When tomorrow comes, p.18
When Tomorrow Comes, page 18
Baye exploded. “Damn it. I said I’d look at them tomorrow, okay?” She stomped out of the house and slammed the door.
* * *
Eyes closed, Baye lay on the floor of the cat playroom, her chest vibrating with the purrs of a huge orange tomcat lying on her chest, and kittens playing with her fingers and in her hair. Tommy was cleaning the dog kennels, so she had a good cry in the small office of the cathouse and, when she found a vape pen she’d forgotten in the desk drawer, had a good smoke to chill out. That’s exactly what she was doing now. Chilling.
She was roused from her drug-induced meditation by a knock on the glass picture window into the playroom.
“There you are,” TJ said, opening the door to the playroom and speaking in a low voice. “You okay? I have Ms. Young and her mother with me. They’re here to adopt one of our cats.”
“I’m fine.” Baye gently put the tomcat aside and stood. Her high was beginning to recede, and she’d had lots of practice functioning as normal when she was stoned.
TJ looked her over anxiously. “Your eyes are totally bloodshot.”
She heaved a big sigh. TJ would see right through a lie. “I needed to chill, but it’s wearing off already.”
“Then can you help them? The couple looking for a pit bull was early. I left them with Tommy to show them the dogs, but I need to go handle the adoption of the dog they pick out.”
She straightened her clothes, smoothed her hair, and smiled. “Sure.” She loved showing off the cats. It was a perfect distraction.
* * *
“You’ll love this little cuddler.” The older woman had picked out a petite, blue-eyed calico, whose spots were Siamese colors—chocolate, flame-point, and the blue-gray of a seal-point—rather than the more common orange, black, and white. “I think she’s perfect for you.”
“You’re sure she’s full grown? She’s so small.” The daughter cuddled the little cat before placing her in the carrier they’d brought.
“She was pregnant when she came to us but had only one kitten. It was adopted earlier this month. So, she’s at least a year old. She’s neutered now, of course.”
“I have a friend who has a Maine coon. That cat is huge, and she takes him with us on a leash when we go hiking together. It acts more like a dog than a cat. It rides in a kayak with her, and she has a backpack it sits in if the hike is too long and hot or we’re near cars. It even wears a little life jacket when it rides in the kayak.”
“Wow. I’ve never thought about taking a cat out in a boat, although I have heard of cats that like to swim.” Baye handed over a cloth tote filled with several cat toys, the food they fed at the center, treat samples, some coupons from a local pet shop, and her vet records. They declined the offered litter and litter box because they’d already purchased one and decided where to place it in the woman’s apartment. “Thank you for adopting and not buying from a breeder.”
“Oh, we totally believe in adopting,” the daughter said. “And we’ve heard good things about your rescue center.”
“Thank you. You’ll find several of our cards in your bag. Feel free to hand them out and recommend us to others who might need a canine or feline companion. They add so much to our lives,” Baye said. She turned to the older Mrs. Young. “Now don’t worry if she hides for a few days when you first take her home. Some of them do in a new place. Give her a little time, and she’ll come out to explore. Then she’ll be sitting in your lap and purring before you know it.”
“Thank you, dear. We’ll be fine. I had cats before I married, but my husband, God rest his soul, was allergic, so I haven’t had one in years. I’m looking forward to spoiling this one.”
TJ appeared just as they were walking toward their car and Baye was waving good-bye. “Your four o’clock appointment is here—the couple with the little boy.”
Baye clapped her hands together, her earlier black mood forgotten. “Oh, goody. Helping him pick out a dog will be fun.”
TJ looked relieved, handed Baye their paperwork, and pointed to a young couple with a towheaded boy headed toward them. “I’ll be in the house if you need me.”
* * *
Baye had spent nearly two hours with the couple and their little boy while they finally decided on a fifteen-pound, brown, rough-coat terrier, then completed the adoption paperwork. She was tired but happily surprised when she returned to the farmhouse and found Teague talking with TJ. She greeted Teague with a kiss and a heartfelt hug. “I missed you today.”
