Only by Your Touch

by Catherine Anderson

  Ben laid the puppy on the table. “How strong is your stomach, Jeremy?”

  The boy placed a hand over his tummy and kneaded with his fingers. “I dunno. I don’t have very many muscles yet.”

  The child had a way of making Ben want to laugh when he least expected it. “Does it bother you to see people get shots?”

  Jeremy shrugged. “I don’t like it when I get one.”

  “Well, I have to put a needle in Rowdy’s leg.”

  “What kind of shot do you gotta give him?”

  Urgent as the situation was, Ben could see the fright in Jeremy’s eyes. After grabbing some needed utensils from a nearby drawer, Ben began a preliminary examination of the dog as he explained, “Actually, it’s not really a shot. It’s a long, tall glass of water, only we have to put it in Rowdy’s vein.”

  “How come?”

  “By giving him fluids in his vein, we can bypass his upset tummy.” Ben checked the pup’s gum color. “Dogs are just like us. Without water, they die. Right now, everything Rowdy drinks is coming back up—or out his opposite end. His little body is screaming for fluids.”

  Jeremy nodded. “He did the diarrhea all over our bathroom floor.”

  “Uh-oh.” Grasping the pup’s head, Ben flashed a light in his glazed eyes. “Your mom can’t have been very happy about that.”

  “Nope. She was real sad. She wrapped Rowdy in a towel and hurried real fast to the vet.”

  While examining the pup’s ears, Ben murmured a distracted “Ah.”

  “They were almost ready to close. My mom grabbed Rowdy and stuck her foot in the way before the lady could lock the door. At first they said we’d have to come back later, but my mom wouldn’t leave.”

  Ben glanced up. “Your mom sounds like quite a lady.”

  “Yep. She doesn’t have long fingernails, though.”

  Ben wondered how in blue blazes that related. Then he thought of the clawlike acrylic nails that so many women wore and almost grinned again. “It doesn’t take long fingernails to make a lady.”

  “Nope. My mom says they’re germ clackers.”

  Ben mentally circled that. “Collectors, you mean?”

  Jeremy nodded.

  “She’s probably right about that.” Jeremy’s chatter was distracting, but Ben enjoyed it. His mother hadn’t been long on conversation since the onset of her illness, and sometimes the only human voice Ben heard for days at a time was a disc jockey’s when he played the radio. “As fancy as long fingernails look, they’re bound to collect dirt.”

  “She grew some long ones once, but then she decided they were a big waste of time and cut ’em all off.” A frown pleated Jeremy’s brow. “We bought a thing to cut Rowdy’s. But now he might never get to grow any.”

  Ben concentrated on his patient, checking gum color, reflexes, pupils, and pulse rate. It was quiet in the kitchen for a few seconds. Ben said, “I’m going to get the fluid pack now.” He patted the table. “Can you stand right here and watch Rowdy while I go get the stuff I need?”

  “What’s a fluid pack?”

  “A very special kind of water for sick puppies. It has really good stuff in it to make him feel better.”

  Ben went to the pantry off the hall, where he kept a freezer and an extra fridge for medicine. He quickly gathered a sack of saline solution, an IV pack, a drip stand, and a vial of hard-hitting antibiotic.

  Veterinary medicine, by the seat of the pants. Ben had no lab, X-ray machine, or proper surgery. He had to go on gut instinct. On the other hand, he never had to ask himself if he was performing surgery merely to make a buck. Money had been removed from the equation.

  Jeremy was stroking his puppy and looking glum when Ben returned to the kitchen. “Here it is,” he said. “A long, tall glass of water.”

  Jeremy gave him a hopeful look. “Will giving him a drink make him well?”

  Ben avoided the child’s gaze as he positioned the drip stand. What was it about this kid that made him want to promise the impossible? He guessed the answer to that was simple enough. There was no love quite so innocent, no devotion quite so absolute as that of a boy for his dog. Jeremy would grieve terribly if the puppy died, but there was only so much he could do. The rest, he’d learned long ago, was best left up to God.

  “I can’t promise he’ll get well, Jeremy.” Ben bent back over the puppy. “All I can do is my best.”

