Chapter 4
SIERRA HAD AN unfortunate history of being involved with men who were not good for her, but a lot of that could be blamed on alcohol. Or maybe she started out with perfectly good men and destroyed the relationships with alcohol. At this point it was pretty irrelevant since there hadn’t been a man in her life in a long time. Nor alcohol. The last one, Derek, had been so toxic and dangerous she not only swore off men, she ran to rehab. No one could get to you in rehab. Just the people you put on your list as approved visitors.
She felt the calluses of Connie’s strong, large hand, looked into those blue eyes and told herself, It doesn’t really matter who he is—I’m off men. But she couldn’t deny it—there was a tingle as his hand enveloped hers.
“Nice to meet you. Do you prefer Conrad or Connie?”
“Everyone calls me Connie no matter what I might prefer. I haven’t seen you around here before.”
“I haven’t been here long.”
“And what miracle had you choose Timberlake?” he asked, smiling. Smiling like a man who thought he might get laid.
“Do you know Cal and Maggie Jones? I’m Cal’s sister.”
The big man’s smile vanished instantly. Nothing like an older brother to make a man rethink his objectives. Funny how that never went away even with age. Sierra was thirty and Cal thirty-eight. You’d think by now a guy wouldn’t be intimidated by a big brother, but it was just as well.
“How do you like it around here so far?” he asked. And there was obvious distance in his gaze. His warm blue eyes cooled way down.
“It’s great. Amazing, in fact.”
“You can’t be staying in that barn,” he said.
“You’re right, I can’t, but not because it’s an unfinished house. Because I really don’t want to live with my brother. They’re newlyweds, for one thing. And I’m crazy about Cal, but he’s my brother. I lived with him long enough growing up.”
Connie laughed. “I’ve felt that way about my brother. I’m here for an order. A big Caesar salad. You know about that?”
“Oh, that’s you? I’ll get it.”
She’d been told it would be picked up. It was ready in the kitchen. She put it in a bag and rang it up for him. He left with a casual “See you around.”
After a few moments passed Moody said, “Want to have coffee sometime when you’re not working? Talk about the program a little bit? Go over steps or something? Take each other’s pulse?”
Hers was a little amped up at the moment. She focused on Moody. “I was kind of looking for an older woman.”
“I get that. You never know. I might be good in the short term.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks.”
Sierra was off work at two and was scheduled to work at least two mornings a week, no weekends unless one of the other waitresses asked her to cover for them. The weekends, she was told, were busier in the mornings and the tips better so the waitresses who had been there before she was hired wanted those shifts, particularly the students. Her schedule wasn’t the least bit taxing; she enjoyed meeting the locals. And of course most people knew her brother and absolutely everyone knew Sully.
Sierra had plenty of time after work to do things, like stop by Cal’s to check on the progress at his place, then get back to the Crossing to see what, if anything, she could do to help Sully. Most of the time all he wanted was a little company for dinner, which he sometimes convinced Sierra to make for them. “Just bear in mind, if it ain’t bland and tasteless I can’t eat it. I have to stay heart healthy. I won’t live any longer, it’ll just seem longer.”
“You’re in good hands,” she said. “I’m very healthy.” Now, she thought. And before two weeks had passed, she had Sully nearly addicted to her stir-fry—just chicken, vegetables, broth and some seasoning. She was allowed soy sauce but he was off salt; his indulgence was one drink before bed and she could not join him, of course. It seemed a reasonable trade to her.
Two weeks, though not very long, had revealed some marvelous changes in the land and in Sierra. First of all, she did contact Moody and they did meet for coffee a couple of times. As she learned more about him, she was glad she’d let him talk her into it. Moody’s name was Arthur Moody but no one ever addressed him as anything but Moody, including his wife. He was fifty-eight years old, a biology professor at a private university in Aurora and he was admittedly a late bloomer. “I was busy in my twenties when everyone else was trying to get an education and a start in life. My start came later, in my thirties.” She could do the math—he had been sober for thirty years. That meant that until the age of twenty-eight he was busy spiraling down.
She went to that Thursday evening meeting in Timberlake. She found a nice group waiting there—small, but significant. One of them was Frank, Enid’s husband. Frank was an old-timer, a vet, a man who earned his stripes the hard way. He might’ve been surprised to see her because he beamed, putting those snazzy false teeth on display for her.
