field, Tim’s homage to a simpler time. The black soil gleamed with a layer of frost. The place was quiet, unlike summer when everything was growing and people came in all day long to pick their own vegetables. Personally, Angela thought Tim and his wife had been brilliant in their concept. Give their customers the rewards of having a garden without any of the headache of weeding and watering.
The harvest-theme decorations that had lined the driveway had been replaced by garlands of evergreen, along with a sign that counted down the days until the day after Thanksgiving, when Christmas trees would be available for sale.
Angela turned on lights in the house and put on a pot of coffee to brew before heading out the back door to the kennel with Polly obediently close behind. The small barn had a center aisle and three stalls on each side that had been perfect to convert for their purposes. Four of the stalls could hold the dogs, supplies were stored in one and the final one was their examination room.
She turned on the light and was greeted by wagging tails from the four dogs occupying two of the kennels.
“You guys are already awake?” She opened the gates and was immediately surrounded. If any of them had been jealous that Polly had gotten to go home with her last night, none showed it. Instead, they sniffed her in greeting, and when Angela opened the door to their fenced yard, they raced outside.
As happened every single morning, Angela’s heart swelled with gratitude. She didn’t simply like her job—she loved it.
After hearing about the program to train service dogs shortly after she was sent to prison, she had applied, hoping she’d be chosen. At first, she had imagined it would be a way to fill the time that had loomed endlessly in front of her. Instead, she had found a calling, the work she was meant to do.
Being with the dogs made her thankful, and she felt blessed to have this work. Dogs didn’t have an agenda. They didn’t have expectations she could never meet. They lived in the moment. Important life lessons, every one.
Prior to the end of her sentence, she had scoured the entire state, looking for someone who would hire her to pursue the calling she had discovered in prison. Not only had Maisey taken her on, she had stunned Angela after her parole was over by making her a partner in the business. It was a gift that Angela cherished, most especially because she knew she hadn’t deserved it.
One by one, almost as though taking turns, the dogs ran to her before taking off again. Bailey, the gorgeous golden retriever whose training was just beginning and who had been too high energy for the family who gave her up. Checkers, the smart shepherd–border collie mix who had been found in the pound without any tags. Gatsby, the black Lab mix, who was also a rescue from the pound where he had been taken after being found tied to a tree at a campground in the mountains above Golden. Polly, who was scheduled to begin training with her hearing-impaired master within the next month.
And the dog she had in mind for Brian—Jasper, the year-old elegant standard poodle who had been a socialite’s accessory. Maisey had thought Angela was crazy when she asserted that he’d be a wonderful guide dog, since the conventional wisdom was they had to be German shepherds, golden retrievers or Labrador retrievers, but she had signed on to the project with enthusiasm after reading the success stories about other poodles that Angela had uncovered.
“How are you doing, boy?” Angela said to him. He dutifully sat in front of her, his dark eyes on her as she rubbed the tips of his ears, which practically made him smile. Within the first month, he had learned more commands than any other dog she’d ever seen. That had been three months ago, and he continued to be the most responsive dog she had ever worked with. High energy and smart, he was going to need someone who was active and disciplined. To Angela, that sounded exactly like Brian Ramsey.
She had spoken with him briefly last night and suggested that he come out to the farm to meet their dogs in training. He had promised to come late this morning, his voice filled with anticipation and relief as though he somehow knew she was on the verge of agreeing to his proposal. She wondered if he’d be quite so pleased after he met Jasper.
The back door to the house slammed, and Angela turned to see Maisey coming toward her. Fiftyish and plump, the woman was smiling, just as always.
“Every single morning I think I can get here before you, and you’ve beat me again.” She held her bracelet-encased arms out to the dogs who came to greet her.
“I couldn’t sleep,” Angela said while Maisey murmured greetings to each of the dogs. “So I decided I might as well get up and come in.”
“Thinking about that good-looking Brian Ramsey, I bet.”
Angela had called her last night before talking to Brian. “Yes, but not because he’s good-looking. I invited him out here today so you can meet him. I want to know what you think before we agree to let him participate in the training.”
Maisey laughed at her prim tone. “I told you already. I trust your judgment.”
“I know you do.” Angela headed back toward the kennel to set out breakfast for the dogs. “But let’s face it. Since he’s a high-profile kind of man, we have to take the bad with the good. If this doesn’t work out the way he hopes it will—”
“It’s all going to be fine.”
“Says the eternal optimist.” Angela followed Maisey inside, holding the door open for the dogs.
Maisey headed to the cupboard and set out five dishes. “What are you afraid of?”
Angela stared into space a moment before saying, “I want to make sure it’s not my ego with grandiose ideas that makes me think this can work.” She began measuring out the kibble for each dish.
“I’ll meet him,” Maisey promised. “But the choice is still yours.” She grabbed a couple of the bowls, setting them in front of Checkers and Gatsby, who like all the dogs were patiently sitting, as they had been trained. “I picked up the messages. There were three for you from a Tommy Manderoll. ‘Urgent,’ he said.”
Angela sighed. “He’s a lowlife from my past,” she said, setting down the remaining bowls. Just because he had called her didn’t mean she had to call him back. She was sure he’d take any contact, even in the form of go-fly-a-kite as some sort of perverse encouragement. “Throw away the messages.”
“Anything else I can do?” Maisey asked.
Angela shook her head. “Anything else would be illegal.”
Maisey laughed. “Well, we can’t have that, can we?”
After the dogs ate, Angela put on their in-training vests, a signal that playtime was over. As she worked with each of the dogs, she made notations in the planning books she kept for each one. She kept thinking about Brian’s comparison to training camp.
She supposed the initial assessment they made of the dogs was like training camp—figuring out which ones had the aptitude for their intended jobs. Only a few of the dogs they had chosen for the program had made the grade. The dogs that didn’t were adopted out to families. For the dogs that did, the real work began, complete with a “playbook” where goals were set out, progress was charted and personality traits were noted.
When Brian and Sam arrived shortly before noon, Maisey hung around only long enough for introductions before leaving with a whispered, “He’s great. Snap him up,” behind Brian’s back. To Angela, that sounded way too personal. Personal would never do.
Brian told Sam he could leave for a couple of hours, which left Angela alone with him. Gathering several Frisbees and softballs, she took him to the yard where the dogs were.
“This is playtime?” he asked with a teasing smile. “And here I thought you’d give me a formal demonstration.”
“You saw that yesterday at the luncheon,” she said, handing him one of the discs. “These guys all love Frisbee and can go at it all day long.”
“Good thing I have a strong arm,” he said, taking the first one from her and sending it