Biting her lip to squelch tears, she turned and started back to the house, back to her waiting son. The right thing to do was tell him the truth, although she hated the idea. Children were tenderhearted. They took losses hard.
With loss on her mind, Maggie pictured Flint. How was she going to keep her sanity when she kept seeing him? Didn’t he know how hard it was for her? Didn’t he care?
Perhaps this was his way of punishing her, she mused, rejecting the idea only partially. Whether he meant to or not, his continued presence was adding to her anguish like a knife through her heart.
She climbed the steps and opened her front door to greet her anxious son. One thing was certain. Although she thought her pain was bad now, the future promised to be much worse.
Opening her arms to Mark, she dropped to one knee and held him close. She must not weep. Not now. Not ever. She had to maintain a strong, capable image for the sake of her little boy.
“Where’s Wolfie?” he asked.
Maggie set him away and met his inquiring gaze with what she hoped was assurance. “The game warden is out looking for him.”
“Why doesn’t he just come home?”
That was an excellent question, one she didn’t want to answer. Nevertheless, it was necessary if she was to keep the child’s trust.
“Wolfie hurt himself when he broke the glass in the window,” Maggie said tenderly. “Sometimes, when animals get hurt, they go hide instead of looking for help.”
“But he loves us.”
“Yes, he does. And we love him, too.” She paused, deciding how blunt to be. “But sometimes love isn’t enough.”
“Uh-uh,” Mark insisted. “Jesus loves us and that’s enough.”
“True.” It was all Maggie could do to fight the tears gathering behind her lashes. No wonder scripture instructed believers to “come as a little child.” The faith of children put adults to shame, herself included.
“Let’s pray for Wolfie,” Mark said.
What would happen to his faith if the dog never came home? she wondered. How could she protect his tender heart from the kinds of deep disappointments she had experienced?
“You know,” Maggie told him gently, “sometimes God decides that what was asked for isn’t best, so He doesn’t give it to us.”
“Okay.” He smiled.
“Okay?”
“Sure.” The smile grew to a grin. “I trust Jesus. Don’t you?”
The innocent question echoed in Maggie’s heart. She did trust Him. After all, her commitment to her Christian faith had been reaffirmed when she reached her lowest point just before Mark was born. Had she forgotten how cherished and loved she’d felt then? Had her sense of belonging waned as life had sped by?
There was only one thing to do. Kneeling beside her son, she folded her hands, bowed her head and joined him in praying for the welfare of a simple dog.
And while she did so, she silently added thanks for everything the Lord had given her and asked forgiveness for her lack of faith.
Then, as if back where she’d begun, she also asked for the wisdom to know what to tell Mark if Wolfie never came home to them.
The irony of that struck her with dismay. How could she hope to lead her son when he was the one leading her?
Maggie clamped her hands together more tightly as her mind and heart filled with a different unspoken prayer. Despite knowing it was impossible, she wanted to go back to her teenage years and take up where she and Flint had left off.
This time, tears did begin to fall.
Mark said, “Amen,” stood and wrapped his little arms around her neck, then leaned closer to whisper, “Don’t cry, Mama. I prayed for you, too.”
* * *
Flint had dismounted periodically to make sure he hadn’t lost the trail. Since the last rain, the forest floor had remained damp, so tracks were easier to spot, particularly along the creek banks.
Scowling, he bent for a closer look. There were large canine tracks, all right. There were also waffle imprints left by hiking boots that overlapped them. Tensing, he rested his palm against the grip of his pistol. This wasn’t public land, so what was the person in boots doing out here? Moreover, why was he apparently trailing the dog?
It was easy for Flint to assume the paw prints he’d been following belonged to Maggie’s pet. If there had been an actual wolf pack roaming the area, there would be more than one set of tracks and the sizes would vary.
He heard a distinct whimper. Froze. Listened. There it was again!
Still cautious, Flint left the ATV and began to work his way toward the sounds. The closer he got, the more the whining increased, leading him to suspect he was approaching a domestic animal. A wild one would have quieted in order to hide from a human.
There was a splashing sound from the creek. A series of yips, then a deep bark. Flint picked up his pace. That was no wolf. That was Maggie’s dog.
The moment they set eyes on each other, Wolfie lowered his head, stuck his rear up in the air and wagged his bushy tail.
Flint grinned. “You sure gave us a scare.” He paused and patted his thigh. “Come here. Let me look at you.”
Wolfie was wiggling side to side but not approaching. As Flint drew closer he could see why. The dog was tied to a tree with a frayed piece of rope. Moreover, it looked as if somebody had tried to bandage his bleeding paw.
“Well, well, well. What do we have here? Looks like somebody tried to help you.” A quick scan of the neighboring terrain showed no sign of the Good Samaritan.
Flint bent to inspect the injury and saw more blood in the icy creek water. “You should have had sense enough to leave the bandage alone,” Flint said, gathering up the loosened strip of cloth and rinsing it in the running stream before untying the rope. To be on the safe side, he kept hold of it and led Wolfie slowly back to the ATV.