Teague’s expression lit up. “I came to a good stopping place early and thought I would come walk you home…to my house.”
They’d moved about half of Baye’s clothes to Teague’s house, but neither had suggested they U-Haul the rest of her things. Teague’s conviction that she would die in the next year precluded any final move. Her doctor had reported the ultrasound showed she had a strong, healthy heart, but the MRI had been bumped up again and was weeks away. Teague had suffered several severe headaches that her doctor insisted were not typical migraines, but hormone-induced headaches because they showed a pattern of happening the week before her menstrual period. Teague, of course, was not convinced.
“I was just asking TJ about your progress in rehoming my animals.”
TJ said, “I told her that I’d finished the spreadsheets—”
Baye cut her off. “I’ve been looking over the spreadsheets a few hours every day and eliminating any you obviously wouldn’t consider. But I’ve been pretty busy with painting the mural in the cathouse and helping people with adoptions. In fact, we had three adoptions this afternoon.” She was babbling but couldn’t seem to stop. She turned to TJ. “That little boy matched up with Sparky. You know, the little rough-coat terrier. Sparky acted like he’d known that boy all his life, and the boy fell in love with him right away.”
Teague, true to her laser focus, persisted. “Have you found good candidates for any of them?”
TJ shrugged and gestured to Baye for her to answer.
“I have a good possibility for Leo. A woman who brought her mother here earlier today to adopt a cat said she hikes with a friend who has a Maine coon. She said the cat walks on a leash and goes with them. It even has a small lifejacket and rides in her friend’s kayak when they go camping. She said she’d like a Maine coon of her own to take along but said they’re too expensive even if she could find a breeder that wasn’t three states away. She might be perfect for Leo.” It was a small white lie built on a truth. The woman did mention the friend but had not expressed an interest in getting her own Maine coon.
Teague nodded. “Yes. Leo would hate to be cooped up in a house all the time. He needs to spend time outdoors in a way that is safe.”
“Wow. That sounds cool,” TJ said.
Baye had often spun tales to get herself out of trouble with her family and warmed to her storytelling. If only she’d stopped there.
“And, after looking over the people interested in the chickens, I narrowed it down to a woman who just bought an old farmhouse out in the country. She said the property has a barn, and she has been looking at plans for building a chicken coop in it.”
“My hens are past their prime and have laid only a few eggs recently.”
“I pointed that out, and she said she’s single and doesn’t need a lot. She said she had a pet chicken when she was a child but has never lived in a place where she could have chickens again. Her company lets her work remotely since the pandemic, so she was able to move out to the country again.” Okay. That was a total fabrication.
She glanced at TJ, who had narrowed their eyes in suspicion, and gave a nearly imperceptible shake of her head. She knew Baye hadn’t even looked at the spreadsheets, much less called any of the applicants.
“Perhaps she would be interested in the rabbits, too,” Teague said, nodding her approval.
“Oh, I hadn’t thought of that,” Baye said. “She might, especially if she saw how beautiful they are.” Okay. Time to shut up, because she was digging herself into a hole. What if Teague wanted the woman to come meet the rabbits, or asked to visit this fictional woman’s farm to check out her accommodations for Miss Henny and her girls? “I still have to check her references and make sure she really does have a farm. Right now, I’m starving. I just want to forget about business for today, have dinner with you and Connie, take our evening stroll, and spend some time with the fur kids.” She took Teague’s arm and guided her to the door. “And most of all, I want to spend some time with my handsome escort.”
Chapter Nineteen
Teague stepped back from the whiteboard and closed her eyes. The sharp, throbbing pain started at her nape and curled over the top of her head and around through her right temple. She had been trying to ignore the headache, but it had grown to the point she was nauseous and the daylight coming through the tall windows felt as though it was burning her retinas.