  The child hung his head, his expression bereft.

  “How old are you, son?”

  “Six.”

  Ben set to work shaving Rowdy’s leg. He’d been seven when he lost his grandfather. Even now, all these years later, Ben grieved for him. Isaiah Longtree had been one of a kind, a full-blooded Shoshone with a song in his heart. He’d seen beauty in things that others overlooked and shared that gift with those around him, making even a raindrop seem like a miracle. Ben had adored him. He would have given a great deal for some of his grandfather’s wisdom right then.

  “Rowdy’s young,” he offered. “At least he has that going for him.”

  In truth, Ben thought the puppy had been weak and unhealthy before contracting the virus. His ribs were visible. If no one had bothered to feed the poor little guy, it was unlikely that he had been wormed or inoculated against disease.

  “Where’d you get Rowdy?”

  “At the animal shelter.” The child lightly stroked the puppy’s fur. “My mom tried to get me to pick another dog, but Rowdy was the one I wanted.”

  Ben nodded. “He’s a cute little guy,” he settled for saying. “I can see why you chose him.”

  Ben had a soft spot for runts himself. There was nothing that tugged on the heartstrings like a sad-faced, skinny puppy—unless it was a sad-faced, skinny little boy with freckles and a curly cowlick poking up like a corkscrew from the crown of his head.

  “The lady said she’d give my mom her money back if he got sick. They gave him puppy shots and stuff, but I guess not in time.”

  “Parvo’s sneaky,” Ben said, cleaning away the fur shavings. “The virus lingers in the soil under the snow. Come spring melt, the conditions are perfect for infectious contact. If a puppy isn’t kept inside until he’s been inoculated and had time to build up antibodies, he runs a risk of infection. Most people don’t know it takes time for the shots to work. Puppies can get sick just by sniffing someone’s shoes.”

  “Rowdy was ’bandoned in an old barn, and he only got found day before yesterday. Somebody left him and his sisters there to die.”

  It was a story Ben wished he’d never hear again. He tied a strip of rubber around Rowdy’s front leg to distend the vein.

  Glancing at the cages around the kitchen, Jeremy said, “I never knew anybody with a hospital in their kitchen before.”

  Ben sterilized Rowdy’s leg with alcohol. “Before winter hits, I hope to add on to the house. The kitchen works for now. I’ve got drawers for my utensils, good lighting, a table, and water close at hand. It’s kind of handy, being able to stir the stew and keep an eye on my patients at the same time.”

  “Do you find all the animals in the woods?”

  “Sometimes. Other times they show up in the yard.” He glanced up, uncertain if he should say more. The wondering look in Jeremy’s eyes told him the child was too young to have preconceived notions of what should or shouldn’t be. “It’s always been that way for me with wild things. They just come.”

  “It’s probably ’cause they know you won’t hurt them.”

  That was as good an explanation as any. It was as much as Jeremy or anyone else could understand anyway. The animals came. They always had, and they always would. As a boy, Ben had prayed for them to leave. Run, he’d think. Go away before my dad sees you. Sometimes the animals had disappeared. Other times they hadn’t, and Hap Longtree had shot them.

  Ben’s father was dead now, and there should be peace on the ridge again. But some trigger-happy jerk from town was invading the woods and using the animals for target practice.

  Ben�
�s only consolation was that no rifle fire greeted the critters at the house when they came to him for help. He also found peace in the fact that he could finally be who he really was, what he had been born to be, a throwback, more Shoshone than white, even though his blood belied the fact. He Who Walks with Mountain Lions, his grandfather had called him. It had been a big name for a little boy, but it had helped Ben feel like less of a freak, making sense of the undeniable, that he was different from other children.

  As always, the memories depressed Ben, so he shook them off. The sun had set on those days, and he made the rules here now.

  “The animals you see are very sick or badly injured. I have to keep them close at hand so I can watch over them until they get stronger.”

  The child studied him curiously. “How come you don’t have a clinic?”

  “My mom can’t be left alone. If I had a place in town, I’d be gone all day. I checked into starting a practice up here, but zoning ordinances prohibit it.”

