ZONDERVAN
SNOW MELTS IN SPRING
Copyright © 2009 by Deborah Vogts
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Mobi Edition June 2009 ISBN: 0-310-86411-9
Requests for information should be addressed to:
Zondervan, Grand Rapids, Michigan 49530
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Vogts, Deborah, 1965–
Snow melts in spring / Deborah Vogts.
p. cm. — (Seasons of the tallgrass ; bk. 1)
ISBN 978-0-310-29275-3
1. Women veterinarians — Fiction. 2. Rural families — Kansas — Fiction. I. Title.
PS3622.O363S66 2009
813’.6 — dc22
2009000993
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Published in association with the literary agency of WordServe Literary Group, Ltd., 10152 S. Knoll Circle, Highlands Ranch, CO 80130.
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09 10 11 12 13 14 15 23 22 21 20 19 18 17 16 15 14 13 12 11 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
CONTENTS
COVER PAGE
TITLE PAGE
COPYRIGHT
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY-THREE
TWENTY-FOUR
TWENTY-FIVE
TWENTY-SIX
TWENTY-SEVEN
TWENTY-EIGHT
TWENTY-NINE
THIRTY
THIRTY-ONE
THIRTY-TWO
THIRTY-THREE
THIRTY-FOUR
THIRTY-FIVE
THIRTY-SIX
THIRTY-SEVEN
THIRTY-EIGHT
THIRTY-NINE
FORTY
FORTY-ONE
FORTY-TWO
FORTY-THREE
FORTY-FOUR
FORTY-FIVE
FORTY-SIX
FORTY-SEVEN
FORTY-EIGHT
FORTY-NINE
FIFTY
FIFTY-ONE
FIFTY-TWO
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT THE PUBLISHER
SHARE YOUR THOUGHTS
To Mom and Dad, for nurturing my love for writing
and always standing behind me on this journey.
And to Christopher, for allowing me to pursue this dream.
I HEARD THE PRAIRIE CALL TO ME,
ITS WORDS A WHISPER ON MY HEART,
AND I KNEW THAT I WAS HOME.
ONE
RED LIGHTS FLASHED LIKE FIRE IN THE MURKY SHADOWS OF THE night. Mattie Evans slid from the seat of her truck and made her way to the accident scene, tuned to the shrill, intermittent static of the emergency radios.
What a way to start this early Sunday morning, not even a week into the new year. Lord, give me strength.
As she neared, the crushed sedan came into view. A ghostly chill crept up her spine. She noted the shattered glass, a trail of blood. Paramedics worked to pull the driver from the car and transferred the motionless boy to a stretcher.
At the sight of the victim’s marred face, Mattie pressed her hand to her mouth. Another body lay covered on the ground.
“Thanks for getting here so quickly, Doc.” The county sheriff met her on the dirt road, and Mattie forced herself to regain control. “Got ourselves a bad one. Two drunk teens hit a horse with their car. One’s dead, the other . . . well, it don’t look good. As for the horse, I doubt you can save him.”
With his flashlight, he cleared a path through the dense fog, and Mattie followed to the edge of the road where her patient lay. Blood stained the gravel.
“They probably didn’t even see the animal until it was too late,” he said. “Don’t know why the horse was on the road — must have a fence down.” He shined a beam into the dark pasture. “Likely spooked and jumped toward the vehicle, then smashed into the windshield. Still breathing, though.”
Mattie knelt for a closer inspection. Someone had tried to stop the massive bleeding with towels, to no avail. She stroked the horse’s neck, and the gelding raised his head. The white of his eye showed pure terror, dilated from shock.
“He’s lost a lot of blood.” The sheriff drew the light over the animal’s body.
Mattie took a deep breath and reached into her bag for a syringe. Once she had the horse sedated, she removed the towels to examine him. Her heart sank at the extent of the damage.
The impact of the windshield had lacerated his right shoulder, withers, and limb. Corneal rupture of the right eye and massive skull fractures. A quick check of his mouth revealed his old age. She noted the paleness of his gums.
At times like this, she hated her job. Such hopelessness. Angered by the senseless destruction, she fought back tears, her teeth clenched as the horse lay wheezing his every breath. Despite her oath to save animals, Mattie knew the horse would require extensive treatments, and even then, his chances for a full recovery were slim.
“He’s in a lot of pain.” The nagging worry from her recent loss caused her to doubt her abilities. “There’s no reason to make him suffer. I recommend putting him down.”
“Can’t do that, Mattie,” a gruff voice answered close by.
Her gaze jolted to see her friend John McCray slumped over his cane. “Didn’t you just get out of the hospital? You shouldn’t be out on a night like this.”