“I am sorry, but I must continue this meeting at another time,” she said to the three scientists on the teleconference. Without waiting for them to sign off, she closed the app and opened a new one. “Computer, call Dr. Brennen from my personal contacts.”
“Dr. Brennen’s office, this is Lisa.”
“This is Teague Maxwell. I need to speak with Dr. Brennen.”
“I’m sorry, Ms. Maxwell. He’s with a patient right now.”
“Where is Susan?” Dr. Brennan’s personal nurse knew her and would get Dr. Brennen on the phone.
“Susan is on vacation this week. I’m filling in as Dr. Brennen’s nurse while she’s out. I can give him a message when he’s free, but he’s booked solid today. Do you want me to transfer you to appointment scheduling?”
Teague began to rock back and forth, but the repetitive motion increased her nausea rather than calmed her. “I need to speak to him now.” She grasped her head, immediately regretting that she had shouted. The pain was drowning out any coherent thought. She lowered her volume. “This is Teague Maxwell. I think my brain is bleeding. Tell him now.”
“If you are having an emergency, Ms. Maxwell, you should hang up and call nine-one-one or go to the emergency room.”
She slashed her hand across the computer to swipe the icon ending the call.
Snow left his bed in the cottage and pressed against her legs for support. Agitated by her raised voice, Cappie skittered away, overturning Snow’s metal water bowl, which clattered against the tiled floor. Mac paced on his perch and screeched. “Call the doctor. Call the doctor.”
She sank to the floor and curled into herself, closing her eyes and covering her ears.
“Teague. Baby, what’s wrong?” Baye was bent over Teague, rubbing her back. “Another headache?”
“Yes.” She could barely whisper.
“Call the doctor. Call the doctor,” Mac screamed.
“Mac, shush. Whisper. Inside voice.” Baye whispered to demonstrate.
The macaw cocked his head and responded with a hoarse stage whisper. “Whisper. Inside voice.”
“Honey, can you stand? I need to get you into the house. Don’t open your eyes. I’ll guide you.”
“Might throw up.”
“That’s okay if you need to.” Baye punched a speed dial and whispered into her phone. “Connie. Teague is having one of those migraines. Can you ask the cleaning people to go and come back another day. Their vacuum noise and cleaning smells won’t be good for her…Yeah, I’m going to bring her up from the cottage…Thanks.”
Teague’s head spun as Baye helped her stand and walked her into the house. She managed to keep her breakfast from coming back up and sighed in relief when she lay down in her bedroom Connie had already darkened and cooled several degrees below its normal temperature.
“MRI,” Teague whispered. “I need to get that MRI.”
Baye administered the single-dose injection of pain medicine prescribed by her doctor, and the pain began to ease its grip on her skull.
“My animals,” she mumbled. “Not ready.”
“Sleep,” Baye said quietly, and then, with a light kiss to her forehead, faded into the dark.
* * *
“Wow. Your mural looks really great,” TJ said. “Did you major in art at college?”
Baye stepped back and decided a touch more of gray should go on the kitten who was batting a feather toy. “No. I never stayed at college long enough to declare a major. I just couldn’t sit through those long classes and spend an entire night cramming for a test.”
“I’d think the art classes would be interesting.”
“You would think so, but they were really regimented. The teacher would make the whole class paint the same apple in a bowl or the sun on the horizon. When they started talking about technique and special perspective and stuff, my eyes glazed over. I just paint what I see and feel in my head.”
TJ seemed to consider this information as they watched Baye work. “Sort of like a musician that doesn’t read music but can play anything if they hear it once.” Then they laughed. “I guess that’s how Flower paints, too.”
While the wall in the adoption room of the cathouse was Baye’s canvas, Flower was creating her own art next to her on a twelve-by-twenty-inch canvas clamped to a floor-level easel.
Flower turned those dark pig eyes on TJ, then took a moment to look at her canvas and spit out the brush she held in her mouth to select a brush filled with a different color for her next strokes. She took her art very seriously.
