Forever Wild. Allyson Charles

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      Reaching the other side, the woman stopped by two young boys tap-dancing on the sidewalk, dug into her pocket, and tossed some bills into an upturned hat. One of the kids gave her a thumbs-up as he spun at lightning speed.

      Unbidden, Dax’s feet turned to follow. He stepped onto Decatur Street, and a mule brayed a foot from his left ear. Heart thumping, he leaped back onto the sidewalk.

      He shook his head and patted the animal’s rump as it trotted past. “What a dumb ass,” he muttered, and he wasn’t talking about the mule. When the tourist carriage passed, the woman with the long curls was gone.

      He sighed. Well, no matter. He wasn’t in New Orleans for a vacation. He’d left Crook County only two days ago. Two days, one thousand miles, four tanks of gas, and more fast-food restaurants than he could count. And now to make the return trip at the same exhausting pace. But the eight at-risk dogs he’d picked up from the local pound were heading to Forever Friends, the no-kill shelter he volunteered for in Michigan. They were safe, and that made the trip worth every headache.

      A gust of wind rippled the green awning of Café du Monde. An elderly woman in front of the café grabbed for her scarf, but it blew off her shoulders. Caught in the breeze, it drifted up and up and wrapped itself around a light post.

      Dax jogged over to her. “I’ll get that for you, ma’am. If you’ll just hold my bags …” He waited until she cupped the two bags of baked goods with wrinkled fingers.

      She drew her eyebrows together. “It’s fifteen feet up, young man. You’ll never reach it.”

      “I love when someone says I can’t do something.” He shook out his arms and shot her a grin. “It makes it that much more satisfying when I succeed.” He winked and turned toward his target. The light post had a boxy base that rose two feet from the ground. The lip was an inch wider than the pole, plenty of space for a toehold. He ran for the light, jumped onto the base, and pushed off. He stretched his lanky six-foot-three frame and grabbed the pole close to the horizontal arm the scarf was wrapped around.

      Hand over hand, he pulled himself up the last couple of feet and tugged the silk square free. He slid down the pole, hopped off, and presented the scarf to the woman with a flourish. “Madam.”

      Several patrons from the café’s patio clapped, and Dax swept a low bow.

      The woman handed him his bags and knotted the scarf around her neck. “Thank you for the dramatic rescue,” she said wryly.

      Dax opened his mouth to respond, but a group of three beefy men knocked into him as they hurried down the sidewalk.

      Dax staggered into the woman and threw out a hand to steady her. “Hey, watch it,” he shouted after the jerks. The men ignored him and quickened their pace.

      The older woman sniffed. “People today. What are you going to do?”

      He shrugged and waved goodbye. His irritation melted away before he’d crossed the street. It was hard to stay annoyed in the Big Easy. With its decadent food, sultry music, and beguiling women—Dax looked up and down Decatur but didn’t see any long curls—New Orleans didn’t allow a person to stay in a bad mood for long. Maybe he should take a real vacation down here sometime.

      He found the Forever Friends van parked a block away in front of a used bookstore. He opened the back doors, and a chorus of barking greeted him.

      “I know, I said I wouldn’t be long. But it took me a while to find Da Bone Bakery.” He opened his second bag and doled out cookies among the eight dogs in their cages. The dog treats smelled as good as his beignets, and if he didn’t already have his own snack, Dax would have been tempted. “I’ll find a rest stop in a couple of hours, little dudes.”

      A Bluetick Coonhound scratched at his cage and whined.

      “You’ll get to run free in a little bit.” Through the wire, Dax scratched the white patch on his black head. “Sit tight.” He hopped out of the van and closed one of the doors.

      The sound of shouting down the street drew his attention. He walked to the front of the van and eyed one of the yahoos who had knocked into him, yelling at a cabbie. Out of his open window, the driver tossed the man a one-fingered response and sped off, narrowly missing the guy’s toes. His buddies pulled him off the street. They strode down the sidewalk, peeking into shop windows and down alleys.

      Karma was a bitch. Dax was a firm believer that what a person sent out into the world boomeranged back around. Knock into someone one moment, almost get your toes run over the next. One of the men turned, and Dax spun around to hide his grin. He circled to the back of the van and shut the other door. Jumping into the driver’s seat, he cranked the engine. The van sputtered, coughed, and, with a little bit of coaxing and pedal-pumping, finally turned over.

      Dax eased onto the narrow street and made his way out of Crescent City. He hit the I-10 freeway and headed for home. Rummaging in his bag, he pulled out a beignet and took a bite. Powdered sugar drifted down like snow to dust his cargo pants. Dax moaned. Sweet, lardy goodness.

      A dog in the back howled, the sound muffled through the wall between the cab and the cargo area.

      “We’ll go for a run soon,” Dax called around a mouthful of fried dough. Obviously not believing him, the dog howled again. Poor bugger. Dax hated to cage the animals, but it was for their own safety. And Brad, the owner of Forever Friends, would tan Dax’s hide if he caught him building a playpen in the back of the van again. As long as Dax worked for other people, he’d do as they asked. But when he had his own business …

      He wiped his hand on his pants and flipped the visor down. A picture of a different van stared back at him. Off-Road Adventures was written in a chunky print across its side. He ran his finger over the picture, and his stomach fluttered.

      Dax enjoyed volunteering for Forever Friends, which was lucky because he didn’t have a choice about it. Legally enforced servitude, as he liked to call it. But his time there couldn’t compare to the thrill of leading a group of people out into the wilderness for a vacation they’d never forget. His probation was almost up, and soon he could return to working at the adventure company full-time. But he wanted to be more than just an employee.

      He squeezed the steering wheel. Jesse had agreed to his sale price. Dax still couldn’t believe it. In four short months, when Jesse retired, Off-Road Adventures could belong to Dax. If Dax could raise the down payment.

      Considering his life savings consisted of a bundled-up roll of fifties in a coffee can under his bed, that might be a challenge. But he loved challenges.

      He hit a causeway, a ten-mile stretch of freeway raised above swampland on the left and Lake Pontchartrain on the right.

      The howling from the back rose in volume and was joined by a round of barks. The cacophony drowned out the radio set to a country music station. Maybe it was the song, heavy on the fiddle, that was riling up the dogs. Dax turned the radio off, and the ruckus in the back grew louder. Something thumped.

      “Shit.” It couldn’t have been a cage tipping over. He’d checked the tie-downs twice. Something falling from a shelf? The bag of dog food hitting the floor? Water stretched on both sides of the freeway. There was nowhere to pull off to check. None of the barks sounded pained or frightened, but Dax pressed his foot to the accelerator anyway.

      It was five more miles before he hit land. Taking the first exit, СКАЧАТЬ