by Betina Krahn
“Closing time,” Jess added with a sidelong look at her partner.
“And yet, you’re still here.” Kate glanced around to find Jess draped over a stool and the counter, looking relaxed. “What? All of your dating apps go down this week?”
“Ooh, aren’t we snarky today.”
“It’s just that you’re usually out of here by now,” Kate said, glancing back at the clock on her computer screen. “Twelve-oh-seven. Don’t you have a hot date or something?”
“Nope. I just finished my last chart note and I’m free as a bird. Thought I’d just hang around awhile and see if any latecomers show up. You know, with hurt dogs or something.”
Kate narrowed her eyes. She knew exactly what Jess was doing. “You’re wasting your time. The golden is at the shelter. There’s no reason for him to show up here today.”
“You don’t mind if I sit here for a while and see for myself, do you? I’ve gotta see this guy. LeeAnn says he’s hunk-of-the-year material.”
“LeeAnn’s crazy,” Kate said, typing away. “You know that, right?”
“Yeah, but she’s a fantastic judge of beefcake. Have you seen the guy she’s with lately?” She shook a hand in the universal gesture for hot.
Kate chuckled. As it happened she had seen LeeAnn’s latest conquest, and he wasn’t bad, compared to her usual guys. His shirts had actual sleeves.
“Well,” she said minutes later as she shut down her computer, “that’s it for today.” She hung her white coat on a peg by the reception-room door and reached for her keys. “Want to come by the shelter with me?”
“No, thanks.” Jess glanced toward the front door with disappointment and then at her watch. “I’ve had my fill of needy critters for the week. I’m going to put on my bathing suit, find a lounge chair and take nap before dinner tonight. Going to Tampa. Burns Steak House.”
“Ooooh.” Kate sighed wistfully at the mention of one of the premier steak houses in the country. “Bring me a doggie bag?”
“Get your own hot date,” Jess said with a wicked laugh, breezing past her and out the door, “and your own leftovers!”
* * *
THE SHELTER WAS a perfect storm of activity when Kate arrived. She sat trapped in a line of idling cars trying to reach a place to park on an empty lot next to the shelter. Cars trying to exit the parking area were blocked by those arriving, and no one was moving in or out. Gridlock.
“I forgot about this mess.” She groaned and leaned her forehead on the steering wheel.
A local radio station had set up to do a remote at Harbor to publicize the work done there, and Isabelle had finagled a couple of restaurants into providing ice cream and drinks for the people who came out to tour the facility and participate in a little fund-raising. The idea had mushroomed and turned into an event.
The weather was sunny perfection, and people had turned out in force. There were at least sixty cars jammed into the adjacent field and parked randomly on the county road in front of the shelter. She could see kids with balloons running around; white tents that sheltered refreshments, face painting and information tables; and a throng of people gathered around a small stage next to a van with WSRZ emblazoned on the side. With her windows up and air conditioner blasting, she couldn’t hear what the speakers were putting out, so she turned on her radio.
Someone was interviewing Director Isabelle Conti, who sounded breathless with excitement at the success of the first ever “Harbor Day.”
Next came an interview with a Harbor board member, who turned out to be none other than Nance Everly. Warm, familiar tones curled around Kate as Gran spoke of caring for the planet and its intricate web of life and “how much richer our lives are when we share them with animals.”
As she listened to the voice that had become the foundation of her ethics and her purpose, Kate’s irritation melted. “You tell ’em, Gran.” She smiled. Her grandmother should have her own show. Daily Lessons on Living. Mandatory listening for all human beings.
Then came some promotion for Harbor’s programs, before the DJs spun some golden oldies. Her hopes for the afternoon were evaporating like rain puddles in the Florida sun. She considered going off-road and heading for home when she heard a whoop-whoop and looked around. Several cars back, an FHP cruiser with lights flashing was threading its way past cars parked haphazardly on the berm.
