As he retrieved his hat and reshaped the crown, he assured himself that things were bound to pick up. He’d unplug the phone and bury his pager under the sofa cushion. Once he’d had supper and tended to the livestock, absolutely nothing would pry him out of his recliner.
Minutes later, Heath was reading the directions to make macaroni and cheese, his idea of haute cuisine, when the phone rang. He swore under his breath, wanting to kick himself for forgetting to unplug the damned thing. Ignore it.
Whistling softly, he stepped to the refrigerator to get the milk and margarine. Persistent, the phone kept jangling. He whistled louder. He was officially off duty. His deputies could handle any emergencies. With a grunt of satisfaction, he snagged another swallow of beer before reaching into an oak cupboard for a pan.
The phone continued to ring.
What was it about a ringing telephone that drove him so crazy? He had no wife, no kids, and no siblings. Just a father he hadn’t seen in nineteen years and telephoned on rare occasion. Chances were good that it was someone from the department or, worse yet, a reporter. Tonight, all he wanted was some peace and quiet. He didn’t want to hear about recall petitions. He didn’t want to be interviewed about his work with teenagers. Why couldn’t the world just back off for a few hours and leave him alone?
With a sigh of self-disgust, he leaned across the pile of unpacked grocery bags to grab the receiver. “Yo!”
“Sheriff Masters?”
The voice was female, shrill, and laced with hysteria. In the background, Heath heard the faint sound of a child screaming. “Yes?”
“This is—oh, dear, God, you have to get over here. Quick!”
Heath frequently got weird phone calls, and they often began just this way, with an anonymous someone at the other end of the line making very little sense.
“Just calm down, ma’am.” Domestic violence. Some drunken bastard beating on his kid, no doubt. “Before I can help you, I need your name and address.”
“Please, you have to get over here, fast!” she cried. “He’s gone crazy. I think he’s—oh, my God!—I think he’s going to kill her! Hurry, please, hurry!”
Before Heath could ask any more questions, the line went dead.
Weird phone calls went with a sheriff’s territory, but this one took the prize. No name, no address? He wasn’t a mind reader. He hung up the phone. Damn. Another goat roper with an attitude, tanked up on cheap whiskey. Why women stayed with bastards like that, Heath would never know. Especially when kids were involved. I think he’s going to kill her!
Why hadn’t she given him her name? At least then he might have been able to locate her. The thought of some little girl getting the snot beat out of her by some two-hundred-pound jerk made Heath feel sick. He had to get caller ID on his line.
Staring at the macaroni box, he tried to concentrate on the instructions. Please, you have to get over here, fast! It was as if she expected him to know where she was.
A prickly sensation ran up his neck. Goliath. Had the dog caused some kind of trouble down at the neighbors’?
Heath threw open the back door and moved out onto the porch. Sure enough, he heard the distant sound of a dog barking. Not even taking time to grab his hat, he broke into a run. He could hear the uproar long before he reached the neighboring farmhouse. It sounded as if all hell had broken loose, a kid caterwauling, a woman screaming, and Goliath barking. What the Sam Hill?
He vaulted over the tumbledown fence that divided his neighbor’s patchy lawn from the adjoining cow pasture, then circled the house, skidding to a halt about fifteen feet shy of a dilapidated woodshed. A child, dressed in pink pants and a smudged white T-shirt, stood splayed against the outbuilding, strands of her blond hair caught on the rough planks. Her eyes were so wide with fright they resembled china-blue supper plates.
Fangs bared and frothing at the jowls, Goliath lunged back and forth between the child and a young woman Heath guessed to be her mother, a slightly built brunette in loosely fitting blue jeans and an oversized white shirt.
“Stay back!” he ordered.
At the sound of his voice, the woman spun around, her pinched face so pale that her dark brown eyes looked almost as large as her daughter’s. “Oh, thank God! Help us! Do something, please, before he hurts her!”