She did not tell her story yet, even though she was starting to feel at home. But she couldn’t help thinking about her story. Every day.
* * *
“What was it, Sierra?” The therapist encouraged her to be honest. “What finally sent you running to rehab?”
“Well, there was an accident. I wasn’t driving but it was my car. He was driving. He took me out of a bar, took my keys and was driving me home. He said I was drunk and he was just taking me home. I think he put something in my wine because, seriously, it wasn’t that easy for me to get wasted like that. It was still early. I knew we hit something but I didn’t see it happen. He stopped the car and looked and got back in and drove away. He said it was a cyclist and he left him there. Left him. Left him to die.
“He told me he called the police and said he was a witness, that he saw a woman driver hit a man and leave him. I didn’t hear him call the police. I don’t know if he did. I don’t know if he hit a man or a tree branch or a dog. I was in and out. He told me what he said. I said, ‘But I wasn’t driving!’ And he said, ‘No one will believe you—you have a history.’ And then... And then he convinced me. In a brutal way. In a terrifying way. He said I would never tell anyone anything. Or I’d be sorry.
“So I left my car in the airport parking garage and took a bus to the bus depot. I ran. I went to the farm, the only place I could think of. Eventually I went into rehab, a place he couldn’t find me. Or even if he found me, he couldn’t get to me.”
* * *
Spring was upon the land and the afternoons were often warm and sunny. Just being at the Crossing was the best part. Sierra enjoyed watching her sister-in-law grow that little baby inside her and it filled her with warm family feelings. Being a part of Cal’s new family was precious to her. Cal was intent on working on his renovation but not so much that he couldn’t take a few breaks to see his sister. They often sat atop a picnic table by the lake and talked, or they went for a short hike into the thawing hills that surrounded the Crossing.
Tom Canaday stopped by the Crossing sometimes—maybe for a cup of coffee, maybe a beer after work. His son Jackson came by now and then, sometimes with his dad and sometimes to lend a hand. There were firefighters and search and rescue volunteers and rangers who dropped in on Sully because the drinks were cold and the atmosphere friendly and laid-back.
“This place just keeps getting better looking,” one of the firefighters Sierra had not yet met said, eyeing her keenly.
“Did I remember to mention Sierra is Cal’s little sister?” Sully asked.
There were a few groans in the group. But when Sierra turned her back someone said, “Hell, I can take Cal.”
“Be careful of those smoke eaters,” Sully said. “They come in two flavors—real gentlemen where women are concerned, or they’re dogs. Players. Sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference.”
“We’re safe,” she said. “I’m not interested in either type.”
Cal and Maggie didn’t question Sierra’s assertion that she had no room for dating in her life right now. They had other things on their minds. Not only was picking out slabs of stone for countertops giving them fits, they were tending their bump.
“Do we know what we’re having yet?” Sierra asked when she noticed a book of baby names sitting out on the picnic table in their great room.
“Not yet. But soon,” Maggie said.
“No, I didn’t mean boy or girl,” she said with a laugh. “I meant state, city or mountain range!”
The Jones kids were named California, Sedona, Dakota and Sierra—in that order. “Hell no,” Maggie said. “We’ll be changing that trend.”
As the month of April drew near and the weather warmed, the wildflowers came out to play and were resplendent. Columbines, daisies, prairie phlox and coppery mallow grew along the paths and carpeted the hillsides. Hikers had begun to show up at the Crossing. Sierra found that—as Sully had promised—her own hikes worked wonders on her frame of mind. The exercise stimulated her and the sunshine renewed her. Freckles had begun to show up across her nose and on her cheeks. The time alone and all the thinking gave her a sense of inner peace. She felt closer to God and she’d had very little training in religion, except for that relatively short period of time her father had believed he was Christ.
As she came around a curve in the path she looked up to see three men climbing the flat face of the hill on one side of the mountain. She moved closer until she could actually hear them—a little talking, a few grunts, the soft whisper of their climbing shoes sliding along the rock face and wedging in. As she got closer still she realized she knew them—Connie, Rafe and Charlie. She’d seen them in town and they’d been around the Crossing a few times. They were from Timberlake Fire and Rescue. She wondered if they were training or playing; they weren’t wearing uniforms and there didn’t seem to be any fire trucks nearby. But those boys could certainly do lovely things to shorts and muscle shirts.
