by Betina Krahn
“You learn early on, working with animals, that you’re a conduit for healing, not the source,” she said quietly, as much to herself as to him. “We’re not responsible for every life we touch. That’s a burden too big to bear. After a while the weight of that kind of thinking would paralyze us. It’s also a recognition that we’re part of the natural processes of life. We help wherever we can, whenever we can, always knowing that the outcome may be out of our hands.”
Tears pricked her eyes, and she grabbed her stethoscope to busy herself listening to the dog’s heart: slow, but still beating.
Moments later, Gran entered with an anxious expression, towing a young boy behind her.
“Ben and I were wondering what’s happening.”
Nick wheeled and found Ben moving toward the table where the injured dog lay—swollen, stitched and inert—in a mass of bloody cloths.
“Did he die, too?” Ben asked, his eyes wide.
“What the hell?” Nick ground out before checking himself and bending to take Ben by the shoulders. “I told you to—” He reddened with what looked like chagrin and then glowered up at Nance. “He doesn’t need to be seeing this stuff.”
Kate watched Ben recoil from his father’s anger and rounded the table to intervene. “It’s all right, Nick. It’s probably not as bad as he might imagine. If you’ll let me explain to him—”
“He’s seen enough for one day.” He turned Ben toward the door and gave his back a gentle push to get him going. “He’s just a kid, for God’s sake.”
Shocked silence descended as Nick rushed Ben out, and the sounds of their departure wafted back through the offices. It took a minute for the tension to dissipate. Kate felt Nance studying her and hoped her grandmother wasn’t reading every confusing emotion she was feeling. Nance looked to the door where the two had escaped.
“I’ve seen a lot of creatures in pain in my time,” she said with a concerned look at Kate, “enough to know that one is carrying a load of torment inside him.”
Kate nodded, her anxiety melting into something softer, something more complicated. It was too late for grandmotherly warnings. She was already involved, heart-over-head, with the trooper and his adorable son.
CHAPTER SIX
KATE STAYED AT the shelter that night, catching a few winks of sleep on the lumpy, donated sofa in Isabelle’s closet-size office. In the empty hours before dawn she kept going over the day’s events, recalling everything Nick had said and second-guessing every response she had given. She’d be lucky if she ever saw the Stantons again.
Nick clearly had a thing about hurt dogs, undoubtedly tied to his experiences in war zones, and was doing his best to avoid resurrecting bad memories. And Ben had a thing about hurt dogs that produced the exact opposite reaction. He was drawn to them, wanting to help in whatever capacity he could.
By dawn, she was aching from lying on that miserable couch and bleary-eyed from lack of rest. And when she checked on the injured dog, her heart sank. His heartbeat had grown weaker and was giving her a premonition that this case was not going to end well. After all that work...she hadn’t lied to Nick, she truly did believe she wasn’t responsible for every life she touched. But that didn’t mean she didn’t get involved with animals or that losing a patient didn’t take a toll on her.
Nance arrived early in the morning with breakfast sandwiches and gigantic cups of coffee. Jess came by on her way from an overnight somewhere and agreed to come back later and stay with the dog so Kate could go home and get some rest. Isabelle checked in between sessions with potential adoptive families. And Hines showed up with his new buddy, the visibly smaller but not entirely mobile Moose, to spend a little time with his other charges in the kennels. But overlaying all of that normal activity was a quiet sense of expectation, an air of impending loss. It was almost six hours before the dog’s weary heart gave way to the inevitable and stopped beating.
It was all right, Kate told herself. She had done her best—they all had. The pittie had received devoted care at the end. And she went home Sunday night and obeyed Jess’s orders to drink a glass of wine, then have a hot shower and a good cry.
Monday morning, on her way to the clinic, she thought of what Nick’s and Ben’s reactions would be to the news that the dog had died, and irritably shoved those thoughts from her mind. After the way he’d left the shelter on Saturday, Nick would probably never come back to learn what happened to the dog. She’d just better accept it, and ignore this hollow feeling she got at the prospect of never seeing him again.
“Your problem is, you’re too serious about men,” Jess declared, pushing her to sit on a stool in the surgery. “You’ve seen this guy all of two times, and already you’re losing sleep over him and his kid. I get the uniform lust, I truly do. But Katie, you have to lighten up. Broaden your horizons. Have some fun.”
For once, Kate was going to listen to her partner’s advice. Lighten up. Quit being so serious. She’d seen Nick Stanton all of twice, and only learned he was a father the second time—two days ago. What was she doing letting herself get so emotionally involved?
But both times she had been with him, she had done emergency surgery on a dog with his help, and you couldn’t get much more intense than that. Still, she knew that she was taking their interactions too much to heart. Given time, this preoccupation with Nick Stanton would undoubtedly pass.
By the end of the week it seemed to be doing just that: passing. His presence in her thoughts and feelings faded as she threw herself into routine, immunizing, spaying and neutering and treating minor injuries and illnesses. It was actually a relief, she told herself, not to have to worry about someone else’s problems.
