Woman On the Run by Lisa Marie Rice Read Free Book Online Page B

porch. Julia approached him gingerly. She knew zilch about dogs. For all she knew, the creature had some horrible disease, rabies or something, and would leap with a low growl for her throat. She tried to remember everything she knew about rabies, but it wasn’t much and it wasn’t pleasant. All she remembered was that the treatment was really nasty—shots in the stomach.
    “Nice doggy,” she said unconvincingly as she approached the matted, yellowish mass of fur. In the penumbra, she couldn’t even tell which end was head and which end was tail. The dog took care of her uncertainty by lifting a pointed, stained muzzle and thumping the other end on the floorboards.
    Julia edged closer, wondering what kind of vocabulary dogs understood. Federico Fellini, her cat, was an intellectual and she could talk about books and films to him, as long as it was after he’d been fed and fed well. She had a vague notion that dogs preferred football and politics.
    This is a bad idea, Julia , she told herself. It isn’t enough to be in Simpson, Idaho under a death threat. You have to try to help a possibly rabid dog and get bitten for your pains. She turned back.
    The dog emitted a high-pitched whine.
    Damn.
    Julia walked back and squatted to look the dog over in the uncertain light from the lamppost on the sidewalk. At least the dog was breathing and she wouldn’t have to give it mouth to muzzle resuscitation. She’d failed her CPR course.
    The dog’s tail thumped weakly on the boards as Julia reached out gingerly to pat it. She felt something wet and snatched her hand back, then realized that the dog was trying to lick her hand. The dog lifted its muzzle into her hand. Julia could swear that it was looking straight into her soul. The mutt looked lost and lonely.
    “You, too, huh?” she murmured and with a sigh, snapped her fingers to shoo him in. The dog quivered and tried to stand, then collapsed, whining loudly.
    “What’s the matter? Are you hurt?” Julia gently ran her hands over the dull coat, trying not to think about ticks and fleas, stopping when she felt the right foreleg.
    “Broken, huh?” she told the dog. He just looked at her and thumped his tail. “Or maybe sprained. I don’t know. God knows if Simpson has a vet. Well.” She took a deep breath and looked at him sternly. “You can come in tonight because it’s cold and you’re hurt, but just for the night and then you’re out…is that clear?”
    The tail swished again and he licked her hand.
    “Okay, just as long as we understand each other.” Julia lifted the surprisingly heavy dog in her arms, staggering a little. She remembered Fellini’s standards of cuisine. “And no home-cooked meals either. You’ll get some bread and milk and that’s it.” The dog whined again as they crossed the threshold. Julia sighed. “Well, maybe if you’re really good, you can have my leftover tuna salad.”
    She put some old towels on the floor in the corner of the little living room and stepped back. He was a big dog, but starved. His ribs were sticking out so clearly through the dull, matted coat that she could count each one of them.
    Julia went into the kitchen, poured milk into a plastic bowl and put the remains of her tuna salad on a plastic plate. She knew that tomorrow she would stop by the grocery store to pick up some dog food and inquire about a vet.
    You’re a fool , Julia, she told herself again as she put the food in front of the dog, but she was pleased anyway as she watched the dog gulp the food down and slurp up the milk. He gazed at her through slitted eyes.
    “Bad time, huh, big fellow?” Julia asked softly.
    The dog yawned hugely, showing a mouthful of yellow teeth, put its nose on its forepaws and went out like a light.
    Julia envied him. She hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep in over four weeks. It would take more than a blanket and some leftover tuna salad to repair her shattered life.
    Julia shivered. Speaking of