She watched the clever shifting of their hips to give them lift; the muscles in their calves and arms were like art. Little buckets hung off their belts in the back and they dipped into them for chalk, the sweat running down their necks and backs. My goodness they were a lovely sight, slithering up that rock face, their shorts molding around their beautiful male butts.
She couldn’t help herself, she was thinking about sex. She had so much mental and spiritual work to do she wouldn’t risk getting screwed up by falling for some guy. But it had been a bloody long time.
The last man in her life, Crazy Derek, should have cured her of all men the way he’d cured her of drinking.
She sat down on a rock to watch them for a while. She was achingly quiet and still lest she make a noise and one of them fell. She was afraid to even drink from her water bottle. One of them seemed to briefly dangle in midair by his fingertips as his feet found a crevice to toe into, giving him another lift up the rock face. She held her breath through the whole maneuver. That’s when she noticed he wasn’t wearing a harness. That was Conrad! The other two were all trussed up but he had no anchor. God, she was suddenly terrified. And exhilarated. The freedom of it, moving up a dangerous rock without a net. She couldn’t imagine how powerful he must feel, how uninhibited. It must feel like flying without a plane. It was the impossible, yet accomplished with an almost mellow gliding movement.
It didn’t seem to take them very long, or maybe it was because she was mesmerized by the steady climb, but soon all three of them disappeared over the top of the rock. She let out her breath and gulped her water.
She was exhausted and decided she’d had enough of a hike. She headed back to the campground. When she got there it was early afternoon, the camp quiet, and Sully was sitting on the porch eating a sandwich. She ambled over and sat with him.
“Good hike?” he asked.
“Beautiful. Isn’t it late for your lunch?”
“Aw, I got caught up in cleaning and painting trash cans. They were looking pretty awful.”
“There were three guys rock climbing,” she said. “That really big, flat rock face that looks like you shouldn’t be able to find anything to hang on to, yet they slithered up to the top like lizards. What does it take to do something like that, Sully?”
He swallowed a mouthful. “Insanity, if you ask me.”
“I assume you haven’t done that?”
“I’ve done a little climbing, not up a flat rock like that. I’ve climbed where you can get a good, solid foothold and grip, a decent angle. I’m not afraid of heights, but I’m not real comfortable with falling off a flat rock like that.” He shook his head. “They love that rock. Ever been to Yosemite?”
She shook her head.
“They climb El Capitan—it’s flatter and way steeper than that. They pound in their spikes and anchors to hold their tents and camp hanging off the side—it’s the damnedest thing I’ve ever seen. Look it up on your computer—look up ‘climbing El Capitan.’ It’ll scare the bejesus out of you.”
“Watching them was terrifying and exciting, but I’m not afraid of heights. Cal doesn’t much like heights. He has trouble even looking at pictures of scary heights.”
Sully grinned. “When you get some pictures or a video, show it to him.”
“I wonder if I could learn to do that,” she muttered.
“No, you can’t,” Sully said. “I forbid it.”
So that’s what a real father sounds like, she thought. A normal father—sane, decisive, controlling.
She went to get her laptop and came back to the porch. Before she opened up and signed on she asked Sully if he had any chores she could do for him.
“Nah, I got nothing much to do,” he said. “Where you having dinner later?”
“I’ll be around here. Why?”
“I got some salmon, rice and asparagus. If I share it, will you make it for us?”
“I’d be honored. Where’d you find asparagus this time of year?”
“I paid top dollar at that green grocer in Timberlake, that’s where. I don’t know where it comes from but the stalks are fat and juicy and plump up like steaks on the grill. You like that idea?”
“I love that idea,” she said. “I’d love to share your dinner. I’ll cook it and wash up the dishes after. What time would you like to eat?”
“Since I’m just getting lunch, is seven too late for you?”
“Just right,” she said. “Gives me a little time to play on the computer and maybe read.”
It was about four when campers started coming back to the Crossing, washing up after their day of exploring. Then a big Ford truck pulled up and the three rock climbers piled out. They nodded to her and said hello as they passed to go into the store.
Connie came back, holding his bottled water in one hand and an apple in the other. Without asking, he sat at her table. “How you doing?”
“I watched you climbing that steep, flat rock.”
“Did you? We call that rock face Big Bad Betty. She’s mean as the devil. I didn’t see you, but we don’t look around much. You have to be pretty focused.”