Heath jerked his gaze back to his dog. If ever there had been an animal he would trust with a child, Goliath was it. Yet now the Rottweiler seemed to have gone berserk, barking and snarling and snapping at the air. Even more alarming, Heath’s presence didn’t seem to be calming him down.
Heath snapped his fingers. “Goliath, heel!”
At the command, the Rottweiler whirled toward Heath, his usually friendly brown eyes glinting a demonic red. For an awful instant, Heath was afraid the dog might not obey him. Impossible. Goliath was an extensively trained animal who’d been drilled, even as a pup, to respond instantly to commands.
What in the hell was wrong with him? Heath’s gaze shot to the terrified child.
“Goliath, heel!” He slapped his thigh for emphasis.
The Rottweiler finally acquiesced, massive head lowered, legs stiff, his movements reluctant and abject. The second the dog got within reach, Heath grabbed his collar.
“Sammy!”
With a strangled cry, the woman bolted forward to gather her child into her arms. For a second, she simply hugged her, one of those shaky, desperate, breath-robbing hugs that conveyed relief beyond measure. Then she whirled to confront Heath, her pale, delicately molded face twisting with anger, her body quaking.
“You get that vicious, out of control dog off my property!”
The blaze in her eyes told Heath she was infused by the rush of adrenaline that often followed a bad scare. He’d experienced it a few times himself, a trembling rage that quickly petered out and gave way to watery legs.
“Ma’am, I’m really sorry about—”
“I don’t want to hear it! Just get that monster out of here!”
Talk about starting off on the wrong foot with someone. And wasn’t that a shame? Heath would have happily fixed this gal’s plumbing late at night—or anything else that went haywire in the ramshackle old house she was renting.
Fragile build. Pixyish features. Creamy skin. Large caramel brown eyes. A full, vulnerable mouth the delicate pink of barely ripened strawberries. Her hair fell in a thick, silken tangle around her shoulders, the sable tendrils curling over her white shirt like glistening ribbons of chocolate on vanilla ice cream.
She hugged her daughter more tightly, cupping a tremulous hand over the crown of the child’s blond head. “It’s all right, sweetkins,” she whispered. “It’s all right.” The child began to wail more shrilly. In a louder voice, the woman cried, “Please! Don’t just stand there gaping at us! Can’t you see she’s terrified of your dog?”
Heath could see that, yes. Children who were afraid of dogs didn’t mix well with Rottweilers. Goliath must have scared the poor little thing half to death.
“I really am sorry about this,” he tried again. “But, please, understand, Goliath would never hurt your little girl. He adores kids.”
The woman retreated a step. “He almost attacked me!”
“I assure you he wouldn’t have.”
“He wouldn’t even let me get close to her! Every time I tried, he lunged at me!”
“Only because he sensed that the child was afraid. You heard her screaming, right? And came running outside?”
“Yes,” she admitted, her voice quivering.
“I figured as much. He is only a dog, you know, not an Einstein. The little girl was scared, Goliath was trying to protect her from whatever was frightening her, and you came charging out of the house. In his mind, you were the only thing around that could have been posing a threat.”
“There’s no excuse for that kind of behavior! You’re as crazy as your dog is!”
Heath guessed she might be right. She looked furious enough to chew nails and spit out screws. Her f
inely sculpted face was as pale as milk except for the splashes of angry pink on her cheeks, and her huge brown eyes blazed at him. Yet here he stood, trying to reason with her. Explaining his dog’s behavior would be better left for later.
She backed up another step, her gaze flicking around the yard as if she were searching for a bolt hole. She was as frightened as her kid was, whether of him or his dog, he wasn’t sure. What with all the recent television coverage of police brutality and corruption, lots of people didn’t trust lawmen these days.
He gave her another once-over, taking in details with a well-trained eye. Mid to late twenties, extremely skittish. The way she watched him was starting to make him feel too big for his skin. At six feet five in his stocking feet and two inches taller in riding boots, he probably seemed gigantic to a little gal like her.
“What we have here is a major misunderstanding,” he tried.
