by Betina Krahn
They spotted his cruiser and lights, and pointed. A second later, the deputy was running toward him. Nick looked around for other county cars and found none. Where the hell were the rest of the Hardee County deputies? They were taking on a dogfighting ring with a single deputy and a bunch of civilians?
“Thank God you’re here.” The deputy—“Krum” by his nameplate—halted by the car as Nick stepped out and put on his hat. “The old woman’s crazy as a bat, and that bunch—” he pointed at the group huddled in the road some distance away “—isn’t much better. They’re ready to storm the old lady’s house and she’s already fired once—at me.” He nervously tugged on his service belt. “Damn near got me.”
“Where are the rest of your guys?” Nick asked, searching the motley collection of vehicles in confusion, until the sense of it struck. “What old woman?” He did a double take to focus on a Jeep he recognized.
Oh, hell, no!
He half heard the deputy’s explanation of his attempt to serve a warrant; he was busy picking out an all-too-familiar pickup truck and a couple of figures in the group now watching him. This wasn’t a dogfighting takedown, this was a puppy mill raid. His stomach felt like it deflated and slid south in his gut.
* * *
KATE KNEW THE minute he stepped out of the cruiser that Nick was not going to be happy about this. Of all the troopers to send to help out on a puppy mill raid, why did they have to send him? She was in motion before she had a clue what she was going to say. His face darkened as he left the sputtering Deputy Barney—that really was his name, Barney Krum—and headed straight for her.
“I’m sorry it’s you, Nick,” she said as they met. She wanted to reach for his hands but wasn’t certain if that would be wise, considering he was here in a professional capacity, and she could guess he would rather be anywhere else in the world right now. “We had no idea the old woman was so combative—”
“Or so well armed,” Nance said as she came up behind Kate with several others at her back. “Glad it’s you, Nick. We can sure use your steady hand here. This is Chet and Jamie Dunlap.” She gestured to a middle-aged couple wearing jeans and farm boots. “They live back down the road, saw the flashing lights as we passed and came over to see what was happening. Tell him what you told us, Chet.”
Dunlap, a barrel-chested citrus farmer with thirty-years of sun damage on his face, nodded and gave Nick an earful.
“The old woman’s been gettin’ worse for years. But she used to be a crack shot back in the day, and she does love them guns of hers. She’s got a mess of dogs in there. Used to breed good pups, but now, who knows? You can hear dogs barkin’ day and night...clear down to our place when the wind is right.”
“She lives there by herself? Anyone else around?” Nick asked, flicking looks at Kate and Nance.
“No,” Jamie said, staring up at Nick. “She’s been alone for some time. Except for that nephew of hers. Jerry something—I don’t know if he’s a Crowder. He comes around once a month when she gets her social security money. He was supposed to help out around the place, but he hasn’t turned a hand in years. The place is fallin’ apart. God knows what state those poor dogs are in.”
“Has she ever shot at anyone before?” Nick asked, frowning at the picture they painted.
“Don’t think so,” Chet said. “But there’s a first time for everything.”
Kate watched Nick’s jaw harden and his hands ball into fists as he assessed the situation. She wished with all her heart he hadn’t been the one dispatched here. The conditions they’d encounter and the tragedy they’d uncover could prove worse for him than anyone else in the rescue crew. He felt things more deeply where dogs were concerned. From the signs, it was going to be a heartbreaking afternoon all around.
As if someone flipped a switch in him, he was suddenly in motion, heading for the driveway. “Stay here,” he told Kate when she tried to follow, “and keep these people back. Krum, you call for some EMTs and tell them to make it fast. You’ll need to go and meet them and lead them in here. Make sure they know it’s a psych situation—no sirens—and tell them we may need to Baker Act someone.”
He was in control as he strode up the weedy drive; Kate could see it in the set of his shoulders. Something in her chest swelled painfully as she watched him do what he seemed born to do: look danger in the eye without blinking.
If anyone could talk to her, he could.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
NICK STRODE INTO the weedy mess that had once been a front yard and paused to remove his hat, service belt and the sunglasses that were hanging from his pocket. He laid them on the ground and then removed his service piece from its holster and tucked it into his waistband against his back. Taking a steadying breath, he headed for the front door, which opened the minute he came in the old woman’s sights.
The warped and peeling door slammed back against an interior wall and a disheveled old woman appeared in the opening. A shotgun hung loosely in her hands, and her red-rimmed eyes were wide and full of fear.
“Get off my land!” she shouted, lifting the gun and pointing it in Nick’s vicinity. “B’fore I blast yer head off!”
Nick stopped ten feet from the porch and opened his hands out at his sides so she could see he wasn’t hiding anything.
“Miz Crowder? Miz Clara Crowder?”
The sound of her name, spoken so forcefully, flustered her for a moment. She lifted her feet, one after the other, and her mouth worked oddly, as if she had trouble speaking. “I’m—I’m Clara. I’m Clara...Crowder. Who’re you?”