She closed her laptop. “What does it sound like up there?” she asked. “When you’re hanging on by your fingertips, what does it sound like?”
He smiled at her. “There’s a little wind,” he said. “The swooshing of hands and feet as you look for a good hold. Breathing—the sound of my breathing is loud in my head.”
“Heart pounding?” She wanted to know.
“No. Just a good, solid rhythm. You have to like it, feel it, be safe in it or your diaphragm will slam into your chest, close it up and bad things happen. No pounding. It’s tranquil.”
“Does it make you feel powerful?” she asked.
“It makes me feel independent. Self-reliant.”
“Free?”
“Yeah, free. But it takes thinking. Planning. I’ve climbed that rock a lot and I planned ahead. I know where to go. Even when you climb a new rock you plan ahead—look at video, pictures, listen to what climbers say, try it with a harness and ropes first to see the lay of the rock. And even then you have to be flexible. Sometimes you have to improvise. But it feels so good. Every grip and hold has to be just right and when you get it, you know you got it. It’s a smart sport. No one can get too much of that feeling.”
“You weren’t wearing a harness. I didn’t see any ropes.”
“Free solo,” he said. “As climbing challenges go, it’s the best.”
“And when you get to the top?”
“Eureka. Hallelujah.”
“I saw you go over the top and disappear but I didn’t hear anything.”
He grinned brightly, his eyes twinkling. He had those sweet bedroom eyes sneaking a peek from behind lots of brown lashes. Young girls could buy lashes from him, he had so many. “Then we weren’t loud enough,” he said.
“Can I learn to do that?”
“Maybe,” he said with a shrug. “Takes a lot of upper body strength. There’s a wall in a gym in Colorado Springs, a good training wall. There are a lot of climbing gyms in Colorado Springs. A lot of trainers.”
“Is it expensive?”
“It doesn’t have to be, but you should try a training wall before you do anything else. You might hate it. If you don’t hate it, Jackson climbs. I climb. Some of us have extra harnesses and other equipment. But first the wall.”
Just as he said this last bit, the other two men came onto the porch. They also sat down. People around here didn’t ask if they could join you, they just did.
“I’ll show you how,” Rafe said. “I’m Rafe. I think we met a couple of weeks ago. And this is Charlie Portman.” He peeled a banana, bit off a big chunk and seemed to swallow it whole. “I’ll teach you,” Rafe said.
“First the gym, Rafe,” Connie insisted.
“She’s little,” Rafe said. “Hardly any weight to pull up. I could take her up on my back.”
“It’ll go easier and you won’t waste anyone’s day off teaching you if you just try the gym first to see how it feels. That might be the beginning and end of it right there.”
“It just looks so cool,” Sierra said.
“Because it is,” Rafe said, tipping a beer to his lips. When he did that she noticed his wedding ring.
“Was it a training day for you guys?” she asked.
“Not for Timberlake station,” Rafe said. “For Rocky Mountain Volunteer Search and Rescue.”
“Sounds like you’re good people to know if I get in trouble,” she said. “I’ll be sure to let you know when I’m ready for a little training.”
“He’s married,” Connie said.
Rafe smiled handsomely. “No problem, Sierra. Lisa knows I’d never be interested in another woman.”
She sighed. “Do you have a brother?”
“First the wall,” Connie said. “Then I’ll show her.”
* * *
That was twice now, Sierra thought. Twice he was warm and friendly, almost flirty, then it shut down and he became distant and a little cold. The first time was when they met and Moody mentioned Cal, so she wondered if Connie didn’t like Cal. But that was crazy. Everyone loved Cal. Then, when Rafe offered to teach her climbing, his eyes went cold again. So probably he didn’t like her.
She didn’t have the best instincts, she knew that about herself. She wasn’t likely to ask Sully about a single guy, especially a firefighter. Sully had already passed judgment on those guys—half gentlemen, half dogs.
When a little more time passed and more evidence collected, she’d probably just ask Conrad.
* * *
The month of April was perfect for Sierra. She went to a gym in Colorado Springs on a couple of her days off and learned how to climb on the wall. Of course she overdid it and all her muscles ached, but it made her feel so smug. Who knew she could do that? She worked a few mornings and went to a few meetings. She had coffee with Moody and learned he had four grown children. She hung out a bit at The Little Colorado Bookstore getting to know Ernie and Bertrice and picking up a few details about her new home.