“A misunderstanding? You get him out of here. Do I make myself clear? Now! Or I’m going to call the—” She broke off, her gaze flicking from the badge on his shirt to the holstered semiautomatic riding his hip. “I’ll call the state police. I’m sure there’s a leash law here, and you’re breaking it by letting that maniacal animal run loose!”
Heath couldn’t let that pass without a rebuttal. “This maniacal animal is the same canine deputy you read about in the newspaper several months ago. The one that went into the burning apartment building to rescue the little girl?” Her lack of reaction told Heath she hadn’t read the story. Fantastic. “Look, lady. During the course of his career, Goliath received seventeen citations, all for rescuing children. He’d never harm your daughter. Die for her, maybe, because that’s his nature.”
She whirled and headed for her back door. “If you’re not gone when I get inside, I’ll call the state police. And if that dog ever comes here again, I’ll file a complaint.”
For a fast July minute Heath was amused at the idea of his neighbor reporting him, of all people, to the police. But then as fast as it had come, his amusement faded. If she involved the state cops, this situation could turn really nasty. He tightened his hold on Goliath’s collar and pulled the dog from her yard as quickly as he could.
Once they reached the road, Heath relaxed his hold on the animal. “Great work, partner. You really know how to make points with the ladies.”
The instant the Rottweiler was free, he tried to make a U-turn. Heath’s heart leaped, a sick dread gnawing at his middle. He grabbed the dog’s collar again.
“Don’t even think about it, you blockhead. That little girl is off limits. Understand? What the hell’s gotten into you?”
Goliath only whined and gazed miserably at the old farmhouse, for all the world as if he’d left his heart behind. Gently but firmly, Heath seized the dog by his ears, then leaned down for a little nose-to-nose communication.
“Goliath, listen up. You listening?”
Sad brown eyes looked into Heath’s.
“That lady doesn’t like you. I know that’s a real hard thing for a charming fellow like you to understand. But sometimes there’s just no figuring females. Show your mangy hide around there again, and she’ll file a complaint with animal control, sure as the world. She’ll tell them you’re vicious and out of control. You know what happens then, buddy? The gas chamber.”
Meredith Kenyon jerked open the back screen door, only to have the blasted thing pull away from the frame at the bottom. Understandable, since the door had only one good hinge to begin with—the top one. Arms locked around her daughter, she didn’t bother to lift up on the handle as the contraption slammed closed behind her. If the remaining hinge screws pulled free from the rotten wood, so be it.
Three steps into the utility room, she halted. Sammy clung to her frantically, her small body shivering so badly her teeth chattered. Swaying from side to side, Meredith rubbed the child’s narrow back, aware in some distant part of her mind that the floor gave perilously with every shift of her weight. Horrible old house, anyway. She wished she’d never rented it. Not that there’d been much choice. Now they were stuck here.
If it hadn’t been so awful, Meredith would have laughed hysterically. Talk about neighbors who were her worst nightmare. A county sheriff and a berserk Rottweiler? She couldn’t decide which was worse. Heath Masters had seemed as tall as a tree to her, with shoulders so broad it would take a yardstick to measure them, every inch of him roped with muscle. Those penetrating slate blue eyes had been unnerving as well, their contrast to his burnished, chiseled features and sable hair almost startling. Maybe it was because she’d lived in the city for several years and been around professional men who never turned their hands to physical work, but Masters had seemed to emanate strength.
Willing her heart to stop pounding, Meredith tried to gather her wits. She didn’t like the way Sammy was trembling or the fact that she hadn’t said anything.
“Hey, punkin,” Meredith whispered. “You okay?”
No answer. Just an awful silence. Meredith’s heart caught, and for an agonizing moment, she couldn’t breathe. Not again, God. Please, not again. Sammy had been doing so well these last few weeks. Only occasional nightmares, hardly any incidents.
“Knock, knock,” Meredith said, anxiety making her voice twang. “Is there a little girl named Sammy hiding in there someplace?”
The child squirmed slightly, making Meredith wonder if she was hugging her too tightly. Digging deep for some self-control, she forced herself to relax her arms.
