Honor Redeemed

by Loree Lough

  But Honor had seen that look in human victims’ eyes enough times to know they’d never get there in time. Even if the accident had happened in the clinic, there wouldn’t have been time.

  Rowdy was probably far enough gone that he’d feel no pain if they moved him, but she wouldn’t take that chance. He’d die with dignity, and as peacefully as possible.

  She didn’t know how Elton managed to get inside and back again in the few minutes that had passed, but he knelt beside her now, gently draping Rowdy’s favorite afghan over his body. The dog was beyond shock now, and Elton had known that as well as she did. But he’d also known that this small act of kindness and compassion would spare Honor having to look at all the blood—and there was so much blood!—and the obvious signs of a compound fractured rib.

  “Thanks, boss,” she choked out. And as he gave her hand an understanding squeeze, the driver of the car that had hit Rowdy knelt across from her. She had the look of a corporate attorney, or a banker, a real estate broker, maybe. Careful, lady, Honor nearly snarled, or you’ll get Rowdy’s blood all over your high-priced power suit. “Oh my God. Oh good Lord,” the woman said. “I never saw him. He just came out of nowhere.”

  Bull! Honor thought. You were going way over the limit, probably gabbing on your cell phone, when he—

  A big hand came out of nowhere and settled on the woman’s shoulder. “Not now,” said a deep, grating voice. “This isn’t the time or the place for self-pity.”

  Sniffling, the woman got to her feet and let the man lead her away. Good, Honor thought, because no telling what vile insults might come out of her mouth if he hadn’t.

  Rowdy moved, not much, but enough to tell Honor he needed her to focus on him. She stretched out on the pavement beside him and tenderly held him to her. The heat of Rowdy’s shallow, ragged pants warmed her cheek. Then he pushed a paw against her chest and, with a strength that belied his condition, forced her to back off enough to meet his eyes.

  He was smiling, God love him, and through the film of her tears, she saw him bob his head, the way he did when searching for a scent.

  One weak little woof puffed from his rubbery black lips— his doggy way of saying goodbye, before the telltale fog of death dimmed his once-bright brown eyes.

  Honor figured they could probably hear her sobs all the way over on the next block. But she didn’t care.

  Her precious Rowdy was gone.

  19

  Matt’s mood hadn’t been this buoyant in … he couldn’t remember when. Humming with the Garth Brooks song on the car radio and thumbs drumming the steering wheel, he glanced at the dashboard clock. If Honor hadn’t picked up an extra shift, or offered to stand in for an absent coworker, she’d be in her kitchen by now, whipping up some sort of tasty feast for Rowdy and Rerun. Those dogs eat better than you do, he thought. But then, that was Honor … nothing but the best for those she loved, whether two-footed or four.

  He should have called ahead, to let her know he was in the neighborhood. But with that mind-reading talent of hers, he couldn’t risk having her know he’d driven out of his way to see her.

  It just felt so good, knowing she’d soon be free of the rumors and innuendo spawned by Brady Shaw’s all circumstantial, nosubstance story, that he needed to see her face. No doubt a few of those who’d bought into the lie would keep right on clinging to the vicious gossip, but they’d be few and far between, and pressure from the rest would tamp their temptation to use the ill-gotten information to hurt her.

  He turned onto her street, frowning at the sleek black Mercedes, parked in the middle of the road. Sometimes, he thought, the more money a person made, the more selfcentered they became. Then, directly in front of Honor’s house, he saw a news van. He doubted it had anything to do with the sedan, because its satellite wasn’t extended, and that meant they weren’t broadcasting. He hoped Shaw hadn’t done something stupid, like going to Honor for ideas that would help him clear the air. “Nah. Not even Brady is that—”

  What was Rerun doing outside, racing back and forth across Honor’s yard? She never let those dogs out front, not even to load them into the car. Matt parked the pickup and reached into the dash for Cash’s leash. He’d round up the dog and bring him back inside, then check the latch on the back gate and the ones on the screen doors.

  It wasn’t until he crossed the street that he got a clue about what was going on. There, at the side of the road and surrounded by half a dozen people, lay Rowdy.

  Most animal lovers thought of their pets as family, but for Honor, Rowdy really was like her child. Every major accomplishment in her Life After Brady had a direct link to her work with that dog. Even Rerun, the smaller, sillier of her two Goldens, had come to her by way of Rowdy. She’d be a mess without him.