  “What are zoning ordances?”

  “Rules.”

  Ben was quickly coming to realize that Jeremy was full of questions. Never having been around children, he was at once amused and baffled.

  “What’s the matter with the owl?”

  Ben glanced at the bird. “He has an injured leg.”

  “How did it get injured?”

  “Someone shot him with a .22 rifle.”

  “What’s wrong with the rabbit?”

  The rabbit had also been shot, and Ben suspected the bullet had come from the same gun. “He had a spot of bad luck and got his shoulder hurt.”

  Rowdy stirred. Ben checked the IV. The pup raised his head. Then his tummy rumbled. Ben guessed what was about to occur, but before he could grab any paper towels, Rowdy’s bowels moved. The resultant mess went everywhere.

  Jeremy cried, “Oh, no!”

  Racing to the counter, the child grabbed paper towels and tried to mop up, tried being the operative word. He was too short, and his scoop-and-wipe technique needed work. Ben almost took over. Then he decided against it. Jeremy was upset, and clearing away the mess might make him feel better.

  “I’m sorry. I’ll clean it up, Mr. Longtree. I’m real sorry.”

  Ben grabbed a trash bag from under the sink. When he shook it out, the plastic gave a loud snap that made Jeremy jump. Not for the first time over the last hour, Ben burned with anger at the man responsible for the child’s timidity. “Put the soiled ones in here.”

  Nose wrinkled with distaste, Jeremy put the towels in the sack, then tore off more to attack the table again. As he worked, he began to wheeze.

  Ben grew more concerned by the moment. The breathing problem was a panic reaction of some kind, which explained why the inhalant hadn’t seemed to help. “Don’t get in a dither. No real harm’s been done, and it’s not the first time there’s been a mess.”

  Looking unconvinced, Jeremy continued trying to clean up.

  Ben addressed his next reassurances to the puppy. “Don’t worry, little guy,” he said as he administered an injection of antibiotics. “Accidents happen to all of us. We know you didn’t mean to do it.” Ben glanced up. “Maybe you should tell him yourself. Sick as he is, the last thing he needs is to get all upset.”

  Jeremy cast Ben a distrustful look, but dutifully stepped around the table to speak to his puppy. “It’s okay, Rowdy,” he said, stroking the dog’s curly ears. “You’re just real sick, is all. We know it was a accident.”

  Ben capped the syringe and stuck it into a hazardous waste receptacle under the sink. “There, you see? He just needed to hear it from you. He looks more relaxed already.”

  The boy looked more relaxed, too, and the wheezing had stopped. “How come you aren’t mad?”

  “It isn’t that big a deal.”

  “But he went pooh on your table.”

  “It’s not the first time. I always disinfect everything after treating a patient. The table will be perfectly clean before I eat on it again.”

  “I’m glad I don’t have to eat supper here.”

  Ben laughed, and that felt good. “Disinfectant kills the germs.” He helped Jeremy with the final wiping up, using towels and spray disinfectant. Then he sealed the plastic bag and went to open the sunroom doors. When he returned to the kitchen, he said, “This is where I performed surgery on Methuselah.”

  “It is?”

  Ben nodded. “My most recent patient is in intensive care under the table.”

  Jeremy leaned down to look. “Wow!” he said when he saw the raccoon. “I didn’t know he was there.”

  Ben was glad for the distraction. While he sterilized his tools and put them away, Jeremy carried on a monologue with the injured raccoon. Diablo, roused from his nap by Jeremy’s singsong voice, pushed up to nuzzle the child for petting. Jeremy obliged, burying his nose in the wolf’s thick fur. Watching the pair, Ben wondered if Jeremy wasn’t a kindred spirit. Few people had Ben’s extraordinary rapport with animals, but this child clearly loved them.

  After disposing of the plastic bag, Ben decided the boy could stand some fluid intake, too.

  “You up for some lemonade?”