Kate sat frozen, watching the cruiser draw closer and emit another whoop-whoop to make a car trying to leave the road get back in line. She squinted, trying to make out who was behind the wheel, but the tint of the windows made it impossible to see who was driving. Her heart thudded as the cruiser worked its way to the front of the line, and the trooper bolted out of his car to plant himself at the crux of the traffic jam.
She rolled down the window and stuck her head out like an overheated Labrador, trying to see the trooper who had come to their rescue. He was tall—sweet Lord—with heart-stoppingly broad shoulders. The sight of Nick Stanton, all business in hat and shades, gesturing with those muscular arms, sent a frisson of anticipation through her. He looked just like he had that first night. The fact that she knew Nick’s form and movement so definitively should have given her pause. Instead, it gave her a shiver of pleasure.
She jerked her head inside, rolled up the window and flipped down her visor mirror to check her hair and makeup. She hadn’t really expected to see him. Why couldn’t she have put on a little blush and some mascara this morning? What did it mean that he was here, helping bring order to the chaos Nance and Isabelle had unintentionally created? Was he on duty? Or had he just dropped by to see her? The bleat of a horn from behind interrupted her thoughts.
She threw her Jeep into gear and rolled forward, craning her neck to catch glimpses of him at work. Just as she expected: every movement was sure and controlled. No one in his right mind would mess with Trooper Stanton. Her stomach seemed to be melting into a pool of goo. He was gorgeous. No, spectacular. In the back of her mind she could hear Jess’s assessment: “You’re in trouble, Everly.”
“Get stuffed, Preston,” she muttered.
When she reached the head of the line, Nick held up a hand to stop her and approached the Jeep. She rolled down the window.
“Is this part of your patrol route now?” she said, smiling.
“Not exactly.” He flashed a handsome smile beneath those intimidating shades. “My mom and Ben heard about this, and he harangued her into coming to see the dogs. I was just getting off duty and said I’d meet them here. Didn’t quite expect this.”
“Apparently no one did. When you get this mess sorted out, I’ll buy you a cold whatever they’re serving, okay?”
“Sounds good.” He stepped back and waved her toward a part of the lot that had spaces opening.
After parking, she turned off the engine and paused for a minute to recover. His mother and Ben. That was a good thing, right? Meeting the entire family? After swipes with a comb and some gloss she found in the console, she made her way to the center of the festivities. She noticed a number of people in the crowd who had dogs that wore neckerchiefs designating them as Harbor alumnae.
“Dr. Kate!” Ben’s voice stopped her in her tracks, and she paused to search the crowd for him. He ran up from the side, face ruddy and beaming. An older woman with short, frosted hair and a lovely softness to her features came up behind him. She would have recognized Ben’s grandmother anywhere: same nose, same mouth and those eyes.
“You must be Mrs. Stanton.” She extended a hand and was pleased by the woman’s warm response.
“Call me Sarah. Ben talks about you all the time.” She pretended to look around Kate’s shoulder. “I half expected a pair of wings.”
Kate laughed. “Not even close. How did you hear about this?”
“We listen to WSRZ every morning, and they mentioned it several times. Harbor is a
ll Ben talks about these days—well, that and soccer.”
“I want Nana to see Goldie and Soldier,” Ben said, bouncing on the balls of his feet, “but they aren’t in the kennel. Where are they?”
“Not in the kennel?” She frowned and looked over her shoulder to where Nance stood. “I have no idea. But I know someone who does.”
She led them over to Nance and introduced them. Nance’s face lit as she shook Sarah Stanton’s hand and ruffled Ben’s hair.
“Wow. Quite a turnout, huh?” Nance beamed at the crowd milling around them. “Glad you could make it.”
“We barely did,” Kate said with a piercing look. “The traffic is a nightmare.”
“Yeah, well, it’s our first time planning something like this. Next year we’ll do better,” Nance said firmly.
“Fortunately for you, a state trooper saw the gridlock and volunteered to get things moving.” She gave Ben a sidelong grin.
“It’s my dad, isn’t it?”
