Page 3 of Operation Protector
The woman laughed. “I can feel his tail wagging madly. I guess that answers that.”
“Thank you so much,” Ali exclaimed as her visitor disentangled Ziggy from her jacket.
“Don’t thank us,” the man holding the leash of the much larger dog said. “Thank him.”
He indicated the dog who was sitting calmly between them. Once she had her precious pup safely cuddled in her arms againand she could breathe normally, she gave the man a questioning look.
“He found your boy and brought him to us,” he said.
“Our office is just down the road that way,” the woman said, gesturing toward the sound.
Scrambling to regain her equilibrium, Ali belatedly realized they were standing out in the cold.
“Please, won’t you come in? It’s a little messy, I just moved in three weeks ago, so things are still in flux, but I have hot coffee on.”
“Hot anything sounds wonderful,” the woman said, with a smile that had Ali instinctively trusting her.
They stepped inside, Ali shut the door and ushered them into the living room, which was thankfully in good shape. All the clutter and unpacked boxes were elsewhere.
“I’m Ali Moran,” she said. “And this little rascal is Zigzag, for obvious reasons.” She’d named him the moment she’d seen the pattern of black fur running the length of his back from head to tail in a zigzag shape.
“And I’m Hayley Foxworth, this is my husband, Quinn, and this clever boy—” she reached out to pet the bigger dog, who was sitting politely at their feet “—is Cutter.”
She’d heard the name Foxworth before—it was hard to live here and not be aware—but she had no idea if these folks were connected to those Foxworths she’d seen in the news. They seemed too…normal to be that famous, though.
“Well, I must thank you officially,” she said, leaning over toward the other dog. “Is it all right?” she asked, pausing when she realized she was about to pet a strange dog she’d never seen before. And a dog who looked like a fluffier version of a lot of police and military dogs she’d seen on screen.
“Yes,” Quinn said.
“And it’ll be more all right when you do,” Hayley added. Ali smiled at that, understanding because she now knew the happiness and pure stress relief she got from petting Ziggy.
But then, as her fingers stroked the dark head of the bigger dog, she realized suddenly she hadn’t understood anything. Because the feeling of calm and ease she got, as if it were coursing upward from her fingers on that thick fur, was unlike anything she’d ever felt before.
Her gaze shot back to the woman, who was smiling. “See what I mean?”
“I…wow. What is he, some kind of therapy dog?”
“Among countless other things,” her husband said, dryly but still lovingly. “We try to keep up, but he’s always a few steps ahead of us.”
There was something about the way Quinn Foxworth was looking at her that made her remember how this had all started.
“I honestly don’t know how he got out,” she said. “I’ve looked at the new fence and it’s intact. I know it’s short, but—”
“So is he,” Hayley said.
“Yes,” Ali said, glad she understood. She didn’t want to get a reputation in her new neighborhood for being a negligent pet owner.
She explained how she’d come back in for her phone, had heard a string of barks from Ziggy, but then quiet so she’d assumed—which she would never do again, she swore—the pup had simply been barking at some passing squirrel or rabbit, since they were common here.
“He’s not used to the wildlife yet, and everything seems to fascinate him,” she said.
They chatted some more, and she couldn’t help thinking she wished these were her next-door neighbors. Except for Grace, whom she’d miss. And so would Ziggy. And finally she felt comfortable to ask the question that had been hovering.
“Are you by chance connected to the Foxworth Foundation?”
Hayley smiled. “That would be us.”
Ali’s eyes widened. “Wow. You guys are amazing. I’ve read about you, and how you help the little guy. It does my heart good to know that you’re out there, looking out for people who have been treated so unfairly.”