When Baye had discovered the pig had definite color preferences, she made a series of color swatches of the tempera paints she had available and spread them on the floor. Flower would select from the swatches by pushing them toward Baye with her nose, and then Baye would mix the paints in cans that had previously held bulk vegetables and put a brush in each one. Flower would paint one color at a time, taking the brush from the color she wanted in her mouth and slashing it across the canvas. The astonishing thing was that Flower’s selection of color and her paint strokes were obviously purposeful, not random.
“You could learn something from her color selection,” Baye said. She couldn’t bring herself to sort through the offers to rehome Flower, because she felt a kinship to the little pig. People judged them both too often by what they saw on the outside.
“So, have you looked at the applicants I highlighted on the spreadsheets?” TJ asked carefully. She had definitely figured out that rehoming Teague’s pets was a sore subject with Baye.
A handful of people had applied to take Lucky or Asset. Only one was a working farm that needed a guard animal. Several were seeking a companion for a llama or donkey they already had. The farm might be suitable for Lucky, but their herd was a large one in a remote pasture. Asset loved people and would be lonely living with a bunch of sheep and a couple of llamas. He needed human interaction, too.
Maybe Teague would reconsider her refusal to consider a petting-zoo situation, at least where Asset was concerned.
A couple who had established a brush-clearing-goats-for-hire business was interested in Snow. They often camped in a small trailer when they were at a location several days or weeks while their goats ate away at forest undergrowth or a neglected pasture a farmer wanted to reclaim. They would use Snow to help guard the herd at night, just as he did for Teague. They also offered to take the goats, but not the sheep, which were picky about what they ate.
“The goat people look like a good possibility, but I’d have to meet with them,” Baye said. “Teague might also want to, and she’s super busy right now with her collider project.”
“Did you see the entry on the organic farmers? They would be a great possibility for the chickens. They let their chickens free-range to eat the bugs from their summer and winter gardens.”
“Chickens are mean. If the people already have an established flock, their chickens will probably pick on Miss Hennie and her girls. None of them are very big hens. An established flock will peck and peck at the newcomers until they draw blood, and sometimes even kill them. It makes me want to cry to think about some bitch hen hurting sweet Miss Hennie. We need to find somebody who doesn’t already have a flock.”
TJ was quiet for a long time, watching as Baye and Flower painted. She finally spoke quietly. “You and Libby signed a contract, Baye. You and Teague becoming lovers doesn’t void a legal contract unless Teague agrees to break it. I don’t think she’s going to do that.”
Baye sighed and put down her brush. The mural was finished, and she continued to tweak it simply to avoid the rehoming project. Honestly, she was attached to every one of those animals. She loved it when Mac called out, “Pretty. Here’s Pretty,” when he heard her voice. She wanted to paint lots of pictures with Flower. It made her feel good when Cappie chose her shoulder to snuggle on while she and Teague watched a movie. And the little brooding sound Miss Hennie made when Baye held her in her lap and stroked her was very soothing.
Still, none of that was the real reason she was putting off rehoming these animals she’d come to feel were as much hers as Teague’s. Deep inside, she had an unfounded feeling that Teague wouldn’t die as long as some of them still needed good homes.
Chapter Twenty
The ride was silent.
They’d loaded Abigail, Tater, and Tot into a small horse trailer and Snow into the back seat of the crew-cab truck Teague had borrowed from Mary Anne Beck, and Teague was driving the first of her crew to their new family—the couple with the brush-eating goats.
The severity of her last headache had filled her with a sense of urgency. She needed to know her animals were going to good homes. The next headache could be her last.
Teague had thought Baye would argue against the many stipulations—some a little unrealistic—she’d laid down for rehoming her pets, but it was Baye who resisted this first placement. Abigail and her kids were used to eating lush pasture grass, supplemented daily with high-grade pellets, Baye argued. They had a pond and a trough for plenty of fresh water. What if they were taken to a location without adequate water?