“Sammy, love?”
“What?” the child finally replied in a thin, quavery voice.
Relief washed over Meredith in drowning waves that made her feel slightly disoriented and giddy. “You okay, sweetie?”
Sammy pressed closer, the brittle tension in her body conveying how frightened she still was. “You promised, Mommy,” she whispered fiercely. “You promised.”
An ache of regret filled Meredith. It wasn’t necessary for Sammy to say more. She knew exactly which promise the child referred to, namely that once they reached Oregon, Sammy would never have to feel afraid again. Blast that man for letting such a horrible dog run loose!
“Oh, sweetheart. It’s going to be okay.”
Sammy shuddered. “I want to go ’way from here, Mommy. Far, far ’way.”
Leaving right now was impossible. She’d been required to pay the last month’s rent and a sizable deposit to lease this house, and her crotchety landlord would refuse to return the money if she failed to stay for the agreed upon six months. In addition to that, her rattletrap car needed a valve job that was going to cost a small fortune. If she meant to keep food on the table for her daughter, she couldn’t afford to move until she’d drawn a few more paychecks. Besides, she had no guarantee of landing another job, especially not one that would allow her to work at home and take care of her child.
Pressing her face against Sammy’s hair, Meredith struggled for calm. Instead, a helpless anger rushed through her. She and Sammy had gone through so much and come so far to get here. Now everything seemed to be going wrong.
“That big mean dog’s gonna come back, Mommy. I just know it!”
“Oh, Sammy. As long as I draw breath, nothing’s going to hurt you, sweetie. Not that dog or anything else. You mustn’t feel afraid.”
Empty words. Sammy had counted on Meredith so many times and been let down.
As she stood there rocking her daughter, Meredith realized the back of her throat was burning. She stiffened and lifted her head to sniff. Smoke trailed under the freshly painted, utility room door.
“Oh, no, the hamburger!”
The smell of burning meat seared her nostrils as she burst into the kitchen. Still clutching Sammy in one arm, she raced across the badly worn linoleum. Smoke billowed up from the antiquated white stove, stinging her eyes. After turning off the gas burner, she grabbed a potholder to move the redhot cast iron skillet off the heat.
At just that moment, the smoke detector went off, its blast so shrill t
hat Meredith nearly parted company with her shoes. Sammy gave a start as well, then pressed a grimy little hand to her mouth, her eyes bright with tears.
“Enough, you stupid thing! We hear you,” Meredith shouted at the plastic fire alarm affixed to the ceiling between the kitchen and living room. At present tally, it was the one fixture in the house that still worked properly, and given the lack of kitchen ventilation, it did so with nerve-jangling regularity.
Stepping over to the sink, she struggled to open the double-hung window. Until recently, it had been stuck shut with countless layers of enamel, and it still didn’t slide smoothly. She’d meant to give the runners a few squirts of nonstick cooking spray, but what with everything else that needed attention around here, she’d forgotten.
“There,” she said, dredging up a stiff smile for Sammy when she finally got the sash raised. As the smoke dissipated, the detector finally stopped blaring, giving way to shrill bleeps instead. “Thank goodness for that much. That darned thing is going to make me go deaf.”
With a choked hiccough and sniffle, Sammy shifted on Meredith’s hip to look at the charred remains of their evening meal. “Uh-oh,” she said faintly.
Gazing down at the patties, which now resembled misshapen chunks of coal, Meredith waved a hand in front of their faces. At $2.19 a pound, the meat was no small loss. But, even so, she was glad for the distraction. At least it gave both of them something to think about besides that horrible dog.
“‘Uh-oh’ is right. There’s nothing to do but put it down the garbage disposal.”
“We don’t gots one,” Sammy reminded her in a shaky voice.
Glancing at the rust-stained porcelain sink, Meredith clenched her teeth to keep from adding that a garbage disposal wasn’t the only luxury they no longer had, a kitchen fan at the top of the list, central air-conditioning a close second. The warm day had left the inadequately insulated house miserably stuffy.
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