“I noticed. I don’t think his gaze has left you since you two came inside. I think he’s afraid you’re going to leave him.”
“This is his home.”
“Oh, he likes us. But dogs pick their own person and sometimes there’s nothing you can do to change that. It’s obvious he’s picked you.”
“He’s Nick’s dog.”
“He’s one of Nick’s dogs. The thing about Nick is he has the biggest heart I know. He wants everyone to be happy.”
“I’m in no position to adopt a dog,” he protested. But that wasn’t the real reason. The real reason was Nick. What kind of man takes a boy’s dog?
“Well, keep him overnight,” she said. “He’s not going to let you go, not if he has any say in it. Maybe he’ll come home tomorrow with Nick here.”
He knew he should say no. He also knew he couldn’t.
* * *
A CALL CAME Sunday afternoon as Stephanie was loading her car for the drive back to Covenant Falls. It was on her cell phone, and when she saw the number, she answered immediately.
“I asked a detective friend to check on the number,” George said. “It came from an attorney’s office in Boston. Name of Matthews and Garland. It’s a small firm, not one I would expect your ex-husband to use. My source checked further and found out that they’re the attorneys for Townsend’s wife.”
“Thanks,” she said. “I owe ya.”
“You pulled me through veterinarian school. You don’t owe me a thing. Let me know if you need any additional help.”
“Say hi to Sandy for me. And Teddy.”
“Theodore. He insists on Theodore now. Says Teddy sounds too much like a bear. He’s seven going on eighteen.”
She laughed. “Just think, you’re almost escaping the terrible teen years.”
“You have a point. Keep me posted.”
She hung up. She suspected now the new wife’s attorney might be having problems with Mark and hoped they could get some ammunition from her.
No one had listened to her before. There was no reason to think they would now. Except now there were two of them, not just one. But she had fought hard to get loose from Mark’s tentacles and she wasn’t going to offer herself up to his machinations again.
She would continue to ignore calls from that number and, for that matter, from any area code in Massachusetts unless she knew it had something to do with her practice. It might be burying her head in the sand, but so be it. She had buried those five miserable years—three as Mark’s wife and two recuperating—deep inside.
Instead she concentrated on the weekend. It had been a good one, spent with people who loved dogs and wanted to make a difference. The evaluations had certified four of the five in the final phase of training. The fifth handler had been very close. The dog just needed a bit more work.
She had a real sense of accomplishment, something no one could take away. Her practice gave her a livelihood, and she loved the animals under her care, but search and rescue filled a deep emotional need. Nothing was as satisfying, or empowering, as finding a lost and endangered child or adult. Sherry felt it, as well. She always had a huge grin on her face as she accepted thanks from a grateful parent, relative or friend.
Stephanie was halfway home when she saw a puppy huddling on the side of the road. The traffic wasn’t that heavy on a late Sunday afternoon and she pulled to a stop on the side of the road. It was always risky trying to rescue a dog this way. Too many times, a scared animal ran into traffic to escape a new threat.
She reached in a package of dog treats she always carried with her for her own dogs and for rescues like this. She took out a handful and very slowly approached the dog. She threw a tidbit on the ground. It was not so far as to hit the dog, but close enough the dog could smell it and hopefully recognize it as food.
After a moment of indecision, the puppy approached the treat and gobbled it down. She threw another a bit closer, tempting the puppy to come nearer. Then she sat on the ground and held out a treat in her hand.
The puppy paused, then came closer, sniffed her hand and gingerly took the treat.
After it finished, it gazed at her with big puppy eyes. It was a small, still-growing, nondescript, Heinz 57 dog. Maybe four months old. It was very thin, and there was no collar. Dumped, no doubt, by someone who had found a dog was more trouble than they had expected. She talked to it in a soothing voice and waited until it took another step toward her and let her touch her.