* * *
SATURDAY MORNING, NICK pulled into the parking space nearest the Lakeview Clinic’s front door. Ben had had a soccer game and it ran late. He tried to tell his son that the office was probably closed, but Ben was desperate to check on Goldie and Nick was...well, he was a sucker for his kid’s wide-eyed plea. He could see the same spiky-haired receptionist at the door, locking up even as they rolled out of the SUV. Ben ran ahead of him to the door and knocked on the glass. The young woman seemed to recognize them.
“Where is Dr. Kate?” Ben asked eagerly as she opened the door. “We came to see Goldie.”
“Oh.” The receptionist scowled. “She’s not here.”
Ben’s face fell, and he looked over his shoulder to Nick, who was coming up behind him.
“Who’s not here?” Nick asked. “The doc or the dog?”
“Both.”
“Goldie’s gone?” Ben’s alarm seemed to surprise her. “What happened to her? Dr. Kate said she was going to be okay.”
“She is okay.” She smiled reassuringly. “The docs took her out to the shelter a couple of days ago. We needed the room.”
Ben turned to him with that determination-melting look of expectation. “We have to go, Dad. I promised her.” He was so serious and so determined that the receptionist grinned.
“Who did you promise, the doc or the dog?” she asked.
“Both,” Nick said, feeling none too pleased about it.
“Lucky dog,” the receptionist said with an appreciative glance at him that made him redden.
As he and Ben turned and headed for the 4x4, the receptionist reset the alarm and finished locking the door, and he could have sworn he heard her add: “Lucky doc.”
* * *
“GOLDIE, YOU’RE A PEACH.” Kate knelt by the crate to examine the way the stitches were holding on the golden’s hip and rear leg. “You left your stitches alone and you’re finally eating.” She gave the dog a pet and tested the fit of the cast on her injured leg. “I know you’re bored, being cooped up like this. But we had to keep you in a crate to stop you from trying to get up before you were ready. Well, today’s the day. You ready to get up on that leg
and walk?”
The golden thumped her tail once, but laid her head back down, looking dejected.
“Come on, baby. You can do this. I know you’re weak, but just think how good it will be to pee outside again and sniff the grass where all the other dogs have left messages.”
Still no interest in getting up.
Kate backed away a few steps and reached into her pocket for a treat.
“Come on, girl.” She held out the snack and glanced at Nance and Isabelle, who watched the dog’s listless response from a nearby doorway.
“She’s probably stiff from inactivity,” Nance said.
“She may not be ready yet,” Isabelle offered.
Kate gave them a glower. “Who’s the vet here?”
They shrugged and nodded to each other; Kate had a point.
“Come on, Goldie. You have to get up and move around, at least a little.” She pulled on the blanket the golden lay on, dragging her with it out of the crate and into the concrete aisle of the kennel.
But nothing, no treat, no request, could induce her to get up on her own. At length, Kate stood over her and grabbed the blanket on either side of her belly, lifting and groaning. “How can you weigh this much? You’re skin and bones.” She was barely able to get the dog to her feet, and the second Goldie was released, she slumped back onto the floor and looked more miserable than before. Kate sighed and pushed her hair back behind her ears, letting her heart rate return to normal. She scowled at her grandmother, daring her to say a word. Nance, being Nance, had several for her.
“So much for being an animal whisperer.”
* * *
“WE’RE JUST GOING to check on the retriever, and then we’re heading home,” Nick told his son, glancing in the rearview mirror to see that his words took root.
“Sure, Dad. And the other sick dog. The pittie. It won’t take long.” Ben had raised his chin to look out the window.
“No puppies today. No tour of the kennels.” Nick thought he’d better reiterate: “We just stop in, see the golden—”
“Goldie.”
“Okay Goldie. We just stop in to see Goldie and then head straight home. I have to mow the lawn and get the oil changed in Nana’s car.”
“Okay, okay. I got it.”
The instant the car stopped in the parking lot of the shelter, Ben popped his seat belt and flew out door. He ran straight for Harbor’s offices and disappeared inside despite Nick’s call for him to wait. Muttering things he was glad Ben couldn’t hear, Nick closed up the car and headed after him quickly.
He called for Ben in the reception room, glanced into the empty puppy room and then continued on toward the sound of voices in the kitchen-surgery at the rear.
“Where is he?” Ben’s voice grew louder with each word. “Dr. Kate fixed him, and he is going to stay here and get better.”
Nick found Ben facing a familiar-looking older woman. A second later he recognized the shelter’s director, and crossed the room to put his hands on Ben’s shoulders. “What’s going on?”
“He’s not here, Dad. The pittie.” Ben looked up at him with frantic eyes. “The hurt dog you helped with. She says he’s gone.” He wrenched out of Nick’s grip and looked under the table and all around the makeshift surgery. “Where did he go? He was hurt really bad.”
Nick cringed, sensing exactly what the woman’s rueful expression and shaking head tried to convey.
“Ben!” He caught his son by the arm as the boy rushed for the rear door. “Ms. Conti here is the shelter director. She’s trying to tell you...she means...the dog didn’t make it. He died.”
“No, no—you fixed him—you and Dr. Kate. Just like you did Goldie.” He grew even more alarmed and looked at Isabelle. “Where’s Goldie? She’s here, right? That lady said she was here!”