* * *
Eyes closed, Baye lay on the floor of the cat playroom, her chest vibrating with the purrs of a huge orange tomcat lying on her chest, and kittens playing with her fingers and in her hair. Tommy was cleaning the dog kennels, so she had a good cry in the small office of the cathouse and, when she found a vape pen she’d forgotten in the desk drawer, had a good smoke to chill out. That’s exactly what she was doing now. Chilling.
She was roused from her drug-induced meditation by a knock on the glass picture window into the playroom.
“There you are,” TJ said, opening the door to the playroom and speaking in a low voice. “You okay? I have Ms. Young and her mother with me. They’re here to adopt one of our cats.”
“I’m fine.” Baye gently put the tomcat aside and stood. Her high was beginning to recede, and she’d had lots of practice functioning as normal when she was stoned.
TJ looked her over anxiously. “Your eyes are totally bloodshot.”
She heaved a big sigh. TJ would see right through a lie. “I needed to chill, but it’s wearing off already.”
“Then can you help them? The couple looking for a pit bull was early. I left them with Tommy to show them the dogs, but I need to go handle the adoption of the dog they pick out.”
She straightened her clothes, smoothed her hair, and smiled. “Sure.” She loved showing off the cats. It was a perfect distraction.
* * *
“You’ll love this little cuddler.” The older woman had picked out a petite, blue-eyed calico, whose spots were Siamese colors—chocolate, flame-point, and the blue-gray of a seal-point—rather than the more common orange, black, and white. “I think she’s perfect for you.”
“You’re sure she’s full grown? She’s so small.” The daughter cuddled the little cat before placing her in the carrier they’d brought.
“She was pregnant when she came to us but had only one kitten. It was adopted earlier this month. So, she’s at least a year old. She’s neutered now, of course.”
“I have a friend who has a Maine coon. That cat is huge, and she takes him with us on a leash when we go hiking together. It acts more like a dog than a cat. It rides in a kayak with her, and she has a backpack it sits in if the hike is too long and hot or we’re near cars. It even wears a little life jacket when it rides in the kayak.”
“Wow. I’ve never thought about taking a cat out in a boat, although I have heard of cats that like to swim.” Baye handed over a cloth tote filled with several cat toys, the food they fed at the center, treat samples, some coupons from a local pet shop, and her vet records. They declined the offered litter and litter box because they’d already purchased one and decided where to place it in the woman’s apartment. “Thank you for adopting and not buying from a breeder.”
“Oh, we totally believe in adopting,” the daughter said. “And we’ve heard good things about your rescue center.”
“Thank you. You’ll find several of our cards in your bag. Feel free to hand them out and recommend us to others who might need a canine or feline companion. They add so much to our lives,” Baye said. She turned to the older Mrs. Young. “Now don’t worry if she hides for a few days when you first take her home. Some of them do in a new place. Give her a little time, and she’ll come out to explore. Then she’ll be sitting in your lap and purring before you know it.”
“Thank you, dear. We’ll be fine. I had cats before I married, but my husband, God rest his soul, was allergic, so I haven’t had one in years. I’m looking forward to spoiling this one.”
TJ appeared just as they were walking toward their car and Baye was waving good-bye. “Your four o’clock appointment is here—the couple with the little boy.”
Baye clapped her hands together, her earlier black mood forgotten. “Oh, goody. Helping him pick out a dog will be fun.”
TJ looked relieved, handed Baye their paperwork, and pointed to a young couple with a towheaded boy headed toward them. “I’ll be in the house if you need me.”
* * *
Baye had spent nearly two hours with the couple and their little boy while they finally decided on a fifteen-pound, brown, rough-coat terrier, then completed the adoption paperwork. She was tired but happily surprised when she returned to the farmhouse and found Teague talking with TJ. She greeted Teague with a kiss and a heartfelt hug. “I missed you today.”
