Rescued by Love

by Deirdre O'Dare

  Rescued by Love

  By Deirdre O’Dare

  Published by JMS Books LLC

  Visit jms-books.com for more information.

  Copyright 2019 Deirdre O’Dare

  ISBN 9781634867603

  Cover Design: Written Ink Designs | written-ink.com

  Image(s) used under a Standard Royalty-Free License.

  All rights reserved.

  WARNING: This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If it is sold, shared, or given away, it is an infringement of the copyright of this work and violators will be prosecuted.

  No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission from the publisher, with the exception of excerpts used for the purposes of review.

  This book is for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It may contain sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which might be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Published in the United States of America.

  NOTE: This book was previously published by Amber Quill Press.

  * * * *

  Dedicated to the heroic SAR dogs and their handlers who so often go unsung. A few came to public attention during 9/11 and some more recent natural disasters but every day the amazing team work of these volunteers saves lives and averts tragedies. It would be impossible to sing their praises too highly. Also to all of the loyal and loving ‘fur kids’ that enrich our lives whether they do great deeds or are simply there with their unconditional love as our companions and most faithful friends.

  * * * *

  Rescued by Love

  By Deirdre O’Dare

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Prologue

  Durango, Coloradl

  Autumn, 2006

  Warm, gentle pressure on his knee called Garrett Turner out of the blinding fog of despair. He looked down into Mandy’s glowing amber eyes, letting her love lead him into the sunshine once more. She always knew when he was starting to sink into depression. Every time it happened, she came to lead him back to solid emotional ground.

  “What would I do without you, girl?” He stroked her head with a tender hand before scratching behind her ears the way she liked. “You’re my rescuer. I didn’t rescue you—you’ve rescued me.” Mandy had been with him almost six months now. He could no longer imagine life without her.

  He still didn’t know what had led him to the local animal shelter one day early last spring. At the time it had felt like some outside entity simply took charge, dragging him out of his house and the bleak ruins of his life. Lord knew he’d needed something. The minute he entered the long kennel building housing female dogs, Mandy spotted him. Within a few heartbeats, her attention focused his gaze on her.

  A ragged, gawky, half-grown pup about six months old, she didn’t look promising. In spite of that, they both recognized she was the one he was meant to take. If there was such a thing as love at first sight, it sprang to life in a moment between the broken, lonely man and the homeless, abandoned young dog.

  Garrett took her home the same day, the first dog he’d owned since childhood. He named her Mandy after a favorite song from his parents’ generation. The tawny pup gave him a purpose, a reason to get out of bed every morning, and by gradual steps, a new lease on life.

  He’d been just short of twenty when a drunk driver had hit his parents’ car head-on, killing them both instantly. A bitter irony, they’d been out to celebrate their twenty-second anniversary that night. Since the twins were only twelve, he gave up college plans midway through to stay home and serve as their surrogate dad. Even if it wasn’t always easy, he really believed the results would make his efforts worthwhile. They were slated to graduate from college with honors. Meanwhile his website design business kept him occupied and supplemented the insurance his parents had left for the family’s support.

  Then the unthinkable happened. Coming back from a ski trip with friends, an avalanche had swept the twins’ SUV off the road. By the time the storm ended, allowing the dirty snow covering the vehicle to melt, it was too late. Jason, Janice, and two of their friends were dead. Afterwards, Garrett didn’t live. He merely existed until Mandy came into his life.

  Now nearing a year old, Mandy had grown into a beautiful dog. Most of her ancestry had to be Golden Retriever. In fact, she could easily pass for a purebred Golden. She was one fine-looking dog, and her fierce, courageous heart and loving loyalty outshone her physical beauty.

  “Yep, you were my rescuer, baby girl.” Mandy leaned against his leg, her eyes blissfully half-shut as he located and scratched every single itchy spot around her head that she couldn’t quite reach.

  Rescuer. The word echoed in his mind. Mandy was a very smart dog with strong retrieving instincts and great eagerness to please. Rescue. Search and rescue. What if?

  With a sudden burst of energy and enthusiasm, the first real fire-in-the-belly feeling he’d had in months, Garrett crossed the room to his computer. He typed “rescue dogs” into the search box. For the next twenty-four hours he submerged himself in study of the fascinating subject.

  He shed tears over the heroic dogs who’d died searching out victims in Oklahoma City and at the Twin Towers. He rejoiced over lost children found and survivors dug from ruins. There was no doubt in his mind. Mandy could learn to do this. Then it would be up to him to learn how to work with her. He discovered there were schools training both dogs and handlers. It was past time he began to live again. Together they could form a team, one which might save others from the kind of cruel loss he had endured.

  Chapter 1

  Southeastern Colorado

  Late afternoon

  May, 2008

  Daniel Boudreaux cast an anxious look at the lowering sky. Out here on the prairie, shelter was not always easy to find. Still, from the sky’s appearance, he’d need some soon. Not that he hadn’t gotten soaked before or ridden in the rain, but the look of the clouds spelled trouble. They appeared bumpy, bubbled, or cobbled on the underside, dark and sullen. A distant grumble of thunder reached his ears as a gusty wind kicked up, buffeting him with dust and bits of vegetation.

