightly smoke-smelling one-bedroom she’d found on Craigslist and leased without a walkthrough
made her stomach tighten, she’d have to make the best of it. This was what she wanted after all, right? She’d wanted a change. She’d wanted to start fresh, to challenge herself. She wanted to think outside of the box. Most of all, she wanted to feel close to them again. Now, though, she simply felt boxed in. Readjusting the red flannel shirt around her—if you were going to move to a backwoodsy locale, you should at least dress the part, she’d figured—she tossed her head back, closing her eyes and taking a moment to just breathe. She channeled her yoga teacher’s words, chanting her mantra she’d picked just a few months ago when life was so different. Life is what you make it. Thinking about how much she had to do yet, how moving across the country from her posh job in L.A. to the middle of nowhere Virginia on a whim had been way more work than any
inspirational blog article could ever capture, Ally realized her life had some making to do yet. So, she figured, pulling herself to her feet, she had best get to it. *** The numbers had all been too much. That’s what she’d told herself. Initially, she’d convinced herself this had nothing to do with missing them. It had nothing to do with craving a connection she didn’t have. It had nothing to do with feeling lost and misplaced, a grownup orphan who needed to feel a sense of home. It was simply about the numbers. As a financial assistant for a top film agency, she’d imagined herself smiling at the stars, going after big deals, and walking the red carpet, a hero in her own right. In reality, she’d found herself a glorified spreadsheet maker and cost analyzer. She’d been suffocated in a sad cubicle—not the corner office with a view she’d hoped for—looking at numbers
and typing memos for people who didn’t even know her name. It had taken her five years of going nowhere, five years of living near the beach but not having time to appreciate it, before she realized it wasn’t what she wanted. This was about her career, about needing a new start in her career path. Okay, if she were being honest, she knew it was so much more than that. Saying goodbye to Cooper hadn’t been easy. But it had been necessary. Sinking into the sofa now, she shoved a strand of hair out of her eyes. What was she doing? Her life was a train wreck. She’d upended everything. Well, maybe she couldn’t be blamed, not completely. Maybe, in truth, she’d snapped a little when her parents died, when she got that horrible phone call eight months ago. Maybe that had really been the beginning of the end of Ally Hunter, the woman climbing both the career ladder and the social ladder.
Or maybe, in truth, she’d always been more like her vagabond parents than she ever wanted to admit. Maybe the penchant for wanderlust hadn’t skipped a generation like she’d hoped. Growing up, she’d never stayed in one place more than a year. Her mom, a freelance journalist, and her dad, an unknown singer with dreams of hitting it big, didn’t believe in settling in. Life was for living… and living free. So, Ally had seen more of the country than most twentyseven-year-olds, perhaps even most ninety-yearolds. And, in truth, it was because of her parents that she was here in nowhere Virginia now, an apartment complex on a picturesque, dinky street now her home. She’d been ten when her mom insisted on seeing the mountains in Virginia, wanting to write a piece about small-town life. Her dad, the gowith-the-flow rock star wannabe, agreed. They’d spent a summer here, in this very town. It was the
most settled young Ally ever felt. She’d made friends with the girl who lived in the apartments nearby. She’d attended a summer camp. She’d felt at home. Thus,
when
life
in
her
perfectly
constructed, perfectly settled home in Los Angeles suddenly just didn’t feel right anymore, her heart instantly told her this was where she needed to come. The simplicity of Virginia, the nostalgia of a perfect summer gone too soon beckoned her like a compass leading a sailor to port. She felt an urge like no other and, true to her parents’ nature, followed it. She’d put in a twoweek notice, said goodbye to the two friends she had, and went through with the tearful goodbye with Cooper she should’ve endured long ago. Ally left the glamorous city, the feel of optimism in her lungs as she embarked on what she hoped would be an adventure to a better way of life. Now, though, sitting in the sleepy town and looking a far cry from the pants suit, stiletto Ally she was just a few weeks ago, she wondered
if she was having a just-over-quarter-life crisis. She wondered if, for the past eight months, burying the grief of her parents’ sudden death had just caught up to her. Perhaps, she was just losing it. There wasn’t time to wonder, now. She had some savings from her endless hours in the office. She had a decent nest egg to keep her afloat for a while but not forever. She needed work. She needed something to make her feel like she had purpose. She cracked open the paper she’d picked up at the gas station, opening to the classifieds. There were five ads. One was for a librarian. Ally didn’t know anything about the Dewey decimal system, and she didn’t look great in a bun. Two jobs were for gas station attendants. Not quite what she had in mind, although she knew she couldn’t really be picky. One was for a teacher at the high school. No. Just no.
And then there it was. The last one, the only one she could maybe even think about doing, the only thing that sorta, kinda related to her skills. Wanted. Interior Design Specialist for House Flipping Business. Pay Commensurate with Experience. 812-457-5310 Ask for Melissa at Melissa’s Flips. Ally smiled. For years, her dad had told her she should be an interior designer. She’d gotten good at decorating on a budget and revamping on a schedule with their constant moving. She, especially in her teen years, refused to look at plain white walls in her bedrooms. She insisted on making every place feel like home, even if home meant only a few months. She shook her head at the irony of it. For years, she’d fought her parents’ ideas for her life. They were the traveling, hippie-like vagrants never settling in and resisting what they deemed “corporate America” until their dying breaths.
She, at eighteen, insisted on going to Stanford for marketing, knowing a business degree would lead her to a life of stability and financial security, two things that were curse words in her parents’ language. Yet, here she was at twenty-seven, smiling at the I-told-you-so look she knew her dad would be sporting if he could see her now. “Okay, guys. Very funny. I get it. You told me so,” she said to no one in particular before picking up the phone to see if, in fact, this was where she was supposed to be, to see if the universe would somehow make her chaotic, unplanned life fit together into a semblance of a sensible existence.
If you liked what you read so far and would like to read more, please go to www.hottreepublishing.com for the buy links. Thank you.