Teague’s expression lit up. “I came to a good stopping place early and thought I would come walk you home…to my house.”
They’d moved about half of Baye’s clothes to Teague’s house, but neither had suggested they U-Haul the rest of her things. Teague’s conviction that she would die in the next year precluded any final move. Her doctor had reported the ultrasound showed she had a strong, healthy heart, but the MRI had been bumped up again and was weeks away. Teague had suffered several severe headaches that her doctor insisted were not typical migraines, but hormone-induced headaches because they showed a pattern of happening the week before her menstrual period. Teague, of course, was not convinced.
“I was just asking TJ about your progress in rehoming my animals.”
TJ said, “I told her that I’d finished the spreadsheets—”
Baye cut her off. “I’ve been looking over the spreadsheets a few hours every day and eliminating any you obviously wouldn’t consider. But I’ve been pretty busy with painting the mural in the cathouse and helping people with adoptions. In fact, we had three adoptions this afternoon.” She was babbling but couldn’t seem to stop. She turned to TJ. “That little boy matched up with Sparky. You know, the little rough-coat terrier. Sparky acted like he’d known that boy all his life, and the boy fell in love with him right away.”
Teague, true to her laser focus, persisted. “Have you found good candidates for any of them?”
TJ shrugged and gestured to Baye for her to answer.
“I have a good possibility for Leo. A woman who brought her mother here earlier today to adopt a cat said she hikes with a friend who has a Maine coon. She said the cat walks on a leash and goes with them. It even has a small lifejacket and rides in her friend’s kayak when they go camping. She said she’d like a Maine coon of her own to take along but said they’re too expensive even if she could find a breeder that wasn’t three states away. She might be perfect for Leo.” It was a small white lie built on a truth. The woman did mention the friend but had not expressed an interest in getting her own Maine coon.
Teague nodded. “Yes. Leo would hate to be cooped up in a house all the time. He needs to spend time outdoors in a way that is safe.”
“Wow. That sounds cool,” TJ said.
Baye had often spun tales to get herself out of trouble with her family and warmed to her storytelling. If only she’d stopped there.
“And, after looking over the people interested in the chickens, I narrowed it down to a woman who just bought an old farmhouse out in the country. She said the property has a barn, and she has been looking at plans for building a chicken coop in it.”
“My hens are past their prime and have laid only a few eggs recently.”
“I pointed that out, and she said she’s single and doesn’t need a lot. She said she had a pet chicken when she was a child but has never lived in a place where she could have chickens again. Her company lets her work remotely since the pandemic, so she was able to move out to the country again.” Okay. That was a total fabrication.
She glanced at TJ, who had narrowed their eyes in suspicion, and gave a nearly imperceptible shake of her head. She knew Baye hadn’t even looked at the spreadsheets, much less called any of the applicants.
“Perhaps she would be interested in the rabbits, too,” Teague said, nodding her approval.
“Oh, I hadn’t thought of that,” Baye said. “She might, especially if she saw how beautiful they are.” Okay. Time to shut up, because she was digging herself into a hole. What if Teague wanted the woman to come meet the rabbits, or asked to visit this fictional woman’s farm to check out her accommodations for Miss Henny and her girls? “I still have to check her references and make sure she really does have a farm. Right now, I’m starving. I just want to forget about business for today, have dinner with you and Connie, take our evening stroll, and spend some time with the fur kids.” She took Teague’s arm and guided her to the door. “And most of all, I want to spend some time with my handsome escort.”
Chapter Nineteen
Teague stepped back from the whiteboard and closed her eyes. The sharp, throbbing pain started at her nape and curled over the top of her head and around through her right temple. She had been trying to ignore the headache, but it had grown to the point she was nauseous and the daylight coming through the tall windows felt as though it was burning her retinas.