  Jeremy straightened and nodded eagerly. Ben fetched the pitcher from the refrigerator and poured them each a tall glass. Then he joined Jeremy at the table. The child was barely tall enough to sit on a chair and drink from his glass. Ben thought about making him a booster seat with books, then decided against it. He still remembered being six and thinking he was grown up. It stung a boy’s pride to be reminded he was still just a sprout.

  Beckoned by the sound of the refrigerator being opened, Methuselah limped into the kitchen and nudged Ben’s leg. Ben rifled through the meat drawer. After finding two chunks of beef, he fed the wolf and cat their customary morning snack. The animals happily settled down to eat, Methuselah lying by the potted fig to make a mess on the floor.

  Jeremy touched the puppy’s fur. “Do you think he’s gonna die?”

  “He’s very sick,” Ben said carefully. “Sometimes, all we do isn’t enough, and things we love just slip away. Let’s hope that isn’t how it goes this time.”

  Rejoining Jeremy at the table, Ben took a long drink of lemonade, whistling as he came up for breath. Jeremy grinned and mimicked him, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. With Rowdy stretched between them and the coon scrabbling at their feet, a peaceful feeling settled over the kitchen.

  Chapter Four

  Ben had gotten up to put the glasses in the sink when Diablo growled. The wolf didn’t raise false alarms. Before Ben could react, a crashing sound came from the front of the house. As he approached the foyer, Jeremy’s mom appeared. Behind her, the entry door still swung on its hinges.

  Ben’s first reaction was anger. How dare she burst into his house without knocking? He was about to say as much when Diablo circled from behind him, gave a low snarl, and sprang for the woman’s throat.

  “Diablo, ka!” Reacting instinctively and with a speed that surprised even him, Ben snaked out a hand, caught the wolf’s collar, and stopped the attack mid-leap. The wolf yelped and tried to twist free. “Ka, Diablo! Toquet. Sit!”

  Growling, the wolf did as he was told, but Ben kept a hold on his collar.

  Chest heaving, face pale, Chloe Evans cried, “Where’s my son?”

  Ben noticed she was trembling, whether for herself or her child, he wasn’t sure. What impressed him was the way she stood her ground. She hadn’t backed off an inch when the dog lunged.

  “Where is my son?” she cried again, her voice rising to a shrill pitch.

  Ben had faced more fearsome opponents, but never an angrier one. “He’s in the kitchen.”

  She wore snug blue jeans and a camp shirt of ivory silk that hugged the small but perfectly shaped breasts he remembered so well from yesterday. In the sunlight that poured through a skylight, the wind-tossed curls that framed her oval face and fell over her slender shoulders gleamed like molten copper.

  Me
thuselah chose that moment to lift his head. “Oh, dear God,” she whispered. “Oh, dear God.”

  Ben had completely forgotten the cougar. He held up a hand. “He’s harmless. Really.” He saw that she was staring at the blood on the cougar’s chin, recalled the horrendous stories circulating about him in town, and quickly added, “He just had his morning snack. Beef—from the market.”

  “It’s not a dog,” she said shakily. “I thought it was a big yellow dog.”

  “No. His name’s Methuselah. He isn’t dangerous. I know he looks—”

  “Mom?” Jeremy stepped from the kitchen. “How come you’re here?”

  “Jeremy!” Chloe circled Ben and Diablo to grab her son up into her arms. “You scared me half to death. What were you thinking, coming up here all alone?” She cupped a fine-boned hand over the back of his head and hugged him fiercely. “Thank God you’re all right!”

  Still clutching her child, she turned to face Ben again. He knew she wanted to race from the house, but he and Diablo blocked her way. Ben almost stepped aside. Then he thought better of it. In her present frame of mind, she would drive straight to town and tell anyone who would listen about Methuselah.

  “The cougar isn’t dangerous,” he said. “I know it’s unusual, having a cougar as a pet.”

  “Unusual?”

  “Okay, really strange. If you’ll just let me explain, maybe—”

  “Explanations aren’t necessary. What you do in the privacy of your home is your business. I just don’t want my child here.”

  Ben wasn’t going to be put off that easily. “As a rule, cougars are dangerous. What most people don’t know, however, is that they’re easily tamed. Methuselah’s circumstances have made him more adaptable than most.”