But the best part of her new life was Sully.
“Tell me about Maggie shooting someone,” she begged.
“It was a damn fool thing to do,” he said. “Her reasons were right but her follow-through could’ve used a little more thought. She saw a young girl she recognized as one of our camper kids in a pickup with a couple of low-life characters and could tell she wasn’t there by choice, so she tricked the driver into taking a cabin. She told him she’d give him a special deal and turned out he was as stupid as he was bad. Once she had him boxed in she called the police but she wasn’t inclined to wait on ’em to get out here, not with that girl in danger. She loaded up my old shotgun and kicked the cabin door in and fired on them.” He shook his head. “She could’ve called me or gone for Cal, but no. Maggie’s accustomed to do as she pleases, when she pleases. She had a roll of duct tape in her pocket and had ’em all trussed up before the cops got here.”
Sierra was speechless. Awestruck. “What a badass!”
“Those old boys were big and nasty. They could have rushed her, walked right through that shot and taken her down.”
“But she shot them first.”
“Well, one of ’em anyway. The shots brought me and Cal. It would’a been smarter to get us first.”
“And the little camper girl?” Sierra asked.
“Scared to death but otherwise unharmed. She was separated from her family on the trail north of Leadville and they grabbed her. I never heard of such a thing happening around here before.”
“That’s creepy, Sully. It’s not safe out there?”
“Up to that moment I’d have said there’s no safer place than our trails. I hear there’s a lot more Forest Service people out there these days than there used to be, on account of that incident. You got anything to protect yourself with?”
“I have a little can of pepper spray...the kind single women in the city are known to carry...” There were times she considered a handgun but in the end she was afraid to arm herself too much. What if she was incapacitated and it was used against her?
“Might have to fix you up with some real mace, just for my own peace of mind.”
“Should I stop hiking alone?”
He shook his head. “You’re not very alone. There are hikers out there, more of ’em every day. Just don’t get too far away.”
The mace appeared a few days later but Sierra was a little more vigilant, knowing that story. She admired Maggie more than ever. That’s what Sierra had always thought she was, had always aspired to be—a fighter. A fearless, ninja warrior. And it did seem the trails grew more crowded, especially on the weekends. She assumed summer would be nearly hectic for the wilderness.
Meanwhile, she enjoyed nature more than she ever had before. A herd of elk must have taken up residence on a piece of grazing land nearby because she saw some in the campground in the early, early mornings. And of course there were deer now and then, making her drive to Timberlake very cautious. With her work hours beginning right after dawn, she was bound to see a lot of wildlife, something that made the start of her day very special.
Now that the weather was warmer, she and Sully were taking their morning coffee on the front porch. Since he had the pot on before the crack of dawn and she had to leave for the diner by six fifteen, this became their morning ritual. She found herself rolling out of bed early even on days she didn’t have to work at the diner. Sully was reaching a part of her that had long been neglected. She kept very close track of her hours of helping around the store and grounds, proud to note that she was more than deserving of that free cabin. She was at the Crossing afternoons during the week and spent almost all weekend there. She could tell it worked out for Sully, since the campground was busiest then. And she still had time for herself and to check on Cal’s progress.
The last weekend in April the campground was over half-full of cheerful, enthusiastic campers. The wildflowers were in full glory, the lake was still icy cold but it didn’t scare off boaters or even some floaters. There were lots of kids, some dogs that Beau watched very carefully, but they were either friendly family dogs or they were penned and leashed. Beau didn’t mind sharing his territory with the occasional friend; there was a chocolate Lab who Sully said was a regular guest and she liked to swim with Beau. They played havoc on the ducks.
A family appeared with a fifth wheel on Friday afternoon who were new to Sully but he took notice of them right away because the nine-year-old boy behaved a bit oddly. Sully said he might be autistic. He clung close to his mother but seemed to concentrate on his fingers and mutter all the time. There was a little girl, maybe five years old, who had much more energy and attentiveness than her brother, and a golden retriever pup around a year old. The golden was trapped in a kennel that was much too small for her and when she was let out, she was wild and crazy. The man couldn’t handle her, had her in a choke collar that he pulled on relentlessly, shouting, “Down! Down! Molly get down! Sit! Sit!” Then he would just chain her to the trailer and she’d strain against her leash.