“I am sorry, but I must continue this meeting at another time,” she said to the three scientists on the teleconference. Without waiting for them to sign off, she closed the app and opened a new one. “Computer, call Dr. Brennen from my personal contacts.”
“Dr. Brennen’s office, this is Lisa.”
“This is Teague Maxwell. I need to speak with Dr. Brennen.”
“I’m sorry, Ms. Maxwell. He’s with a patient right now.”
“Where is Susan?” Dr. Brennan’s personal nurse knew her and would get Dr. Brennen on the phone.
“Susan is on vacation this week. I’m filling in as Dr. Brennen’s nurse while she’s out. I can give him a message when he’s free, but he’s booked solid today. Do you want me to transfer you to appointment scheduling?”
Teague began to rock back and forth, but the repetitive motion increased her nausea rather than calmed her. “I need to speak to him now.” She grasped her head, immediately regretting that she had shouted. The pain was drowning out any coherent thought. She lowered her volume. “This is Teague Maxwell. I think my brain is bleeding. Tell him now.”
“If you are having an emergency, Ms. Maxwell, you should hang up and call nine-one-one or go to the emergency room.”
She slashed her hand across the computer to swipe the icon ending the call.
Snow left his bed in the cottage and pressed against her legs for support. Agitated by her raised voice, Cappie skittered away, overturning Snow’s metal water bowl, which clattered against the tiled floor. Mac paced on his perch and screeched. “Call the doctor. Call the doctor.”
She sank to the floor and curled into herself, closing her eyes and covering her ears.
“Teague. Baby, what’s wrong?” Baye was bent over Teague, rubbing her back. “Another headache?”
“Yes.” She could barely whisper.
“Call the doctor. Call the doctor,” Mac screamed.
“Mac, shush. Whisper. Inside voice.” Baye whispered to demonstrate.
The macaw cocked his head and responded with a hoarse stage whisper. “Whisper. Inside voice.”
“Honey, can you stand? I need to get you into the house. Don’t open your eyes. I’ll guide you.”
“Might throw up.”
“That’s okay if you need to.” Baye punched a speed dial and whispered into her phone. “Connie. Teague is having one of those migraines. Can you ask the cleaning people to go and come back another day. Their vacuum noise and cleaning smells won’t be good for her…Yeah, I’m going to bring her up from the cottage…Thanks.”
Teague’s head spun as Baye helped her stand and walked her into the house. She managed to keep her breakfast from coming back up and sighed in relief when she lay down in her bedroom Connie had already darkened and cooled several degrees below its normal temperature.
“MRI,” Teague whispered. “I need to get that MRI.”
Baye administered the single-dose injection of pain medicine prescribed by her doctor, and the pain began to ease its grip on her skull.
“My animals,” she mumbled. “Not ready.”
“Sleep,” Baye said quietly, and then, with a light kiss to her forehead, faded into the dark.
* * *
“Wow. Your mural looks really great,” TJ said. “Did you major in art at college?”
Baye stepped back and decided a touch more of gray should go on the kitten who was batting a feather toy. “No. I never stayed at college long enough to declare a major. I just couldn’t sit through those long classes and spend an entire night cramming for a test.”
“I’d think the art classes would be interesting.”
“You would think so, but they were really regimented. The teacher would make the whole class paint the same apple in a bowl or the sun on the horizon. When they started talking about technique and special perspective and stuff, my eyes glazed over. I just paint what I see and feel in my head.”
TJ seemed to consider this information as they watched Baye work. “Sort of like a musician that doesn’t read music but can play anything if they hear it once.” Then they laughed. “I guess that’s how Flower paints, too.”
While the wall in the adoption room of the cathouse was Baye’s canvas, Flower was creating her own art next to her on a twelve-by-twenty-inch canvas clamped to a floor-level easel.
Flower turned those dark pig eyes on TJ, then took a moment to look at her canvas and spit out the brush she held in her mouth to select a brush filled with a different color for her next strokes. She took her art very seriously.