“Okay. Sit. I have to use the radio.” Realizing he was making polite conversation with a dog, Flint chuckled. He was getting as bad as Maggie.
“Samson, this is Crawford. I have the dog and I’m bringing him in.”
“Good,” the other warden replied. “Want me to go back and tell Maggie or will you do it?”
Truth to tell, Flint wished he could pass Wolfie off on his fellow warden and not go back to Maggie’s at all, but the injured animal came first. “I’ll do it. Thanks for your help.”
“Don’t mention it. And I mean that literally—don’t mention it.” He was laughing when Flint signed off.
Reaching down, Flint scratched behind the dog’s ears and down his broad back until Wolfie dropped to the ground in apparent ecstasy. As Flint switched to a tummy rub, he checked the injured paw. Pressure stopped the bleeding, but as soon as he let go it resumed.
“I need to put your bandage back on, boy,” Flint said softly. “Here we go. That’s it. Good boy.”
The strip of cloth was barely long enough for the job, but it stuck to itself pretty well now that it was wet. Wondering how he’d keep it there while they rode back to Maggie, Flint thought of his gloves. The cuff of one of them might just do the trick, assuming he could keep the dog from pulling it off and having it for supper.
He eyed his patient. “Too bad you’re so big. I could tuck something like a hurt rabbit inside my jacket.”
Picturing himself trying that with all hundred and some pounds of Wolfie, he chuckled. “Let’s try a calf carry instead. I’ll be the cowboy.”
Flint swung astride the ATV, lifted Wolfie and slung him across the seat in front of him, head on one side, tail on the other, the way a wrangler would transport a weak calf. The dog wasn’t happy being treated that way.
“No. Stay,” Flint ordered. To his surprise, Wolfie quit wiggling, sighed and started to relax, even allowing his rescuer to slip a glove over the bandage on his sore paw. That
made carrying him easier but was not a good sign overall because it might mean he was showing fatigue from blood loss.
It wasn’t until they were on their way that Flint remembered that in his haste to get medical treatment for his patient he’d forgotten to notify Maggie. His cell phone was zipped inside a jacket pocket and right now it was all he could do to keep the dog balanced as well as steer.
“She’ll have to wait,” he told himself, accelerating slowly. “We’ll be there in no time.”
The weary dog looked up at him with such expressive eyes Flint continued to reassure him with a friendly tone. “I promise, okay? Ten minutes, tops.”
Wolfie’s broad black nose twitched. His head lifted a little more. His lips curled back and quivered as he began to stare into the darkening depths of the forest.
Flint felt the dog’s growl rather than heard it over the roar of the engine. Since there was no way he could drive and use a cell phone, there was certainly no way he could safely draw a gun. Therefore, he could either run for it or make a stand right here and take the chance the poor dog would survive the delay.
A shot echoed. That simplified his decision. Run.
He hunched low over the front of the small vehicle, using his upper torso to help hold Wolfie in place, then gave the ATV more gas. A lot more gas. Whoever or whatever was lurking in ambush would never be able to overtake them on foot. All Flint had to do was keep from hitting a tree or dropping a wheel into a hidden depression and sending them both flying, and they’d survive.
Beneath his chest, he began to sense a lack of tension. “Hang in there, Wolfie,” he said. “Don’t give up on me now. We’re almost home.” The dog didn’t move. Didn’t struggle anymore.
Flint held his own breath. No, not now. Not when we’re so close to Maggie.
He broke from the forest into a clearing. The sanctuary compound lay just ahead.
They’d made it.
Or had they?
SEVEN
The roaring rumble of the small engine drew Maggie out onto the front porch. When Mark tried to follow, she stopped him. “Stay in the house where it’s warm, honey. I’ll be right back.”
“But, Mama—”
“No. I said stay in there.”
His muffled reply as she shut the door sounded close enough to “Yes, ma’am” to be acceptable.
Fingers pressed to her lips, she watched the ATV speed across the yard and slide to a stop. She ran to meet it. “Is he...?”
“I thought I might have lost him, but he perked up when he heard your voice just now,” Flint said, dismounting and helping her lift the semilimp dog.
Maggie had latched on to Wolfie’s head and shoulders and was relieved when he began trying to lick her face. She would have loved to carry him into the house but knew better than to suggest it while Mark was present.
“Where do you want me to put him?” Flint asked.
“I don’t know. Um, I suppose around back. I can make him a bed of straw and watch him until the vet can drive over.” She eyed the glove. “How badly is he hurt?”
“He’d be better if he hadn’t pulled off his bandage and started the bleeding again.”
“Thanks for the first aid.”
It surprised her to see Flint shaking his head. “Don’t thank me. Somebody else wrapped his paw and tied him to a tree. I suppose they figured you’d be able to locate him easier that way.”
“Who?”
“Beats me. I saw boot tracks in the mud along the creek bank near where he was tied.” Flint sobered. “At least one other person had been out there, maybe more. I’d just decided the area was secure when Wolfie sensed something and started to growl.”
“Did you spot anybody?”
“No. But I trusted the dog’s instincts. Good thing, too. We were heading back when I heard a shot.”