She gathered the pup in her arms and carried it to the van. She let Sherry sniff her, then settled her down on a blanket in back of the seat. The dog shivered with fear. She released the canine seat belt, and Sherry rose from the front right seat and lay next to the puppy, licking its face.
Stephanie started the van. The last thing she needed now was another dog, but no way could she leave it on the road to starve or get hit by a car. She doubted whether she could foist her on Eve, who had already adopted two of her finds. She should be able to find someone.
She was a pretty dog, kind of like a female Benji with thick, bristly hair. A bath would determine her color, although it looked a mixture of tan and black. She would give the pup a bath and shots and shop around for a family. Something to keep her mind off her other problems.
Stephanie arrived home an hour and a half later. The little dog was still shivering as she carried her into the clinic and conducted tests for heartworm and other diseases. Luckily, none were positive. Next came a flea bath. She would save the shots for tomorrow. Let her get settled. Stephanie found a collar that would fit, and took her outside, encouraging her when she went about her business.
The puppy followed her as she found a wire kennel and carried it upstairs to her apartment. She reached the top and looked back. The pup stood at the foot of the stairs bewildered. So it hadn’t lived in a home with stairs, or perhaps it had been a yard dog.
Sherry, forever the caretaker, looked on with concern, then bounced up the stairs and stared back at the puppy, obviously expecting the dog to follow her example.
The dog stayed stubbornly at the bottom.
She could carry her up, but Stephanie didn’t want to do that. She wanted to know how quickly the dog learned.
She went back down the stairs and sat on the lower step, urging the dog to jump to the second step, then the third. She moved up with the dog. The last two steps were taken with more confidence. She was a smart little dog.
She temporarily called her Lulu. The name would do until she found her a family. Lulu followed her into the bedroom as Stephanie placed papers on the bottom of a kennel, then added a soft blanket. She then went into the kitchen to get the three of them supper.
The dog gulped down a small bowl of dog food. So did Sherry who also kept an eye on what she obviously considered her new charge. Stephanie wondered how Stryker would react to having a new dog in the apartment. Usually, he was good with other animals. She would know tomorrow when she picked him up from Eve’s.
She fixed herself a fat sandwich and allowed herself a glass of red wine.
Then she checked the practice’s phone. Another call from Boston. This time, there was a message. She hesitated before clicking the play button, then decided reality was better than her imagination. She pressed the button.
“Dr. Phillips. I’m David Matthews, an attorney in Boston. I represent Susan Townsend, the wife of Mark Townsend. If you are the former Stephanie Roberts Townsend, we would very much like to talk to you.” He concluded with a phone number.
She erased the message. She had no intention of returning the call or ever getting involved with Mark Townsend again. Not in any way.
She had a second glass of wine. She seldom did that, particularly at night. Sherry, detecting that something was amiss, hovered near her while she undressed and put on an old oversize T-shirt.
“Okay, Lulu, bedtime,” she said as she picked up the newcomer. She cuddled her for a moment. “You’re okay now,” she said softly, then put her in the kennel beside her bed.
The newcomer whimpered for a few minutes, then settled down and went to sleep.
Lucky dog. She knew she wouldn’t get any sleep. Not tonight. If she didn’t reply to the phone call, what would David Matthews do? Would he try to track her down here? If so, it would be for nothing. Still, she wondered about Susan Townsend. What had Mark done to her? What had he done to other women?
She turned out the light. It was past midnight, and she had appointments beginning at 8:00 a.m.
Tomorrow will be a regular day. A normal day.
* * *
CLINT TOOK BART up the mountain again to watch the sun go down. It was spectacular as scarlet, crimson and gold stretched across the sky before fading into a rich dark blue. To the west, the sun sank below a snowcapped peak.
Serene was the word. Peaceful. He knew, though, he couldn’t linger on the mountain. He needed to get down while there was still some light.
As he and Bart descended, they bumped into a young couple, maybe seventeen, on the way up. They looked startled to find him, then the boy said, “You must be that new vet in Josh’s cabin.”