  He accelerated, forcing maximum speed out of the old Indian. The vintage motorcycle had been in the Boudreaux clan a long time. Family legend said his grandfather Hebert had come home from a stint in the marines in World War II and bought the machine, far from new even then. He’d spent the better part of a year wandering around the country with it to get back on an even keel after the trauma of war. Then Pop had come home from Vietnam, dug the old bike out of the barn, tuned it up, and taken off. He’d been gone longer, almost three years. Now it was Dan’s turn.

  He’d joined the National Guard to help pay for the specialized education he wanted and wound up going to Iraq. Why he had survived almost unscathed when a roadside bomb took out a half-dozen buddies in his platoon, he didn’t know. He’d been just far enough back the blast threw him to the ground, barely clear. Still, feeling bits of his friend’s shattered bodies falling on and around him was a horror he would never forget. So far he had not nearly outrun it, although he’d been on the road almost six months.

  Today he was somewhere in the vast, nearly empty area including the Oklahoma panhandle, north Texas, and southeastern Colorado. High plains country. Exactly where in the vast region, he couldn’t be sure. As often
as possible, he kept off the freeways, taking winding country roads and old, cracked, two-lane blacktops tending to corner abruptly around farms and meander over the rolling terrain. The solitude was a welcome relief from too many people crowded into tents and barracks, while the challenge of driving strange, unpredictable roads kept him from dwelling too much on the haunting past.

  Just as the first cold raindrops splattered on the visor of his helmet, he saw an old barn, not too far off the road. A rusty, narrow cattle guard in the roadside fence marked the trace of a lane leading to the barn. He turned down the lane, found one door of the barn hanging open, and rode right inside. As a shelter, it wasn’t much, although he thought it would be better than being out in the full force of what sounded like the start of a nasty storm.

  The pitch of the wind changed, becoming higher, shriller, rising to an almost continuous ululating scream. The force caused the rickety building to wobble, wood creaking as beams and rafters shifted, rubbing against each other. He dismounted and put down the kickstand on the bike. He’d just started to cross to where an empty five-gallon plastic bucket lay against the wall, thinking to use it for a seat, when something made him look up.

  As he watched, too shocked to move, half the roof peeled away overhead, like the lid coming off a can. He found himself staring up into a swirling maelstrom of purple-black cloud with a gigantic finger coming down toward him like the hand of an avenging god.

  Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. The nearest wall of the barn shuddered and then started to lean inward. He made a frantic dive toward the bike and fetched up against it, his face to the dusty floor. The taste of dust and long-dry manure was about the last thing he knew.

  Jesus and Mary, I’m going to die with a mouthful of old cow shit…

  * * * *

  Garrett kept his attention welded to the TV screen as the latest disaster began to emerge in the news. A series of unusual weather patterns had spawned a swarm of tornadoes along the western edge of the plains. The phenomenon was wreaking havoc. One little community in the Oklahoma panhandle had been all but obliterated as the twisters’ paths of destruction wandered the rim of the prairie, just beyond the influence of the Rockies.

  He rested a hand on Mandy’s head where she lay in her usual spot, right beside his easy chair. “Wake up, old girl. I think there’ll be work for us in this mess. What do you say we get loaded up and head across to the prairie side? We might as well put all our training to work.”

  An hour later, they were heading out of Durango, in the well-outfitted truck Garrett had acquired and stocked once he and Mandy had completed their intensive initial training. This would be the first big disaster they’d taken part in. So far although Mandy had found two lost children and the body of a missing coed from the local college, the only disaster work she’d done had been practice exercises.

  From the looks of the wide areas of devastation, there would be enough work for as many search and rescue teams as could be brought in. Garrett knew at least two other teams from his southwestern corner of the state would be headed east too. The state SAR organization would have a command post set up by the time they arrived in the devastated region the next morning.

  Mandy clearly knew something out of the ordinary was happening. Instead of curling up in the back seat of the king cab truck to sleep, she stayed in the passenger seat, watching the dark highway slide by as Garrett drove through the night. When she finally lay down, he could tell she wasn’t sleeping soundly, just napping a bit.

  “You need to get your rest, girl. We’re going to be working hard tomorrow and likely for several days afterwards.”

  She made a little sound, kind of between a whimper and a faint growl—one of her efforts to talk back to him. Maybe she didn’t understand everything he said, but it was easy to believe she did.

  * * * *

  They put in an intensive first day, searching ruined buildings in two small towns which had taken direct hits. Mandy did a great job. Garrett was ready to burst with pride. For a young dog on her first big challenge, Mandy worked like a champ. Finally, on the second morning, he was given a rural area to patrol, looking for any ruins or rubble that might possibly hide a survivor or a body. A lot of people were still not accounted for, and with the scattered farms and ranches, it would take some time to check on them all.

