Mending Hearts, I believe, was started sometime in early high school, like most of my works. The exact date was not, unfortunately, recorded. This story would be called a romantic suspense. With my own penchant for less "fru fru" stories, it probably will have explicit sex and graphic violence.
The very basic story type is somewhat "traditional" in that we have a man and a woman on two sides of an issue who still manage to find love. I hope to differentiate my story in that it involves a rarely talked subject, the issue of dog fighting (something I've personally never seen appear in a romance novel), and whether rehabilitation of a fighting dog is a possibility.
After much debate, I decided to kill off the links to read the WIP online, since I really wasn't updating it very often because it's a work-in-progress and constantly being edited. When I finish it, though, I'll add the ability to read the first 2 chapters here and order info when it's published. ;-)
The sun burned brightly through the early morning mist. As the nocturnals slept, the day walkers were starting to rise from their night of slumber. The sun rose in a glorious riot of colors. The air had a taste of promise in its crisp scent. It was the kind of spring day that was hard not to enjoy, where one finds themselves with an extra bounce to their step and an unexplainable lightness in their heart.
The sounds of life started to rise. The early risers were already on the way to the office as street crews finished up the nighttime repair projects. School busses headed out for their morning rounds.
At one small, rundown house, a nightmare was starting, again.
A shadow stirred in a weather beaten doghouse, then a dog emerged. At seventy-five pounds, she was all muscle. Her thick fur should have gleamed in the bright sunshine, but it was dull and matted. Mud coating most of her white markings making her appear rather nondescript. She did not moved with the casual elegance of her breed; she walked in slow, measured steps with her head held low. With her haggard appearance, even a professional might not have seen the collie as anything more than a pitiful looking mongrel.
She stretched fore and aft, before walking around as much of the yard as she could reach with the heavy chain dragging behind her. Once the inspection was finished, she lay down in the sun, watching the house expectantly.
An hour later, the back screen slammed open. A man emerged, if man were loosely defined. Everyone called him Ratty with good reason. He was long and skinny in face and body; even his nose came to a sharp point. Oversized teeth crowded his mouth. His eyes shifted as nervously as his hands and his clothes were ill fitted and as droopy as his the limp strands of hair that adorned his head.
He placed two bowls on the porch, water sloshing from one bowl as his hands shook. Using the tip of a nearby pole, he pushed the bowls to the edge of the porch where the dog was waiting, snarls pouring forth as she lunged at him, barely checked by the chain. There was no mistaking the hatred and rage in her voice.
"Boss," the man whined as he turned around and went back inside, "why I gotta feed that mutt. Bitch hates me. What if she breaks that chain and gets a hold of me?
A loud laugh answered him. "Then I won't have to pay you no more to listen to your whining now would I?" The back door closed, cutting off the rest of the conversation.
The collie approached the bowls, sniffing the food as cautiously as a cat before taking a small mouthful. She ate slowly, pausing after each bite as though weighing its effect before taking another. She had not forgotten the times the man had given her food laced with stuff that had made her eyes water and her throat burn. Nor had she forgotten the times her food had made her ill almost as soon as she was done eating.
Her meal, the dog drank deeply from the water bowl before going back to huddle inside the doghouse, her nose just appearing outside of its door. She gave a soft whine under her breath, a slight tremor working its way through her. Normally, she liked to lie in the morning sun for a while, but today the man had given her meat, not the usual dry kibble.
She knew what was coming. Meat meant a fight today, maybe two. She'd be taken somewhere and forced into a ring with another dog. They'd have to fight until one was dead, or was so badly injured that death would have been a welcome release. Men would cheer as the battle raged, paper passed between eager hands. Her reward for winning would be her life, such as it was.
The door opened again. The loud man walked out. He was not fat, but muscular. He was also terrifying to those who knew him and hated by the greater majority of the same. The collie was amongst those who both feared and hated him.
The collie snarled softly, but did not attack nor give full voice to growls lodged in her through. She had learned the lesson of the club well. They both knew it was only the large stick in his hand that kept her at bay.
In his other hand, the man carried a skinny pole with a loop of cord at the end. He slid the rope over her neck, and then gave it a sharp tug. "Come on mutt, time to go have some fun and make your daddy some money."
He led the dog to the back of the ugly green van that Ratty had been backed out of the garage. The man climbed into the back compartment pulling her up behind him. She was shoved into a metal cage. The man rattled the cage with a stick, hurting her sensitive ears, before climbing up into the passenger seat.
"Let's go"
"Yes, sir. Away we go. Time to have some fun with that mean ass bitch." Ratty crowed from the driver's seat.
"Hey," said the man, "that dog's made more money for us than any of the others, so talk with respect. That dog is our ticket to the big time. A few more fights and we can take her up to Alaska, Canada, get her in some real action."
In the back, the dog paced the small cage anxiously. Each mile brought more dread. She started snapping at the air, her snarls and growls louder as they drove on. Like many fighting dogs, she became filled with a sort of horrified excitement as the destination approached. She hated the fights, but she had no choice in the kill or be killed situation. It was her body's natural response was to get ready.
Suddenly the van swerved sharply, throwing the dog against the cage. The van went airborne, then landed with an ear-wrenching crash.
The world twisted, and the dog vaguely realized the van was rolling. With one more terrifying crash, the van came to a stop. Through the window, she could see nothing but a wall of rock.
Slowly, the dog lifted her head. The van was sitting at an odd angle, and the cage was lying on its edge. She was lying in the corner formed by one cage wall and the floor. As the fog lifted from her mind the dog slowly made her way out of the now opened door.
Looking back, she saw both men in the front seat. Ratty's head was flopped over in an odd way, her acute sense of smell picking up a heavy scent of death. The loud man's breathing was labored, raspy. His eyes closed.
Glancing around the van, the dog realized that the van's back door had also been broken in the accident, and was slightly open. She walked over and gave it a push. It swung open a few feet.
The collie jumped out, whining softly as the impact jarred her battered body. She shook the glass from her fur, before glancing around. Below, a sun lit forest echoed with birdcalls and the chatter of squirrels. Above, four or five men where slowly making their way down the embankment. On the road above, the collie could see stopped cars, along with a huge truck.
Her instincts warned her that the men would try to catch her. They were confirmed when the men paused for a moment to stare at her, then began whistling and calling to her. The voices sounded friendly, and for the briefest moment, they pulled her. Then she remembered the beatings she'd received if she allowed anyone to touch her or obeyed anyone else’s commands.
For a moment, she stood, looking back and forth from the woods below and the men above. Finally, she headed toward the woods at a fast trot. Then, realizing she was now free from fights and beatings, she started running. She was miles away before she stopped for a drink of water. Only mildly winded, she filled the air with a howl of pure joy.