Clint was mentally counting the times he’d heard that. “Guilty,” he said. He thought this was the tenth time, or maybe the eleventh. Had Josh Manning ever become used to the curiosity syndrome of Covenant Falls? They did look curiously at Bart, but evidently didn’t know as much about the dog’s background as other residents did.
When Clint reached the cabin, he removed his shoes, grabbed a soda and his guitar and went out to the porch. He was hooked on the smell of pine and the million stars lighting the evening sky. He started playing a melody that was haunting him. Maybe because it made him think of Stephanie and the mystery around her. She was so many different people: tender with animals, a good friend to Josh and Eve, committed to helping people yet so self-contained. She had a great grin when she allowed herself to show it. But it wasn’t often with him. And he didn’t know why.
Bart nudged him, and Clint put the guitar down and rubbed the dog’s ears. He knew he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t stop himself. He liked hearing the deep rumbling in Bart’s throat. And he probably shouldn’t be calling the dog Bart. He didn’t want to confuse him. But, damn it, he thought of him as Bart. He looked like a Bart.
He was going to miss him. It was amazing how attached he’d become to the dog in just three days. But there it was. Maybe it was his need for company. Any company.
Rationalization did not help. Maybe he would get a dog of his own, although part of his attachment to Bart was the fact that Bart was attached to him. The pit bull had accepted him unconditionally. He hadn’t cared that Clint had made the world’s dumbest mistake, that he didn’t feel whole, that the future he’d planned was gone. He was just happy to lie next to him.
Clint knew, though, that it shouldn’t be enough for him. He needed to get his act together.
He took the guitar inside and grabbed a mystery book off the shelf. He had nearly a week before the dock materials would arrive. He started to read, but his thoughts kept going back to Stephanie and how the sparks flew in those pretty eyes when he baited her.
He read for an hour with Bart keeping watch next to him. He was in the third chapter when his cell rang. He looked at the name listed. Eve Manning.
He answered.
“Hi,” Eve said in her cheerful voice.
“Hey, what’s up?”
“I just got a call from Josh. He and Nick are on their way back from camping. Josh wants to get together with you about the dock. Is there a good time tomorrow?”
“Whatever is good for Josh.”
“Let’s say around ten. If it changes, he’ll call you in the morning.”
“Sounds good,” he said and hung up. Then he looked at the dog. With Nick coming home, Bart would be leaving. “I’ll miss you.”
Bart gave him that steady, earnest look, his eyes intent on communicating. Clint went inside and turned on the lights. There was a small television in the corner, and a satellite dish in back, but he’d never been much of a watcher except for sports, and even then he would rather participate than watch. He’d always preferred a softball game with his buddies, or a game of poker or darts. He opened his laptop and checked email.
There were five messages from his buddies in Afghanistan. No casualties, but a close call. There were rumors they would be pulled out soon. The deployment was coming to an end, and the army would be downsized. Several members of his unit feared they would lose their planned career in the army. Some were already contacting possible employers.
He emailed them back, thanking them for the guitar. Had a new bed companion last night, he wrote. No, it’s not what you think. I didn’t get lucky. It’s a seventy-pound pit bull I’m keeping for the guy whose cabin I’m using. It’s a great cabin with mountains on the doorstep. I don’t know how long I’ll be here. Building a dock for the owner, then who knows. Kick their ass out there!
He sent it, read some of the online news sites, but became depressed.
Bart whined.
“Okay, out you go, then bed and a book.”
Bart whined again, and Clint felt the first sudden, sharp pain of a headache.
Bart lifted a paw and touched his knee in some kind of entreaty. Clint wished he spoke pit bull, but he didn’t. He didn’t know canine-speak at all. “Sorry, guy,” he said. “I don’t have a clue what you want.”
Obviously frustrated, Bart pawed at him again.
