Page 59 of My Heart to Find

There’s a man coming toward me, walking another dog. A huge one this one, a Dalmatian.

I like Dalmatians as a rule. I mean, I like all dogs until the individual creatures give me reason not to. But I’ve always been especially fond of Dalmatians. No prizes for guessing which Disney film was my favorite back in the day.

Rufus, however, doesn’t appear to like Dalmatians. Or at least not this one barreling straight for us.

“Easy,” I say as Rufus lets out a low warning sound from the back of his throat.

His ears are alert and his hackles have risen. The Dalmatian’s easily two or three times the size of Rufus, and dog fights can be nasty. Especially when one’s athletic and one’s overweight. I get ready to pick up Rufus, but her growls. Actually growls—and the dog runs right past us, but Rufus is still growling. The new dog seems...scared?

And Rufus growling at the Dalmatian’sowner. A tall man with a wicked moustache and a dark trench coat. Big, army-style boots.

With a jolt I realize it’s Mr. Richards. Jana’s boss. That highly rude man.

Still, I give Mr. Richards a courteous nod as he nears.

He scowls at me. “You better keep better control of that mutt. Don’t want him hurting my Buster. He’s a pedigree, you know.”

“That mutt?” I stare at him. “Just because this dog’s not a pedigree like yours, doesn’t mean yours is any better.”

Mr. Richards glares at me, and Rufus’s still growling, his hackles raised. I bet Mrs. East would be horrified to know how her precious boy is behaving right now. But I am proud of him. At least Rufus can sense what a horrible person this man is.

The Dalmatian makes a whining sound, and with ahurumpfsound, Mr. Richards continues on his way, albeit stepping rather heavily into a muddy puddle with his perfect boots, sending watery mud over my feet.

“Good riddance,” I mutter, as he leaves.

Rufus watches Mr. Richards disappear down the trail and won’t move until he’s well out of sight.

“It’s all right, boy,” I say, but my heart’s beating a little quicker now, and the air just feels heavier, like it’s trying to sink me.

As we walk, I can’t shake that feeling, and several times I become convinced that I’m being watched, followed, stalked.

But I’m not. Each time I turn, there’s no one there. Mr. Richards and his dog are long-gone.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Cara

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