“It is,” Kate said, feeling an irrational surge of pleasure at the fact. “I saw him as I parked, and he said he was meeting you here.” She turned to Nance. “Ben wanted to show Goldie and Soldier to his gran. But he says they’re not in the kennel.”
“About that...” Nance looked a little chagrined. “We had some drop-offs and needed the space, so I volunteered to take them out to the farm.” She focused on Ben. “We didn’t want to separate them, so it was the only place we could find on short notice.”
Ben looked crestfallen. “But I wanted to see them. Can we come and see them at your farm?”
“Really, Ben, it’s not polite to ask that.” Sarah Stanton pulled him against her side.
“It’s okay,” Nance said, bending to meet Ben eye to eye. “I know you’ve got a special bond with those two, so you’re welcome anytime. Kate can tell you how to get to my place, right, Kate?” She straightened, looking like she’d just thought to add, “Or maybe you can show them the way. Bring them out and give them a tour.” She caught Sarah’s eye. “Those animals are as much hers as they are mine.”
Kate watched her grandmother’s act and knew exactly where this was headed. It was just her luck to get stuck with a diabolical meddler for a grandmother. She preempted whatever came next by asking, “Ben, have you had ice cream yet?”
“No. They have chocolate and strawberry and peanut butter cup.”
“So, you’ve already scoped it out.” She laughed. “What do you say, Sarah? Time for some ice cream?”
Sarah nodded permission, and Kate offered Ben her hand. He took it and bounded along beside her to one of the refreshment tents.
The ice cream was just soft enough and rich enough to make a delicious mess. Chocolate threatened to run down Ben’s hand as he hurried to lick the soft edges hanging over the cone and keep it in bounds.
“You’re a pro at this, I see.” Kate chuckled. “Just try not to get it anywhere that isn’t washable. I don’t want to annoy your gran.”
“Nana wouldn’t get mad.” Ben grinned at her. “She likes you.”
“She doesn’t know me. We just met,” Kate said, searching the boy’s chocolate-smeared face.
“I told her all about you.” He licked his ice cream into peaks before biting them off. “And Dad said you’re a good vet and a nice lady.”
“He said that, did he?”
Ben nodded with a teasing glint in his eyes. “He likes you, too.” He took a bite of the cone this time. “And I like you.”
“The feeling is mutual, Ben Stanton. You’re one adorable kid.”
Ben scrunched up one side of his face as if trying to decide if adorable was truly a compliment or just something adults felt required to say about kids.
“What? Adorable isn’t good enough for you?” Kate sniffed with indignation. “Kids these days. I suppose I could call you bright, curious and fun to be around. That sound better?”
“Are you saying I’m smart?” He lowered his ice cream. “’Cause I don’t want to be a smarty-farty.”
“A smarty what?” She choked out a surprised laugh.
“That’s what kids call me on the playground sometimes.” His voice lowered. “And Wyatt. They call him ‘smarty-farty,’ too.”
“Hmm.” She studied him for a moment. “Smart is a good thing. Who doesn’t want to learn quickly and understand things and be recognized for it? And farts—well, they’re just a natural bodily function, part of being human. Our bodies need to fart in order to expel gases that form in our gut.”
He giggled self-consciously. “So farts are good?”
“Absolutely.” She lifted her chin. “Farts are downright healthy. Benjamin Franklin, one of our country’s founding fathers, wrote a book that says we should ‘fart proudly.’”
“Fart proudly? And here I thought adults were supposed to set a good example for kids.” A deep voice from behind sent a jolt of surprise through her. She turned and came face-to-face with Nick. Behind those mirrored shades, she imagined his eyes narrowed in displeasure. Lecturing his kid on the glories of farts, what was she thinking?
“Take it up with old Benjamin, he’s the one who wrote it. And I—We just—He was telling me about kids on the playground—”
“The ‘smarty-farty’ thing,” Nick guessed. He took off his sunglasses, hung them on his chest pocket and looked at his son. “The current-day version of ‘puke-face’ and ‘teacher’s putz.’” He propped his hands on his service belt, his expression impenetrable, looking for all the world like the four-letter-word police.