Ben yanked free and raced through the rear door.
“Ben—wait!” Nick ran after him, out onto an old back patio. Ben ran toward a long concrete-block building that housed the rescued dogs.
Nick caught up with him near the open door of the building and dragged him to a stop. This was what he had dreaded—this clash of youthful hope and stark reality. Ben was too sensitive and too damned young to be dealing with such life-and-death issues.
“Ben, you have to listen to me. Dogs die.” He lifted his son’s face and choked on the pained disbelief in his son’s eyes. He swallowed hard. It was a second before he could continue. “Sometimes dogs get injured and they die. We try to help them, but—”
“Our best is all we can do” Kate Everly’s voice came from the open door, and she appeared a second later. Her presence sent an involuntary wave of relief through Nick, and he felt the tension in Ben’s body lessen. She stepped onto the concrete pad outside the door as Ben turned to her with a reddened face and teary eyes.
“What’s all this?” she said, watching Ben struggle to contain his feelings. “Oh. You heard about the pittie.” She stooped beside Ben and reached for his hands. “It’s okay to be sad and cry.”
“I’m not crying,” Ben said, looking ready to burst.
A tear squeezed through his control and slid down his cheek.
She softened visibly and opened her arms, sinking fully onto her knees as he leaned into her. “All of us were very sad, just like you are now. It’s hard to do your best and still have an animal die.”
“I’m not crying,” he said desperately between gulps of air.
“It’s okay. Everybody cries sometimes.”
“Not soldiers. My dad doesn’t cry.”
She looked up and caught Nick trying to blink away the excess moisture in his eyes, and he felt like he’d taken a right-left combination to the gut.
Then she smiled at him.
Sad and sweet.
It was all he could do to hold it together.
“Do you remember what I said about how dogs and people get better?” She set Ben back a few inches and collected his gaze in hers. “Their bodies have special systems for repairing and healing.” Ben’s head bobbed as he swiped at his face. “Well, the pittie’s body was so weak from loss of blood that it couldn’t repair itself. All we could do was make him comfortable and help him across the rainbow bridge.”
“Rainbow bridge?” Ben took a shuddering breath. “What’s that?”
“That’s what people say when a beloved pet dies—the animal’s spirit crosses the rainbow bridge into heaven. That way, every time they see a rainbow, they can remember their pet and not be sad.”
Ben scowled. “Is the rainbow bridge real?”
Kate’s sad smile reappeared, and Nick struggled to draw breath against the tightness in his chest. His choked cough made her look up.
“I don’t know.” She held Nick’s gaze for a moment and then looked back at Ben. “But I’d like it to be true.”
Ben pushed back from her, bracing for something worse.
“Did Goldie die, too? Did she cross the rainbow bridge?”
“No, no, not Goldie.” Kate’s relief bloomed like a sunrise as she released him and pushed to her feet. “She’s getting better, and we brought her here so she could recuperate. In fact, it’s a good thing you showed up today. You might be able to help us with her.” She offered him her hand and led him into the noisy kennel. “This way...she’s right down here.”
Nick followed as soon as he could get his legs to move, shaking off the effects of the exchange he’d just witnessed. He watched them walk down the aisle together, hand in hand, toward a section of crates and felt his eyes sting again. He halted several feet away, rubbed his face and took a deep breath. What the hell was happening to him? He never acted like this—tearing up over—
The golden retriever lay on a blanket in the middle of the aisle with a cast on her leg and a row of stitches he had helped to place on her
flank.
“She won’t get up,” Kate explained as doleful brown eyes stared back at them. “We’ve tried coaxing and then bribing her with toys and treats, but nothing seems to motivate her to stand.” She put a hand on Ben’s shoulder. “She seems to like you. I was thinking you might be able to help persuade her.”
Nick watched his son’s slender shoulders square as responsibility settled on them. He knelt beside Goldie, seeming a little tentative.
“Do you remember me? I came to see you at Dr. Kate’s office.”
Goldie lifted her head a bit and sniffed, cataloging his scent. After a moment, her head sank back to her paws, and Ben looked at them with disappointment.
“I don’t think she remembers me.”
“She just needs a little time to get used to you again. She’s been through a lot lately.” Kate crossed her arms and leaned a shoulder against the empty upper crate. “Why don’t you sit with her for a while, talk to her and pet her. When she’s feeling more confident, we can try to get her to stand again.”
“What do I say?”
“Just talk. Tell her about your soccer team, your bedroom or your favorite TV program. As long as you’re petting her, she’ll be happy.”
Nick watched Ben pet Goldie and tell her about his soccer team, but what filled his thoughts was Kate.
Her warm, feminine presence—inches away—opened doors in him and produced conflicting impulses. He wanted to explore these feelings further—and to run like hell in the opposite direction. He didn’t much like either option. He hadn’t felt this uncertain since his first recon in Iraqi hill country.
“You want to help him?” she asked, watching Ben talk to the dog.
“Nah. I’m good.” In truth he wasn’t sure what he wanted to do at that moment. Except maybe touch her. And he shouldn’t. He sank his hands firmly into his jeans pockets.