  Too stunned to speak, Matt walked woodenly toward the group just as Elton covered Rowdy with a blanket. Then a woman in a black suit raced past him, crying, “Oh my God. Oh good Lord.” He stepped aside as she hit her knees. “I never saw him” were the words she chose, but her tone said, “This is the dog’s fault.” Maybe she was blind. Or severely nearsighted and too vain to wear glasses. What else explained her failure to see that Honor’s heart was breaking?

  Caveman mentality rose up inside him, making him want to grab a handful of that perfectly coiffed and dyed hair, yank her to her feet, and drag her out of there. Instead, he put a firm hand on her shoulder. “Not now,” he snarled, putting an end to her whining, “this isn’t the time or the place for self-pity.”

  She was weeping full throttle by the time she got to her feet and did her best to wobble alongside him on too-high-forhuman-feet designer heels. He pointed at the Mercedes. “That your car over there?” he demanded.

  She glanced at the sleek, sedate sedan and gasped at first sight of the dented bumper, where Rowdy’s blood and golden fur still clung to the chrome. Matt saw it at the same moment as she said, “Well this is going to cost a small fortune.”

  He didn’t remember ever wanting to slug a woman, but he wanted to whack this one, good and hard. “Sheesh, lady, how fast were you driving!”

  She pressed her lips into a thin red line and huffed toward the driver’s door.

  And Matt went after her. He slid the wallet from his back pocket as she buckled her seatbelt and emptied it of cash as she dug through her trendy handbag in search of her keys. “Here,” he said, tossing the bills into her lap, “it won’t replace the bumper, but it oughta cover the cost of having one of your people wash your guilt away.”

  The look she shot him as she slammed the door made his blood run cold. The car lurched forward so quickly that the rear tire nearly rolled over his foot. And when she chanced a glance in her rearview mirror, he hoped she could read lips: “I pity the fool who calls you his woman.”

  Matt took a moment to collect himself; he’d be no use to Honor in this angry, agitated state. But before he could go to her, he had to see that his boys were in safe hands. After explaining things to Harriet, he pocketed the cell phone.

  Elton fell into step beside him. “Glad you’re here.” He nodded to where she lay, hugging the unmoving dog. “Mack would sooner die than admit it, but she’s gonna need somebody to lean on tonight.”

  “Where’s Rerun? I saw him running around out here earlier.”

  “Out back. Poor mutt’s all freaked out. Nearly tore up the kitchen when I let him inside couple minutes ago.” Elton described how the news van had riled up the dogs so badly, they’d burst through the door first chance they got.

  “If you’re gonna blame anybody,” Matt said, scowling at the news van, “blame them.”

  “What goes around, comes around. Most important thing now is helping her make some tough decisions.” Shoulders slumped, he blew a stream of air through his lips. “Maybe you can talk her into letting go of him. I sure couldn’t.” He removed his keys from his pocket. “I’d stay, but the wife’s got a meeting with her mother’s doctor, and I gave my word I’d keep an eye on the old lady whi
le she’s gone.”

  He couldn’t take his eyes off her.

  “Mack’s tough, and she’s survived worse than this. She’ll be okay.”

  She looked anything but tough, huddled up with Rowdy that way.

  “What about your boys?”

  “Just called Harriet. She’s already at my place.”

  “Good.” He backpedaled toward his car. “If you can, give me a holler later.”

  “Will do.”

  His legs felt like rubber, the distance between him and her, endless. Finally, crouching beside her, he lay a hand on her shoulder.

  She blanketed it with her own. “I love what you told that uppity shrew.”

  “Good thing she isn’t a mind reader.”

  Honor levered herself up on one elbow, dragged the back of her hand across her eyes. “It all happened so fast. I don’t think he suffered much. I hope not, anyway.”

  Matt had seen the dead and dying enough times to know that at the end, Rowdy was beyond feeling anything, at least on a physical level. He stood, helped her to her feet.

  “Will you help me pick him up?”

  The knees of her jeans, her jacket sleeves, the front of her sweater were covered with the blood that had seeped from Rowdy’s mouth, and she stood shaking, from the shock of what she’d seen as much as the temperature. Honor had witnessed the entire thing, from impact to final gasp. That scene would flash in her mind’s eye every time she closed her eyes, and the last thing she needed to add to the horrible memory was the image of her much-loved dog, limp and lifeless in Matt’s arms. He took her hand, effectively forcing her to put her back to the grisly sight. “How ‘bout if you go inside …” He wanted to say get cleaned up, “get warmed up. Put on a pot of coffee. Give Rerun some TLC, and let me handle this.”