“That’s my fault.” Another man stepped from the darkness, and Mattie acknowledged John’s hired hand, Jake. “When I heard the car horn blaring and realized what had happened, I called the ambulance. Figured the boss would want to be here.”
“This is Gil’s horse.” John gripped her shoulder. “You have to save him.”
Mattie had heard stories about Gilbert McCray from her older sisters, though John hardly spoke of his son. Some said he could have been a professional team roper, but he’d left it all to become a football hero in California. A stupid move, as far as she was concerned. Why would anyone give up being a cowboy for a football career?
She shook her head. “I don’t know if I can.” She studied the horse
’s wounds again, then glanced up at John McCray. Mattie recognized the look of regret, the kind that left people empty. She also acknowledged the uncomfortable tightening in her stomach. If she tried to save the horse and he died, could her business or her heart handle another fatality?
THE TEAM MANAGER FOR THE SAN FRANCISCO 49ERS OPENED THE door to the trainer’s room, and the musty stench of sweat crept in and mingled with the odor of medicine and bandages. “Gil, your dad’s calling on your cell. I figured you’d want to take it.” His booming voice broke through the racket of the locker room next door as he tossed the phone to Gil.
Gilbert McCray slid off the table and apologized to the attendant taping his ankle. He checked the caller ID and couldn’t imagine why his dad would be calling just hours before a playoff game — unless it was an emergency.
He flipped the phone open. “Hey, Dad, what’s up?”
A raspy cough sounded on the other end. “I have some bad news for you, Son.”
Gil stepped into the hallway for better reception. “Is everything okay?”
“It’s Dusty,” his dad said. “He was in an accident early this morning. I hated to call you, but they’re not sure if he’s going to make it. I thought you should know.”
Gil frowned at the mention of his chestnut gelding. “What happened?”
“He was hit by a car. Got through the fence and must have been on the edge of the road. Too foggy. The driver didn’t see him.”
Dusty. Gil swallowed the emotion threatening to clog his throat as the memories whooshed back. He and the horse had been a team. Gil trained Dusty from a colt, learned some great techniques on his back, and won plenty of high school championships with him. The old boy was dying? Though he hadn’t ridden the horse for two years, the news caught him off guard.
“Is he in much pain? If we need to, I’ll hire the best vet in the country. Fly him in.” The familiar catch in his voice reminded him of his boyhood when he’d asked for simple favors, believing his dad could do anything.
“We’ve already got the best, Son. I just thought you should be prepared.”
After he said good-bye, Gil slammed his fist against the wall. A burning sensation shot through his shoulder to his palm. He’d give anything to see Dusty one last time. Unfortunately, two hours from now, he had a date with destiny, an appointment at Lambeau Field. If his team won the Division Championship against the Green Bay Packers, they’d be one game closer to the Super Bowl. If they lost, this would be the last game of Gil’s career. Funny, he was about to retire from a game he loved, and his old friend was retiring from the game of life.
GIL WAITED ON THE SIDELINE WHILE THE DEFENSE PLAYED THE FIELD. In all his years as quarterback, he’d never experienced the chaotic feelings tumbling over him this first half. Two decades ago, he’d left everything for the game of football. Rodeo. His dad. With no regrets. Or maybe he’d never allowed himself that luxury until now.
He stared out at the field and watched as one of their linebackers intercepted Green Bay’s pass.
Offense’s turn.
The lights glared down as Gil blocked the roar of the spectators from his mind. Silence. His offensive line crowded around, waiting for his call.
“Go on two.” His breath turned into a puff of vapor in the brisk night air. Gil walked to the line of scrimmage, adrenaline pumping.
“Down, set, hut, hut . . .”
The ball snapped into his hand. He dropped from the line of scrimmage and looked for his primary receiver. Covered. The defense had his running backs blocked as well.
No clear path — either throw or run.
No time for debate.
He tucked the pigskin into his arm and faked a sweep, rolling over the first lineman coming his way. His legs careened him up and over the defense as they’d done a hundred times before, and he flew down the field like a horse after a steer let out of the chute. A cornerback charged him from the side. Gil slid to the ground.
“First down,” the referee called out.
Gil saw the official’s signal and should have been thrilled. Instead, he stole a glance at the hostile Packer crowd and caught sight of a man who looked like his father. His breath stilled.
Impossible. His dad didn’t attend his games. He didn’t care enough to.
“Do you even see what’s happening out here?” Johnson jammed his fists into Gil’s padded shoulders. “It’s like you’re in another world.”
Gil stared up at the lights.
Concentrate. Keep your mind in the game.
He went to set up another formation and listened for the radio signal in his helmet. Receiving his coach’s instructions, Gil pitched his hands into the huddle, felt the determination of his teammates as the heat rose off their bodies. He refused to let them down. “This time we’ll go for a 40/50 sprint draw. On one.”