“Were they aiming at you?” Maggie could tell he suspected so but was trying to play down the danger.
“Possibly.” Flint shrugged one shoulder. “I decided we’d better head back here on the double just in case. Better to play it safe.”
“Absolutely.” Maggie had already been anxious. Now she began trembling so badly she had trouble holding up her end of the dog. Thankfully, Flint stepped up to cradle the full weight.
“Sorry,” she said. “It’s been a rough day.”
Light from the single bulb on the porch cast long shadows that didn’t extend around the side of the house. Flint pointed with his chin. “I know I outran that shooter, so how about turning on a few more lights? I’ll need to see where I’m going.”
“Yes. Right.” She turned back just as the front door burst open. Before she could catch her little boy, he was down the steps and racing barefoot toward his injured pet.
“Wolfie!”
Maggie screeched, “No!” but it was too late. Mark had reached Flint and the dog.
Flint grinned and lowered the squirming dog to the ground, kneeling beside him while the child buried his face in the long, thick fur and sobbed audibly.
The sight of father and son together tore at Maggie’s heart. Flint had apparently not figured things out yet, but he soon would, particularly once Mark looked at him with those Crawford-green eyes.
What could she do? How could she soften the blow? And how in the world was she going to keep Flint from showing anger in front of the impressionable child?
Standing close by and looking down on them, Maggie wondered if she should try to intervene. Even if she scooped up Mark and hurried him back to the house, Flint was sure to follow with the dog. Would that be so bad? It would not only be safer, but it beat letting her son linger in the yard when he was wearing nothing but pajamas.
It was time to clear the air. Get the drama over with and take the consequences. She’d dreaded this day for years, yet it was now being forced on her.
Silently, she stripped off her own jacket and wrapped it around the child while praying, “Father, give me strength.”
As she turned Mark and lifted him, she pressed his head to her shoulder to temporarily hide his face. “All right,” she said with a noisy sigh. “Let’s all go in the house and keep warm while I phone the vet.”
“The dog, too?” Flint asked.
“Yes. Can you manage him by yourself?”
“Sure. No problem. Now that he’s wide-awake I can always put him down for a minute if he causes too much trouble.”
Trouble? she mused. Ha! If he thought the dog was the only thing going to cause trouble tonight, he was in for a real shock. Her stomach tied in knots. No matter how many times she had imagined this confrontation or rehearsed it in her mind, she wasn’t ready. Not even close.
The front door stood open. This was her last chance to postpone Flint’s rude awakening. If she shouldered in ahead of him and shooed her son away...
No. That was not only wrong, but it was cowardly. Flint was the one who had left her, not the other way around. His guilt was more than equal to hers. As he was about to find out.
* * *
Pausing at the threshold, Flint eased Wolfie down onto his remaining three good paws. He’d done his duty. He’d found Maggie’s dog and brought him home. The most sensible action now would be to bid her good-night and drive away. But what if she needed more help? Suppose she failed to get hold of the vet she’d mentioned? What then?
He couldn’t leave. Not yet. He straightened and stood tall, watching the dog limp into the main room and plop down on a small rug near the fireplace.
Maggie was fussing over the little boy, making motherly noises about slippers and a robe while the child tried to dodge past her to return to his pet. Flint had shut the door and was about to praise her for being a good mama when he caught his first clear glimpse of the child’s face.
The sight was literally sta
ggering. His spine hit the doorjamb. His jaw hung slack. Words failed him. He couldn’t tear his gaze away. It felt as though he were looking into a mirror over fifteen years ago and seeing his own reflection.
Stunned, mute, he studied Mark. This was Maggie’s boy? How could they look so much alike? They had only once lost control. Why hadn’t she said something to him back then? Had she been so ashamed to have consorted with a Crawford that she’d tried to hide the truth from everybody?
Mark ducked past his mother and raced back to the dog, hitting his knees and gently hugging Wolfie’s neck. Only then did Flint manage to look at Maggie. Tears were streaming down her cheeks. Her lips were trembling.
She met his questioning gaze and mouthed, I’m sorry.
Flint nodded. His jaw clamped shut. There was still no adequate way to express his emotional upheaval short of stammering incoherently and making a worse fool of himself. No wonder so many people had grinned at him after he’d returned to Serenity. They knew something he didn’t. Their amusement at his expense was infuriating.
She took a tentative step closer to him. “I’m so sorry. I know I should have said something when you first came back, but...”
He wanted to shout at her. To berate her for so many omissions. To ask if she’d ever have owned up to the boy’s parentage if he hadn’t shown up again. But before he could decide where and how to begin, Mark called, “Mama! Look.”
Both adults pivoted toward the anxious child. He was cradling the hurt paw in his hands as blood dripped through his tiny fingers.
Maggie was the first to respond. She grabbed the paw and squeezed the edges just enough to slow the bleeding, then cast around, apparently looking for something with which to fashion a temporary bandage.
“Where’s your first aid kit?” Flint demanded.
“Outside with the other animal supplies. There’s a towel in the kitchen.” She indicated a doorway, then looked to her son. “Mark, honey, go wash your hands and bring Mommy a clean towel, okay?”
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