The mother, Anne, and the kids were exploring and playing by the lake, but the father, Chad, preferred his lounge chair under the camper’s canopy. The dog spent far too much time in the too-small kennel and her break time was limited to being chained. She was never taken for a run or a walk. And she had a lot to say, barking and whining. Well, she was confined all the time and didn’t get any attention or exercise and she was still a pup, though nearly full grown.
Chad constantly yelled at the dog. He was, in fact, more irritating than the animal. “Molly! Shut up!”
His name was Chad Petersen and he was on Sierra’s wrong side right off. He had a big fancy trailer but he clearly wasn’t camping for recreation, but for relaxation. He was overly friendly, had a big laugh and a loud voice, was very social with his neighbors and always had a beer in his hand. His wife was the one who took the kids walking to the base of the mountains to pick flowers or the edge of the lake where they could play with other children. It was his wife who put out the dinner and turned the burgers on the grill and fed the dog. It was Anne who picked up the dog droppings.
And when the dog got on Chad’s nerves she was stuffed into that too-small kennel. Molly whimpered and whined to be let out.
On Saturday afternoon Sully wandered down to the lake where Anne and the children were. He talked to a few of the women there, including Anne, and when he came back to the store, he reported what he’d learned. “Their boy is autistic, like I figured. He’s real antisocial. His dad thought a puppy would help—bring out his personality—even though his wife told him it might have the opposite effect. She’s not a service animal, for God’s sake. And now that the dog is big and dumb as a puppy, Petersen is frustrated and short-tempered and rather than admit he might’ve been wrong, he’s determined to whip that puppy into shape. I might’ve editorialized that last part, but ain’t it just obvious?”
“That poor little boy,” Sierra said.
“Doesn’t appear the boy knows what’s going on with the dog and his dad.”
Sierra stuck her neck out, probably where she shouldn’t. She approached Chad as he sat under his canopy. Beau was with her and sniffed Molly, who was on her chain. “If you invite the dog to have a swim in the afternoon when it’s sunny or take her for a really long walk up the trail, she’ll tire out and be less noisy,” she suggested.
“If you’d keep your dog away maybe mine wouldn’t bark so much.”
“My dog?” she asked. “This is the owner’s dog. This is Beau and it’s Beau’s campground. Besides, the dogs like each other. Molly’s only barking because she’s bored and lonely.”
“I’ll put her back in the kennel,” Chad said, standing from his lawn chair.
“No! No, please don’t. Anyone could see that kennel is too small. I just thought you could use a suggestion, that’s all. This place is family friendly and that includes pets as long as they’re not vicious. She’s just playful.”
“I’m thinking about drowning her,” Chad said. Then he grinned.
“Aw, jeez,” Sierra said in disgust. “Come on, Beau.”
She went back to the store and located Sully behind the lunch counter.
“Try to stay out of it,” he advised before she even said anything.
“They’re not okay,” Sierra said. “The wife and kids try not to get in his way, they give him a real wide berth, even that little boy. And the dog is barking and straining because she hasn’t had any training. And he said he was thinking of drowning her. I hate him.”
“Don’t waste your hate,” Sully said. “Nobody’s drowning anything at my campground. And how they conduct themselves is not our business unless they’re breaking the law.”
“He’s one inch from breaking the law, I can smell it on him,” she said.
The ruckus of the dog whining or barking and Petersen barking back continued while Sully and Sierra had their dinner on the porch. If a customer appeared one of them or the other jumped up to go inside and wait on them. The few campers who came to the store remarked on the barking dog and the man with the booming voice. “Don’t make the mistake of offering him advice,” Sierra said. “I did and he threatened to drown the dog.”
“Is there anything you can do?” one woman asked. “I think he’s more annoying than the dog!”
“There’s nothing we can do but ask him to leave and take his dog somewhere else,” Sully said. “I hate doing that. I apologize for the noise.”
Things seemed to quiet around the campgrounds as the sun was lowering and people were stoking their evening fires but every time a dog barked poor Molly was set to answer. Then would come the noise of her owner. “Shut up, Molly!”
Sierra was tormented by what was clearly animal abuse. The chain, the cage, the choke collar. A kennel, the right size for the dog complete with blanket and chewy toys, was a good training tool, even Sierra knew that, though she hadn’t had a dog, not really. There had been dogs on the farm when she was growing up, but that wasn’t the same as a pet like Beau. She knew Sully was right, she should just mind her own business.