He moved into position behind his center.
“Red, blue, 40 – 50, set hut.”
The ball swept up into his hands. Gil sensed a blitz and passed to his wide receiver. Missed. Incomplete.
He tried again. This time when Gil got the ball, he maneuvered it to feel the roughened leather of the seam and pedaled back. He snaked to the left to hand off to Johnson, his halfback. The ball barely left his hand when three defensive linemen dropped him to the ground.
Everything went black.
TWO
IN THE GLOW OF THE BARN LIGHTS, MATTIE EXAMINED THE HORSE’S sutures, the fatigue from the last eighteen hours crashing over her like a thunderstorm. She checked the IV bag once more before calling it a night. The surgery had lasted five hours, but the horse was a fighter. He was alive. Although thankful he made it through the procedure, Mattie knew Dusty’s recuperation would be long and difficult. Had she made the right decision by trying to save his life?
She gave the chestnut gelding one final glance before leaving the pen. His worst injury was the loss of his right eye, which she’d removed. The severe lacerations on his chest and leg would heal in time, and she prayed the trauma to the suprascapular nerve in the shoulder wouldn’t be permanent. The horse had suffered acute muscle inflammation from the brunt of the car, and his kidneys would need to be monitored throughout the night.
Little sleep for her.
Mattie came in from the barn and shut the door on the chilly night air. “You might as well go home, Travis. The others are probably already watching the playoffs.”
“What about you?” Her college intern from K-State stepped from behind the counter. “Aren’t you a football fan?”
Mattie laughed. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d sat in front of a television. “I have no desire to watch a bunch of grown men chase a leather ball for three hours. Even if one of them is a local hero.”
“You sure you don’t want some help?”
Mattie saw her technician’s concern and shook her head.
Once he left, her mind reverted to the owner of her newest patient. She could forgive Gil McCray for not being here for his horse, but why hadn’t he visited when his father suffered a heart attack less than a month ago? Gritting her teeth, she stepped into the back room to inspect the dogs and cats caged there.
She knelt beside a yellow Labrador and crooned assurance to the young stray. The smell of disinfectant wafted up as she opened the stainless steel door. “How are you, girl?” She stroked the trembling dog’s fur, and her fingers moved to the fresh suture line. No sign of infection. The dog inched closer and pressed her head against Mattie’s hand. Her heart warmed at the trust in the golden-brown eyes.
Exhausted, Mattie checked the rest of her patients, then turned out the light and ascended the stairs to her small apartment above the clinic. Not bothering to turn on any lights, she unclipped her cell phone from her jeans and punched in the number she knew by heart.
“Hey, John. The surgery went well.”
“It’s about time you called. Been sitting here flippin’ through channels, worried about you and that horse.”
Mattie pict
ured him in his old recliner, yelling at the television. “Dusty’s recovered from anesthesia and resting. He’s heavily sedated.”
“How long will he need to stay there?”
“That depends on how he responds to treatment. I’d guess three to four weeks.” Mattie had no idea how John would physically handle nursing the horse to health. “We can discuss his home treatments when you come in.”
“Why don’t you drive out tomorrow? I have a heifer I need you to look at. Foot problems. I’ll tell Mildred to set an extra plate for breakfast.” His words came out short and choppy.
Mattie hesitated. Normally, she wouldn’t agree to leave a patient at this stage of recovery. It was too soon. Her intuition, however, told her to visit the man who was like a father to her. “My technician arrives around seven. I’ll drop by after that, but I can’t stay long.”
“You work too hard.”
She smiled at the affection in his voice. “Have I told you lately how much I appreciate all you’ve done? You convinced more than a few ranchers to hire me. I wanted to thank you — again.”
“Get some sleep and I’ll see you tomorrow.”
When he said good-bye, Mattie tossed the phone on the couch and followed right behind. She unwound her long, thick braid and dug her fingers into the soft, red curls to massage her scalp. Though her mind reeled with thoughts from her day, she reclined onto a throw pillow, longing for rest before her next shift in two hours.
WITH TEN SECONDS LEFT IN THE GAME, REFEREES CALLED THIRD down on San Francisco’s forty-yard line. The fans went wild in the stands.
Gil knew their only chance was a Hail Mary.
A high-risk pass, but if it succeeded, it would mean victory.
In swift succession, he called the play and lined up behind the center. As soon as Gil felt the snap, he gripped the ball and lunged back. Seconds later, he released it into the air with as much force as he could muster, praying Charlie or one of the other receivers would sneak behind the defense. His opponents knocked him down, the air stolen from his lungs one last time. Despite the pain, he struggled to watch the play unfold.
Snow Melts in Spring Page 1
