Chapter Four

Fate Be Damned

Past

J oan’s days on her land were filled with everything from gardening to maintenance in the summer to chopping wood and kindling for winter. Training Max was an ongoing job and one that she loved.

By six months old, his personality was in full bloom. He was the smartest of her Rottweilers, and she didn’t think it possible. He wanted nothing more than to please her. Well, cookies. He wanted those too.

He trailed behind her everywhere. She taught him to carry items. She trained him to help pull. His desire to learn was endless, and she knew if she were hurt somewhere out on her property, Max would get her home.

Joan had rescued her first Rottweiler when the secretary who worked beside her at the phone company went through a divorce. She couldn’t take the dog, Ruffus, out of state with her. Joan was lonely. Her daughter Sammy had left years before, and Joan needed companionship that had nothing to do with men.

She’d never considered herself a dog person, but Ruffus changed that. The way he communicated with expressions, whines, and barks lightened her world. Joan became a Rottweiler mom, and it suited her just fine.

When Ruffus died, it broke her heart. Six months later, she’d purchased a five-month-old Rottweiler puppy using part of her precious savings. Within a few weeks, she wondered if she’d made a mistake. The puppy was no Ruffus, and he might eat her house. A friend suggested training, so Joan signed up for a class.

The trainer made it clear on the first day that it was not her job to train the dogs, it was her job to train the owners. Joan learned just how ignorant she was when it came to dog behavior. Ruffus had been moderately trained, didn’t pee in the house, and never ate the furniture. Saydee, as a puppy, had none of those qualities.

Joan learned about dog behavior, and another world opened for her. The trainer was so impressed with Joan’s willingness to learn that she recommended Joan take the advanced course too.

Saydee, lovingly placed in her new kennel each day when Joan went to work, changed her rotten ways, and their friendship became cemented.

When Saydee’s life came to a sudden end after bone cancer was discovered when she was eight, Joan waited only a month to find a new puppy. Her heavy heart barely made it the month. Molly came into her life, and this time Joan did the training herself and took it to the next level. It was a great hobby, and with work, it gave her little time to worry about her daughter.

Her third dog died a natural death. Things had changed in Joan’s life, and she decided: no more dogs.

That lasted through her daughter’s death and her granddaughter’s murder trial. Joan thought about those years as little as possible and was just happy to live in peace on the ranch, learning how to take care of herself.

Independence suited her, and she was thankful for the phone company stock she’d invested in through the years. It made it possible for Joan to buy the property and survive until her Social Security came through.

Then came Jeb Hogg. The trial gave Jeb a bigger reason to hate her. That was okay because she fully returned the sentiment now. Carrie was the only reason Joan hadn’t lit the Hogg house on fire. Okay, that wasn’t true. She only wished the place would burn down when they weren’t home, and they moved away.

Max was now a necessity more for Hogg deterrence than mountain lions. Jeb’s sons loved to speed past her drive, kicking up dust, yelling profanities, and every threat they could think of. They had three brain cells between the four boys, so she tried to ignore the harassment.

“If people didn’t live past my road, I would spike it,” she told Max after the semiweekly drive-by.

The low rumble that came from his throat made her feel better. He disliked the Hoggs as much as she did. Carrie was another story. Max loved her and thought of her as his extra-special human who gave good belly rubs. It took Carrie a bit to warm up to him due to her father’s dogs, but once the trust was established, she gave him as many belly rubs as time allowed.

Carrie’s growing comfort with Max mirrored the slow trust building between her and Joan. At first, the girl would barely speak, slipping in and out of the house like a shadow. But over time, Carrie began to linger, eating her meals more slowly, or sitting by the fireplace as Joan worked on a project. Joan had come to love these moments of quiet companionship, where words weren’t necessary.

The bond deepened further when Carrie began asking questions. Sometimes they were about the land or the animals, but occasionally, they were personal. Those moments felt precious, like cracks in a wall Carrie had built around herself. Joan had come to care for the girl deeply, and she hated the life Carrie was forced to endure.

She showed up one day with three punctures in her forearm. They were swollen and unnaturally red.

“What happened?” Joan questioned gently.

She always spoke softly and tried not to ask too many questions, or the girl would run away. Carrie was a wild child and had somehow adapted to the unforgiving environment, but Joan now knew that the real danger was Carrie’s father.

The small shoulders shrugged, and Carrie didn’t answer.

Joan knew a dog bite when she saw one.

“Did you show your mom?” Joan asked.

“She’s sick.”

Joan had learned that was code for “too beat up to take care of her daughter.” Joan loved her home; she just had trouble accepting the lifestyle of many of her neighbors. She had a family a few miles in the opposite direction from the Hoggs who escaped a religious cult. There were several wives attached to one man, with an unknown number of children. The county didn’t monitor which kids went to school and which didn’t. Most of the children on the ranch were so-called home-schooled. It meant the kids could learn to feed, water, and fetch firewood, but couldn’t add more than two digits.

There she went again, with her judgment. She shook the negative thoughts off, angry at herself for placing blame when she only knew part of the story. The plural wives she’d met were closed off, though never unfriendly, and their children were the same.

With a sigh, Joan examined Carrie’s wounds carefully. The young girl didn’t even grimace when Joan cleaned them and placed antibiotic ointment over the shallow punctures.

“Want a sandwich?” Joan asked.

Carrie nodded and followed her to the kitchen, Max, her steady companion. When her granddaughter Willow came home, Max would love her too.

Joan did most of the talking while Carrie shoveled the food down.

“I have peanut butter today,” Joan said when Carrie finished eating.

When she discovered Carrie’s love for cookies, only superseded by Max’s love for his dog biscuits, she baked a small batch regularly, so she always had them on hand.

She held the cookie back when Carrie placed her hand out.

“Was it the brindle?” she asked, her eyes tipping to the bite.

A stubborn gleam entered Carrie’s eyes while her sharp gaze remained on the cookie. Finally, she nodded.

Sweets made great bribes.

Jeb treated his wife and daughter abominably. He loved that brindle, though. That dog was mean and vicious, and the world would be a better place if it were put down. Jeb enjoyed using the dog to terrify Carrie. This wasn’t the first bite. The last one, a few months before, had been on the back of her calf. Jeb had sent the dog out to find Carrie, and the bite had been the result.

Deputy Berger tried to explain that they only had two deputies for hundreds of miles and their court system was backed up. It was well known that most of the families were avoiding government control. The county was the perfect fit for people like Jeb Hogg.

“Do you want to read one of your books?” Joan asked her after the cookie was gobbled down in a few bites. Joan had ordered several books she thought Carrie would enjoy.

Carrie shook her head and left through the back door. She would sneak back onto the Hogg property and most likely still be in trouble. She was one tough child, and that in itself was the saddest part.

Joan’s dislike of Jeb Hogg had grown to anger, and now that anger simmered just below the boiling point.