When Baye had discovered the pig had definite color preferences, she made a series of color swatches of the tempera paints she had available and spread them on the floor. Flower would select from the swatches by pushing them toward Baye with her nose, and then Baye would mix the paints in cans that had previously held bulk vegetables and put a brush in each one. Flower would paint one color at a time, taking the brush from the color she wanted in her mouth and slashing it across the canvas. The astonishing thing was that Flower’s selection of color and her paint strokes were obviously purposeful, not random.
“You could learn something from her color selection,” Baye said. She couldn’t bring herself to sort through the offers to rehome Flower, because she felt a kinship to the little pig. People judged them both too often by what they saw on the outside.
“So, have you looked at the applicants I highlighted on the spreadsheets?” TJ asked carefully. She had definitely figured out that rehoming Teague’s pets was a sore subject with Baye.
A handful of people had applied to take Lucky or Asset. Only one was a working farm that needed a guard animal. Several were seeking a companion for a llama or donkey they already had. The farm might be suitable for Lucky, but their herd was a large one in a remote pasture. Asset loved people and would be lonely living with a bunch of sheep and a couple of llamas. He needed human interaction, too.
Maybe Teague would reconsider her refusal to consider a petting-zoo situation, at least where Asset was concerned.
A couple who had established a brush-clearing-goats-for-hire business was interested in Snow. They often camped in a small trailer when they were at a location several days or weeks while their goats ate away at forest undergrowth or a neglected pasture a farmer wanted to reclaim. They would use Snow to help guard the herd at night, just as he did for Teague. They also offered to take the goats, but not the sheep, which were picky about what they ate.
“The goat people look like a good possibility, but I’d have to meet with them,” Baye said. “Teague might also want to, and she’s super busy right now with her collider project.”
“Did you see the entry on the organic farmers? They would be a great possibility for the chickens. They let their chickens free-range to eat the bugs from their summer and winter gardens.”
“Chickens are mean. If the people already have an established flock, their chickens will probably pick on Miss Hennie and her girls. None of them are very big hens. An established flock will peck and peck at the newcomers until they draw blood, and sometimes even kill them. It makes me want to cry to think about some bitch hen hurting sweet Miss Hennie. We need to find somebody who doesn’t already have a flock.”
TJ was quiet for a long time, watching as Baye and Flower painted. She finally spoke quietly. “You and Libby signed a contract, Baye. You and Teague becoming lovers doesn’t void a legal contract unless Teague agrees to break it. I don’t think she’s going to do that.”
Baye sighed and put down her brush. The mural was finished, and she continued to tweak it simply to avoid the rehoming project. Honestly, she was attached to every one of those animals. She loved it when Mac called out, “Pretty. Here’s Pretty,” when he heard her voice. She wanted to paint lots of pictures with Flower. It made her feel good when Cappie chose her shoulder to snuggle on while she and Teague watched a movie. And the little brooding sound Miss Hennie made when Baye held her in her lap and stroked her was very soothing.
Still, none of that was the real reason she was putting off rehoming these animals she’d come to feel were as much hers as Teague’s. Deep inside, she had an unfounded feeling that Teague wouldn’t die as long as some of them still needed good homes.
Chapter Twenty
The ride was silent.
They’d loaded Abigail, Tater, and Tot into a small horse trailer and Snow into the back seat of the crew-cab truck Teague had borrowed from Mary Anne Beck, and Teague was driving the first of her crew to their new family—the couple with the brush-eating goats.
The severity of her last headache had filled her with a sense of urgency. She needed to know her animals were going to good homes. The next headache could be her last.
Teague had thought Baye would argue against the many stipulations—some a little unrealistic—she’d laid down for rehoming her pets, but it was Baye who resisted this first placement. Abigail and her kids were used to eating lush pasture grass, supplemented daily with high-grade pellets, Baye argued. They had a pond and a trough for plenty of fresh water. What if they were taken to a location without adequate water?
