Page 45 of Wag More Bark Less

“Then let me grab on to your arm. If anyone asks, I’m simply taking a lazy evening stroll with a beautiful woman.”

“Your secret’s safe with me.” I winked at him, masking my concern behind a chipper expression.

He was moving slower tonight than any other I’d witnessed. Not an outright reason to be concerned, but I’d keep an eye on him this week just in case.

“No Ellie tonight?” Walter asked as we officially turned onto the neighborhood sidewalk and headed down the block.

“She’s pooped. We spent half the day at Paws of Purpose. She had so much fun helping socialize the puppies, but I think she overdid it.”

“Ken and Jenny surprised to see her?”

“They were. I thought they’d be disappointed that she didn’t make it through service dog training. But turns out, they almost didn’t send her in the first place.”

It was a happy reunion, and the couple who raised puppies to prepare them for official service dog training was delightful. Ellie and I had an open invitation to drop by anytime we wanted while we were still in town.

I experienced a brief moment of disappointment, confronted with the reminder that this stop in Bluebell Springs was temporary. I yearned for time to slow so I could savor every moment of this visit.

“I think it’s safe to say Ellie ended up right where she was meant to be,” Walter said as we turned the corner and headed toward downtown.

“She did indeed.”

The Legion Hall was easy to spot, not just because it was one of the only buildings on the main strip constructed entirely of brick, but because most of the cars downtown were flanked around the building.

“This reminds me of my grandpa,” I told Walter as we approached. “He used to take me to Legion meetings when I was little. I was the only kid, of course. But I loved it. They made me the beer runner, and I thought it was the most important job ever. My mom loved it, too, because by the time I got home, I was totally wiped out from running back and forth from the bar counter to the seating area that I didn’t even fight bedtime.”

“I hope they didn’t let you drink beer?”

“Don’t tell my mom, but Grandpa snuck me a sip once when I was seven. It was terrible. I’ve never touched a beer since.”

Walter cackled at that as we walked through the propped-open door of the Legion Hall. It warmed my heart to see half the seats already filled, and several veterans mingling throughout the space—all men as far as I could tell. The majority were older—Vietnam, I’d guess. Definitely some Desert Storm vets, but I was pleasantly surprised by the number of veterans my age. I recognized Connor, but not the two guys he was talking to.

I scanned the hall for signs of Luke, annoyed at the disappointment his absence caused me to feel. My trip would be far less complicated if I avoided the man, as I originally planned. So why was I so eager to stir up trouble?

“Would you smack me if I asked you to get me a beer?” Walter asked, nodding at the bar counter in the back corner of the open room.

“I’d be delighted. Save me a seat?”

“I have reserved seating on account of being the oldest one here.” He winked. “I’ll meet you in the front row.”

I slipped through the crowd, nodding a hello to Joe from the hardware store as I got in line at the bar.

“It’s not supposed to rain until Thursday,” I heard an older man say.

“I’m telling you, it’s going to rain,” another argued.

“There’s nothing in the forecast,” his buddy pointed out between sips of beer.

“My knee’s killing me tonight. Ever since I jumped out of that Huey down in Mekong Delta and twisted it all to hell in that rice paddy, I’ve been able to predict when it’ll rain. Trust me. It’s going to rain.”

“You should really get that looked at,” the other man said.

“It’s too expensive and there’s too much damn red tape.”

I should stay out of their conversation. I didn’t know these men, and they didn’t know me. But I had a sixth sense when it came to veterans who could use a little guidance with benefits they may not even understand they had, so I took a chance. “Do you have a claim filed with the VA? For your knee?”

Both men looked at me, obviously taken aback by the stranger who’d been eavesdropping. I readied my apology for the interruption, but before I could get it out, the gentleman with the messed-up knee said, “Damn military screwed up my knee, and do they care? No. I tried to call, but I just get told to log in and do it myself. They don’t want to help me.”

“I could help you,” I offered.