“Are you, though? I thought a runaway bride had cold feet, not good reason.”
“I don’t know the technicalities, but can you imagine the social media posts?” she asked, shaking her head and suddenly very happy not to have her phone.
“No, because my only use for that particular corner of hell is to get dogs to good homes. In my opinion, you aren’t a runaway anything. You are a free and independent woman who deserves to be listened to, loved, and adored, and not cheated on.” Marie leaned closer to add, “And it’s time you get to be that woman.”
“You make it sound so easy.”
“It is.” Marie stood, moving restlessly around the little bedroom. “I do this with animals all the time. In addition to a home, I give them a job—because every creature finds self-worth through their purpose—and unconditional, trusting, total love.”
“A job? I’m not trained to do anything but raise money for causes. And unconditional, trusting love?” She snorted, another thing her mother hated. “I don’t believe such a thing exists.”
Marie ignored that, studying her. “Nothing? You can’t do anything at all? Answer phones or pour coffee or wait tables or…” She gave a soft laugh. “Probably not in your wheelhouse, huh?”
She didn’t even have a wheelhouse. “But I do want a job, Marie. I’ve always wanted a purpose, but the trust fund made a job seem superfluous, so I’ve volunteered to help animals, like you. And while I’m here, I can feed the chickens and clean litter boxes and I can…” She sat up a little, itching to let it all out. “I can do other things,” she said, purposely vague to see if Marie took the bait.
“Well, unless you can fix the goats’ fence, clear some trees, rebuild the outdoor kennels, and maybe paint that old storage shed, I don’t know what else to give you.”
“I can help with the animals.” She bit her lip. “Especially the worst cases.”
Marie tipped her head, a frown creasing the lines between her eyes, probably at the note in Ayla’s voice.
“I know what they need,” Ayla added on a whisper. “I know what they want.” She swallowed and dove in, dying to get the words out and certain the time was right. “Because I know what they think.”
“Excuse me?”
“Marie, please don’t judge me harshly, or mock what I’m about to tell you, but the truth is, I can read an animal’s mind. It’s not a lie or a trick or a game. It’s a real thing, like I am able to sense their energy and see the image of whatever they see in their mind. No words, of course, since they don’t have language skills, but I’m—”
“A pet psychic!” She slapped a hand on her chest. “Oh my God, you are! Why didn’t I ever realize that? I should have, because I’ve always thought…yes. You’re a pet psychic.”
Ayla cringed. “I’m not a huge fan of that term. The accepted title is animal communicator or animal intuitive.”
“Whatever! I’ve seen them on TV, and I met one once. Sophia.” She pressed her hands to her chest. “She was amazing! Literally knew what the animals were—yes, what they were seeing! It was chill-inducing.”
What was chill-inducing was this reaction. “You believe me?”
“Of course I believe you! There was a huge article in some national paper not long ago that one of my friends in the rescue world sent me. I think ‘pet psychic’ is becoming mainstream.”
“Really? Because sometimes I’m not even sure myself. It’s so…out there. Weird, you know? Like literal paranormal, which I don’t believe in at all.”
“It’s not paranormal,” Marie assured her. “It’s a gift, like being able to paint or sing or dance on your tiptoes and call it ballet. Have you studied the science of pet psychics?”
“I don’t think too many people put ‘science’ and ‘psychic’ in the same sentence.”
“Well, they should. It’s a science. That article said it has to do with waves and vibrations, and oh! You can make money from this, you know. Real money. One lady they interviewed had a three-month waiting list and charged a hundred an hour. Can you communicate with dead pets?”
Ayla shook her head. “Just the ones in front of me. And not a picture, either, or through a computer screen. I have to touch them.”
“Well, there are plenty to touch in this town.”
“Honestly, Marie, I’ve spent my life wishing this would go away,” she admitted. “As a kid, I thought everyone knew what animals were thinking. As a teenager, I thought I might be crazy. And as an adult? I’ve learned that I get tremendous comfort from animals, but I keep the fact that they can communicate with me to myself.”
“No one knows?”
“My grandmother knew.” Ayla added a wistful smile. “She had the same gift.”
“Really?”
“I’ve heard it’s hereditary,” Ayla said.
“Anyone else?”
“I told my sister, and she threatened to have me committed.”
Marie crossed her arms, nodding. “Well, I think you’ve found your job, kitten. You’re a pet psychic.” At Ayla’s look, she held up her hand. “Fine, fancy pants. You’re an animal communicator. And I can’t think of a better place to ply your trade than Bitter Bark, North Carolina, the most dog-friendly town on earth.”
Could she really do that? The very idea gave Ayla a shiver of excitement. “Maybe I should change my name or—”
“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” Marie shot back. “No shame, child. Be proud of your skill!”
She was so right about that. Why hide it anymore?
“I’ll practice here at the ranch first,” she said, closing her eyes as she fantasized about a whole month of doing what she’d always believed she was meant to do. “Didn’t you say you have two other dogs?”
“Hoss and Little Joe.” She chuckled. “Bonanza marathon. There’s another stray cat around I call Cheerio, spotted while I was eating cereal, but he hasn’t warmed up enough to move in. There are two goats, Waffles and Blueberry—I made blueberry waffles the morning I got them. The chickens, of course. I can’t grow this place too fast, not the way I’d like, until I build out the kennels and fix some things. But oh, I’ve got big dreams for the Last Chance Ranch, kitten. Big dreams. But dreams take time and money.”
“I’m happy to help any way I can while I’m here.”
“And I love the company,” Marie promised. “Actually, I’m on my way to get resident dog number four, if you want to come along.”
“Right now?”
“Daniel Kilcannon, the vet who owns Waterford Farm? He called a few minutes ago and told me his stepson picked up a stray on his way here from San Diego. Daniel’s given the dog a physical, and she’s extremely undernourished, but nothing else is wrong with her.”
“You’re bringing her here?”
“Yup. Waterford’s kennels are bursting at the seams until the big adoption fundraiser next weekend. Plus, this pup had a rough time of it. Why don’t you come with me and see Waterford Farm? That place would be a gold mine of business for you. It’s all dogs, all the time. And one very large and loving family.”