“I want to help you, Miz Crowder,” he said, watching her furrowed face and age-yellowed eyes as she struggled to make sense of what was happening. “I’m Nick Stanton. Your neighbors are concerned about you and wanted me to come and check to see that you’re all right.”
“I got no—neighbuhhh—” She seemed to run out of energy for the word, paused, then raised the gun and her voice. “Go. You get off...get away. It’s my land. My place.” She swept the gun barrels to the side. “I’ll blast yer head...clean off!”
The shouting must have taken most of her energy; the gun drooped again in her hands. Nick considered rushing her, but mere seconds later she was back in combat mode, and he was glad he had hesitated.
He could see her drawing on her thin reserves as she forced herself to defend her property.
“I’ll go, Miz Crowder,” he said, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender. “But before I do—you hear that?”
Again the gun came up.
“Hear what?” She was trying to yell, but it now came out strained and hoarse.
“The dogs, Miz Crowder. Can’t you hear your dogs barking?”
“Stupid things—bark all the time. Nothin’ wrong with that.”
“I think there is, Miz Crowder. I think some of them are in trouble and they need help. They need care.” He paused to see how she was taking that and was encouraged by the way the gun lowered an inch.
“That’s what these people came to do—” he waved toward the cars visible through the brush and the people standing behind them “—to help you with your dogs.”
“My dogs!” she shouted, though it came out with less force than before. “They’re my dogs.”
“I don’t want your dogs, Miz Crowder.” His voice softened as he tried to lull her, every word carrying the weight of truth. “I just want to help you. I can see you need help. And I know you’re exhausted, I can see it. How long has it been since you had a good hot meal with a piece of pie and a cup of coffee? You must get so tired, taking care of everything by yourself. Your nephew—Jerry, is it? He’s supposed to help you, but he doesn’t, does he? He just comes and gets money and goes away again.”
“Jer-ry? Where’s Jerry?” She looked confused, and the gun barrel lowered. “He was here... Jer-ry was. With
that boy.”
“You need care, Miz Crowder.” He began to inch closer, speaking in the same even, reassuring cadence. “You need someone to take care of you and see that you get food and a bath and clean clothes.” He was near the porch now, and the old woman was no longer paying attention to his approach. She was just staring off into space, letting the gun droop in her gnarled, arthritic hands. It was amazing that she could hold the thing, much less pull the trigger.
“Let me help you, Miz Clara.” He reverted to the local custom of calling ladies by a first name honorific. “Let me help take care of things for you.” He was on the porch now, but instead of reaching for the gun, he moved steadily toward the open door. “How about if I get you a chair to sit on?” When she just stood there, shoulders rounded in confusion, he stepped into the house and was hit powerfully with odors of urine, feces and human decay. Holding his breath, fighting the urge to retch, he grabbed the first chair he saw and carried it out onto the porch.
“You’re so tired, Miz Clara. You need to sit down.” He took her by the elbow, and she allowed herself to be guided to the chair. In the process, he slipped the gun from her hand and held it up for the others to see as he took a breath of relief and fresh air. A cheer went up from the direction of the road.
* * *
KATE WAS FIRST to reach them—she ran the rest of the way through the brush and onto the porch, her eyes wet and heart full. She had crept from the road toward the house and heard nearly every word they’d exchanged. The courage and compassion he showed filled her with an eruption of love she couldn’t contain. He looked at her across the old woman’s nodding head, and she said, “You’re amazing, Nick Stanton.”
His face softened only slightly, but in his eyes she read the warm, heartfelt response she needed.
* * *
THE AMBULANCE ARRIVED QUICKLY, but without the sirens that could have frightened old Mrs. Crowder. Kate and Nance had found a blanket for her and gotten her some warm cocoa that one of the volunteers had packed. She seemed to have retreated into her memories and was barely responsive when the EMTs asked her routine questions. They gave her a quick evaluation and then a light sedative, then put her on a gurney and phoned in an approach to the nearest hospital.
The sun was well up when the ambulance left. Nance and Isabelle gave the signal for the volunteers to suit up in their protective gear, then gathered them for a few last instructions before going in. Meanwhile, Deputy Krum and Nick checked the premises to be sure no one else was around before letting the rescue begin. The place seemed deserted—except for the rows and stacks of cages and pens containing dogs in every heartbreaking condition possible.
Nick was stone-faced when he came back down the road to the group, who were now dressed in disposable white coveralls. He nodded to Nance, who called, “All right, people. Let’s go in and get ’em.”
A small forward group went in with clipboards and cameras to document the number and condition of the animals. Behind them went a group carrying travel crates of various sizes, blankets and towels, and bottles of water. Nick watched their determined expressions, knowing from what he had glimpsed earlier that some would be in tears before the morning was out.
And when a young voice called, “Dad!” he whirled just in time to meet Ben’s tackling hug full-on. He hadn’t recovered from that shock when he got an even greater one. His mom came up beside Ben with her arms open and her eyes moist.
“What the hell are you—”
She threw her arms around him and hugged with all her might...which blunted his prickly response. He set her back with a scowl. “You brought him here? What the hell were you thinking?”