  He almost drove right past the low tumble of gray wood and rusty corrugated metal off to the side of the road. Then Mandy suddenly whined. Garrett tapped the brake and looked in the direction she was staring so intently.

  “Looks like it’s been there half a century, Mandy. Are you sure we need to go check it out?” She whined again. “Okay, girl, I’ll take your word for it.”

  He shifted into reverse and backed to where he could turn into the overgrown lane leading out to the pile of refuse. Mandy was out of the truck as soon as he stopped. She started with a careful patrol, circling the whole pile before she began to work her way toward the center.

  The wreckage presented a challenging agility course. The dog balanced on tilting pieces of lumber, twisted among bent and jagged scraps of metal roofing. Up close, Garrett could see the structure had been a fair-sized building, probably a barn. It looked as it if had been abandoned for some time. Who knew when it had fallen in on itself? Then he saw a glint of brighter metal beneath the rusted roofing panels and gray wood. About the same time, Mandy reached the spot and gave several sharp barks. They were her “I found something” signal, a distinct vocalization unlike her other sounds.

  It took him far longer to approach the spot than it had taken Mandy. He narrowly missed getting a nasty gash when he slipped on a shifting board and jammed his leg against the edge of a sheet of roofing. Finally he was close enough to see the shiny metal was the chrome on a motorcycle. This glimpse hinted the cycle was holding most of the weight of a central beam that had fallen, pinning a person beneath it.

  Now the issue was to discover if he had a body or a living, though probably gravely injured, person to deal with. Mandy wiggled down beneath the jumble until she reached the man. Garrett could barely see his face. He looked like he had fallen or been knocked down face to the ground, close to the motorcycle. From the color of the bit of skin Garrett could see, the man was still alive. The gray hue of death did not mark his weather-browned cheek. Mandy sniffed and then licked the exposed patch of skin. The man stirred, moaning faintly.

  He’s alive! Now how do I get him out of this mess? Garrett pulled out his cell phone, checked his GPS unit and called his location in to the command post. “I’ve got a victim. Not sure the extent of his injuries. He’s trapped in the wreckage of an old barn. We’ll need some extraction tools, probably a chain saw and some wrecking bars to get him out. I’ll do what I can and try to evaluate his condition.”

  The command post responded at once. An ambulance and some construction workers with tools would be dispatched shortly. The first step done, Garrett maneuvered his way closer to the trapped man, being careful not to shift anything in a way to add to the victim’s injuries.

  Mandy had crawled down underneath the roofing still attached to the beam crossing the trapped man’s body and rested on the motorcycle. She moved in still closer, making small whining sounds, gently nudging him now and then or licking his face. For some reason, she had really tuned in on this victim and seemed frustrated Garrett could not free him.

  He didn’t have to tell her stay, even though he didn’t want her to risk coming back out. The wreckage was too unstable and full of hazards like jagged metal edges and nails sticking out of pieces of wood. Mandy meant too much to Garrett to see her injured if he could prevent it.

  When the crew arrived, they proceeded in a methodical way, starting from the outer edge nearest the victim and working their way in bit by bit. It took almost an hour to get the debris removed to the point where the man was freed. He became semiconscious a couple of times and seemed to realize he was going to be rescued, but between shock and dehydration, he wasn’t abl
e to talk coherently.

  Finally the EMTs lifted him onto a stretcher and loaded him up for the trip to the hospital. They used a back board and took every care to avoid adding to his injuries. Probably his biker leathers, the heavy black jacket, and chap-style pants had helped prevent severe wounds from the wind-tossed wreckage. Both garments were abraded and cut in many places.

  After the ambulance took off, Garrett collected the beat-up motorcycle. With the help of a couple of the construction workers, he loaded it into the back of his truck. He wasn’t sure it could be salvaged. Still, the classic old machine certainly deserved the effort if it could be repaired.

  As he searched on through the afternoon, Garrett’s thoughts occasionally wandered to the man they’d found. Mandy had done her part. She was one hell of a dog. He glanced over at his partner where she sat with her face turned to the window.

  “If we have time this evening, we’ll swing by the hospital in town and see how he’s doing, girl. This bike has a Louisiana plate. Unless he just got the scooter, it looks like he’s a long ways from home.”

  She thumped her feathery tail softly on the seat, although her attention was fixed out the window, scanning the still winter-brown hills.

  * * * *

  As he heard the hollow sound of his footsteps in the corridor of the small hospital later that evening, Garrett remembered how much he hated the places. They were almost as bad as morgues. True, there were times when medical care was needed and a hospital was the place to get it. The facts did not make them any more comfortable.

  Although it was well after normal visiting hours, when he explained to the charge nurse how he’d found the victim and led the rescue, he was allowed to go down to the room where the man was. He wasn’t sure what he expected. He just knew he wanted to see for himself the stranger whose life he and Mandy had saved.

  The man in the bed looked drawn and dark, his sunburned skin and mahogany hair contrasting with the white bedding. He had an IV in his left arm and a cast on the other. Another cast covered his right leg from foot to hip and wrapped around his waist as well. Right after Garrett entered the room, he opened his eyes.