Ben seemed to have lost interest in his ice cream, and Kate was suddenly finding it difficult to swallow.
“He just needs to find a couple of zingers to fire back,” Nick continued, including Kate in his cool, professional gaze. “Sounds like you can supply him with a few scientific fart facts to help even the score.”
Kate jerked her gaze up to find him grinning and she relaxed, then gave his arm a good-natured shove.
“You. I’ll do my best to help him come up with something.” She smiled up at him and—wonder of wonders—he smiled back. A broad, no-reservations kind of a smile that made her heart skip. This felt so good, it had to be bad. Lord, he looked...
“Thirsty, Trooper Stanton? I believe I promised to buy you a cold one.”
Minutes later, they were downing icy lemonade and watching Ben’s face being painted like a golden retriever’s. Ben’s grandmother and Nance joined them, and when Ben’s face was complete, they strolled the tent area while Ben did his best dog imitations and Nance pointed out to Sarah various parts of the shelter. After a while they noticed a knot of people gathered around the office porch steps, looking as if they needed help.
Nance hurried over and pushed through the people to find a cardboard box holding four puppies on the doorstep.
“Schnauzers,” she said, picking up one small, mewling puppy to examine. “Again.”
Kate joined her and looked them over. “Young. Two or three weeks. Their eyes haven’t been open long.” She searched the immediate area. “Where’s the mother?”
Onlookers provided a few details: one had seen a young boy carrying a box, and another had seen a teenager setting a box down by the door. No one had seen a mother dog.
“What did the boy look like?” Nick took over, all business.
Young, came a response. Maybe ten or twelve, came another. Not large. Maybe Hispanic. Thin. Worn jeans and T-shirt. Shaggy hair.
Kate watched Nick look out over the crowd as descriptions were volunteered. He spotted a matching suspect at the side of a concession tent, peering around the corner at them.
The minute Nick headed in that direction, the kid took off like a rabbit. “Stop! Hey—I just want to talk to you!”
The sight of a uniformed trooper in hot pursuit made people scramble out
of his way, and before long, Nick was racing into the field of parked cars after the youth.
As fast as Nick was, the boy was faster, juking around cars and sprinting toward the cover of the tree line, which was thick with palmetto brush. The youth plowed in and was lost in the brambles in seconds. Nick hesitated for one fateful moment, then plunged into the brush after the kid. A loud muffler on a revving engine caught his attention as he fought his way through, and he looked up. An old stake-bed pickup sat on the county road, belching exhaust.
As he followed the trail the kid’s passage had left in the palmetto brush—praying the kid had already put any snakes to flight—he caught sight of his suspect nearing that old truck and a bare arm reaching out of the driver’s window to gesture impatiently. Nick jolted to a stop as the kid disappeared around the truck. Seconds later it blasted off down the road in a haze of exhaust.
He whipped a glance over his shoulder to gauge the distance to his cruiser, wheeled and ran his “best 40” time to get there before the beater with the kid was completely out of sight. He slid behind the wheel, hit the lights and siren, and peeled out, leaving ruts in the sandy berm. It didn’t take long for him to catch sight of the truck again, but they spotted him, too, and hit the accelerator.
Alerts had come into county station about a dogfighting ring out of South Florida moving into the area. He gripped the steering wheel hard as he thought of the dogs that were being starved and mistreated to make them aggressive. But if the kid was part of a dogfighting operation, why was he bringing puppies to a shelter? And schnauzer puppies, at that. They were feisty, barky little dogs, but hardly the kind people paid to see fight.
The truck ran a red light in front of him, and he had to hit the brakes and get his head back into the chase. The truck was in tough shape; the stakes on the bed bowed out and swayed dangerously with each swerve and pothole, and the license plate was rusted enough to be mostly unreadable. Not exactly a prosperous dogfighting promoter.