He leaned down to rub Bart’s ears, but it didn’t stop the dog’s nervous, heavy breathing, nor the insistent pawing on his lap.
Clint was hit by a headache then, the sudden sharp pain spreading throughout his head. The pills were in his pocket. He took one and swallowed the rest of the soda. The earlier he took the pill, the better the result.
He tried to breathe slowly as the pain deepened. Bart whined again beside him. Clint understood. Bart had sensed the attack. Somehow he had known before it hit.
“Off to bed,” he said. He stood, swayed. Damn. Two attacks close together. Wasn’t good.
He made his way into the bedroom, stripped to his Skivvies and lay down, letting the pill work.
Bart came to the edge of the bed and stared at him with worry in his eyes.
“Come on up,” he invited, and Bart awkwardly jumped onto the bed and snuggled next to him as if his proximity would help. He swiped a wet tongue along his arm.
Clint rubbed Bart’s stomach in return. The dog was a pitiful specimen with all his scars and insecurities. But, damn, Clint’s heart melted when he looked at him.
And tonight, at least, he wouldn’t be alone.
CHAPTER TWELVE
STEPHANIE WOKE WITH a start and glanced at the clock. Later than she intended. She had a very crowded schedule since she hadn’t had her usual Saturday hours.
She’d finally gone to sleep last night, but not easily. And the only reason she had any at all was the fact she’d had damned little the last two nights. She felt hungover, but not from drink. The sense of dread hadn’t gone away since that last phone call.
Sherry jumped off the bed, and Lulu made plaintive little cries.
“It’s okay,” she told the pup. “I’ll take you outside in just a few minutes.”
She slipped on a pair of jeans, a bra, a T-shirt and a white professional coat. Then she attacked the curly mess she called hair. She ran a brush through it, pulled it back and secured it with a rubber band. No one was coming today to see how she looked.
She looked at the clock again. Beth should already be downstairs and making coffee. Her first appointment was in twenty minutes. Mostly shots this morning. Annual exams. Follow
-up appointments. She had several scheduled spays this afternoon.
She was lucky to have Dr. Langford as a backup when she was called for a rescue or was otherwise unavailable. But he’d earned his retirement, and she hesitated to call on him unless absolutely necessary or she needed his advice on a medical problem. Still she couldn’t do her rescue work without him.
She picked up Lulu. She had just a few minutes to get the two dogs outside in the backyard. She would keep Sherry with her and Lulu would have to go in the kennel upstairs.
She carried Lulu downstairs with Sherry following behind.
Beth’s eyes lit as she saw the pup.
“Who’s this?”
“I really don’t know. She was hitching a ride on the highway.”
“She’s thin.”
“I think we’ll fix that.” Stephanie glanced at her watch. “We have a few minutes. Why don’t you run over to Maude’s and get a couple of doughnuts for us while I take the dogs outside? Thanks for making the coffee.” The aroma told her it was ready.
Beth headed for the door.
“And Beth,” she added, “if there’s a call from a Mr. Matthews or any call from someone outside Colorado, tell them I’m not in, and you don’t know when I will be.”
“Right,” Beth said, but she looked puzzled. And troubled. “Is there anything wrong?”
“Just someone I used to know and really don’t want to see again.”
“Okay,” Beth said in an uncertain voice.
“And please don’t say anything to anyone. Hopefully, the caller will give up and not try to contact me again.”
“I promise,” Beth said. “Cross my heart. I won’t mention it to anyone. Not even Mom.”
That would be difficult for Beth, but Stephanie knew the girl would try.
She hated to put her in that position. It was cowardly of her. Especially cowardly to ask her not to say anything.
Drat it. She couldn’t do it. Surely, she had grown a backbone in the years since she had left Mark.
“Forget what I just said,” she told Beth. “If someone wants to talk to me, I’ll get the phone unless I’m with a patient. If I am, then take a message.”
Tempted by the Soldier Page 11
