Page 3 of Beckett

I didn’t even know exactly what they did here. Just knew the place had a cute name.Pawsitive Connections.

Lark tilted her head, obviously adding up the evidence in front of her. Woman alone. Broken car she won’t let anyone touch. Desperate enough to beg for work from strangers. The math was elementary.

“Actually, I could use help. One of my assistants is having a tough pregnancy so can’t work as much. You should be forewarned that this job isn’t fancy—feeding the animals, cleaning stalls, basic work. I can only pay cash right now, maybe forty for the day. The real position starts when I’m back from my conference next week.”

Cash. No forms. No trail. That was exactly what I needed.

“I’ll work hard. I don’t know animals, but I learn fast.” I tried not to sound too desperate.

“Where are you staying in town?”

The question I’d been dreading. “Still…figuring that out.”

She nodded slowly, drawing the wrong conclusions. She thought it was domestic violence, probably. Bad boyfriend. If only my monster were that simple.

“Let’s start with today. See how it goes. I really could use the help.”

Relief made my knees liquid. “Thank you. I—thank you.”

“Come on, tour time.” She paused. “I didn’t catch your name.”

Sarah? Jessica? Michelle? I’d worn so many names, they’d stopped feeling real. But exhaustion made me reckless.

“Audra Cartland.”

My real name. Stupid. Dangerous. But for one day, I wanted to be the girl Todd had called Aud, who’d had a family and a future and reasons to smile.

Lark led me through the property, chattering about operations. Evidently, Pawsitive Connections dealt with all sorts of animals. Dogs dominated, but I spotted cats, rabbits, horses, even a distant llama.

And it was so nice to have a normal conversation. I’d forgotten the rhythm of it.

“We train service animals, emotional support, some security dogs. Also rehabilitation and rehoming. Whatever connects the right animal with the right person.”

“That sounds amazing.”

The barn smelled like safety—hay and dog food and routine. Rows of kennels, occupied by dogs who watched us with curiosity instead of fear. Lark showed me the different foods. I was almost hungry enough to eat some of it myself.

“Feeding time first. Think you can handle it?”

I took the bucket she offered like a lifeline. Physical work. Clear purpose. Something beyond the endless loop of watch-run-hide-repeat.

As I measured kibble according to the wall chart, Lark narrated each dog’s story. Seizure alert. PTSD support. Guide dog in training. Work that mattered. Work that helped.

“So, Audra, what brings you to Garnet Bend?” Her question was casual, innocent.

I kept my eyes on the food bin. “Needed a change. Heard it was nice here.”

“It is. Small town, so everyone knows everyone. We look out for one another.”

That was what terrified me. Looking meant seeing. Seeing meant questions. Questions meant lies or truth, and both were dangerous now.

We worked through the morning, feeding and watering. My muscles remembered this kind of honest fatigue, so different from the bone-deep exhaustion of constant vigilance. Whenwe moved to cleaning kennels, I welcomed the mindless task. Scoop, spray, replace bedding. Simple. Clear. No decisions that might get me killed.

“You’re good with them,” Lark observed as a skittish terrier mix actually approached me for a sniff. “Natural calm energy. Animals sense that.”

Calm. I almost laughed. If she only knew the hurricane inside me.

We worked through the afternoon, sweat replacing the mountain chill on my skin. My stomach had given up growling and moved to sharp, hollow pain. The peanut butter sandwich I’d had last night before I’d fallen asleep felt like days ago instead of hours.