“Don’t give me that look,” she answered with a fierce expression. “Nance called to tell us about the rescue and ask if we’d like to donate or to foster one of the animals. Ben begged to come—he wants to help and so do I—so we volunteered. And before you get all indignant or outraged, he and I are staying down here with the vans. They need people to calm the animals and hold them while they get used to being out of the cages. That’s our job—the holding and reassuring. Ben will be by my side the whole time, and we won’t be going anywhere near the rough stuff.”
Nick could see by the spark in her eyes that she was determined to do this. He looked down at Ben, who sensed his dad had just been trumped the way only a grandmother could.
“You were great, Dad.” He grinned. “The way you talked that old lady into giving up her gun...you’re the bravest trooper in the FHP.” His face grew impish. “And you just said the H word twice.”
Nick expelled a breath of frustration. Determination and adoration were a tough combination to overcome. He looked up to catch Kate and another white-coated woman struggling with a couple of folding tables and boxes of supplies. He surrendered with a nod to his mom, who hugged him tightly. “Your son is right, you know. You are the best.”
“The best what?” he asked, his mind and heart both elsewhere.
He saw his mom smile when she saw who had captured his gaze.
“The best everything.” She pointed to Kate and gave him a push. “Ask her.”
He ran after Kate and quickly caught up with her.
“Let me.” He pried a table from her hands and carried it up the drive to the examination station they were setting up in the gravel yard equidistant from the house, barn and pens. When he looked up, he found the other woman, a tall, lanky brunette, staring at him.
“You’re the trooper. The one who brought that pair of dogs in,” she said.
“I guess I should get used to that designation.”
Kate watched their encounter and smiled at Nick’s confusion.
“Nick, meet my partner, Jessica Preston.” She gestured between them. “Jess, meet Nick Stanton...rescuer of dogs, apprehender of highway evil-doers and more importantly, a very special someone.”
Jess stuck out her hand to him. “We meet at last,” she said with a twinkle in her eye.
At that moment, their first patient appeared, a small, towel-wrapped creature cradled in Linda Hoskins’s arms. The volunteer’s eyes were wide, and she looked a little pale.
“I know you’re not ready yet, but—” her voice cracked “—I just had to get this little thing out of there.”
It was going to be a tough day for a lot of them, Nick thought as he saw Kate wince when she took the bundle from Linda. He realized it would take a toll on her, too. Despite her philosophy of acceptance and her soothing, rational pronouncements, she was deeply affected by this cruelty to animals she had dedicated her life to helping.
He seized plastic drapes from the box and spread them over the two tables, then took the scale from Jess to stack on one end. “You just take care of them.” He fished nitrile gloves out of the boxes for her and Jess, and then nodded toward the puppy. “I’ll see to the rest.”
The first heart-blow of the day came moments later when Kate peeled the toweling from the animal and discovered it wasn’t a puppy at all. It was tiny dog that was mostly skin and bones and teats. “She’s given birth recently.” She looked to Linda. “Was she with puppies?”
Linda shook her head and began to stroke the trembling dog. Kate looked around, swallowed her reaction, then went immediately to work...weighing the dog, attaching a plastic collar for identification and noting on her paper record, “Seven pounds. Severely malnourished and undersized. Whelped recently, but no sign of puppies.”
Kate had Jess position and hold the frail little dog as she examined teeth and ears and palpated the abdomen. The dog’s small head looked like a miniature adult’s except for the big dark eyes, which were too large and too lifeless to be normal. The little female lay back in Jess’s hands, trembling, but resigned to whatever fate they decreed for her.
“So, this is what it’s like,” Jess murmured to Kate, who nodded somberly. Before five minute
s were up, Jess had a patient of her own to evaluate. Then another. And another.
The story became all too familiar: the dogs were females—mostly miniature schnauzers and what looked like poodles or poodle crosses—all of which were underweight, filthy and full of worms. Most showed evidence of having given birth and were missing fur where they had lain on the chicken wire of cages for much of their lives. Their feet showed evidence of old cuts that had gone untreated. The few males were a little better off from not having had to share their meager nourishment with unborn puppies.
“I was kind of feeling sorry for the old girl when they carried her off,” Jess said angrily, tears rimming her eyes as she straightened from listening to a little heart that would never beat again. “But after seeing this, I’d flip the switch on her final cocktail myself.”
* * *
NICK WATCHED THAT first dog with silent horror...the frail little body and crumpled rear quarters that hadn’t had room to move and develop proper musculature. It was as small as a puppy but with more mature features. The listless, pain-filled eyes were what finally made him bolt from the tables. He found himself on the driveway moments later and paused to get his bearings before heading to Kate’s Jeep to fetch more supplies. There was now a line at the exam tables, and the waiting volunteers were using bottled water to clean the animals so they could be examined.
Nick deposited the supplies, tried not to look at the animals too closely and strode off in search of Deputy Krum. He found the kid leaning on a post by a stretch of downed fence at the rear of the property. From the smell, he figured Barney’s breakfast lay on the ground nearby.