  Honor looked up at him, boring into his eyes with such intensity he had a notion to check the back of his head for bore holes. He tucked her hair behind her ears, cupped her chin in a palm. “I’ll be gentle with him, I promise.”

  “I know you will. It’s just …”

  She averted her gaze, just long enough to give him goose bumps, like the ones that pop up when the warmth of the sun is cut off by a cloud.

  “It’s just … I should be with him. I’ve always …” Eyes closed, she held her breath.

  Her attempt at blocking a new stream of tears had worked, for the most part. “Yeah, you have always been with him.”

  A tear rolled down her cheek, and he caught it with the pad of his thumb. “Rowdy was oblivious to everybody else who was standing around when …” He swallowed, unable to make himself say when he was dying. “The only person he saw was you. Why, I doubt he even saw his best buddy, doing laps back and forth across the yard.” Matt touched the tip of her nose. “And I think you know why.”

  She was crying softly now, nodding and smiling faintly and mmm-hmming.

  “The minute you wrapped your arms around him, he calmed right down, took a deep peaceful breath, and sent you that big goofy dog grin.”

  “You saw it, too?” Honor met his eyes. “Oh, thank the good Lord. I thought maybe it had just been wishful thinking.” She almost looked back at Rowdy but stopped herself at the last second. “I’ll remember that moment for the rest of my life.”

  “I’m sure you will. That, and ten thousand other moments that made you laugh and smile and maybe even cuss a little.”

  “He was a stubborn pup, so yeah,” she said, giggling softly, “there was some of that, too.”

  “You gave him the best life a dog could hope for, and he knew it.”

  When she pressed her cheek against his chest, Matt’s arms automatically slipped around her. He couldn’t remember when, exactly, but at some point since hearing about the Shaw fiasco, he’d said something about how the story and its fallout had gotten in the way of Honor meeting a man who deserved her. Well, he wanted to be that man. “I’ll take good care of Rowdy,” he said, stroking her hair, “you’ve got my word on it.”

  Her lower lip trembled as she said, “I know that.” She stepped away from him, took a few steps, then faced him.

  “Inside. Warm. Coffee. Rerun.” Smiling sadly, she snapped off a half-hearted salute, and went inside.

  Half an hour later, he walked into the kitchen, where the scent of fresh-perked coffee tweaked his nose and an enthusiastic dog gave him a friendly nose-bump to the hand. “Careful there,” he said, crouching to ruffle the golden’s ears, “or I might just get the impression you like me.”

  This time, Rerun nose-bumped his chin. “It’s been some kinda crazy-awful day, huh? How you holdin’ up, boy?”

  The dog rested his chin on Matt’s knee and emitted something between a groan and a whimper. “I know, I know, and you’re lookin’ at a couple of rough weeks ahead, yet. But you’re like your mama. Before you know it, this awful day won’t be anything but a bad memory.”

  Matt heard the sound of water running upstairs. Good. Maybe a nice hot shower is just what the doctor ordered. “So how ‘bout a treat, pal? Think that’ll make you feel a little better?”

  Rerun sat on his haunches, head tilted, as if to say, “A biscuit ain’t gonna cut it, dummy; you wanna make me feel better, get my best buddy back.”

  “And I thought my dog had an expressive face,” Matt told him.

  He opened and closed cupboards and drawers, looking for the one that held the dog biscuits. Halfway around the L-shaped kitchen, when he opened one where plates and saucers stood in tidy stacks, Matt began to notice a trend. “You’re kiddin’, right?” he said to the dog, reopening doors he’d already opened, where she’d put spices, breakfast cereal, canned goods, and pasta in A-B-C order. “She alphabetizes everything?”

  Rerun’s fuzzy round eyebrows twitched.

  “Yeah, I’m getting a pretty good idea what your life has been like,” he said, laughing.

  Curiosity sent him to the foyer, where he peered into the closet. Sure enough, coats hung on the right side, jackets on the left, and she’d arranged each group in darkest-to-lightest color order. On the floor, a two-tiered shelf held sneakers and boots, and on the ledge above the rod, tidy stacks of scarves and gloves and a short stack of baseball caps sat side by side. “I won’t tell anybody if you don’t,” he said, closing the door.

  But even as he did it, Matt knew he had no room to talk. Dividers in his dresser drawers assured his tightly rolled socks wouldn’t end up on top of the tshirts and boxers. His canned goods weren’t alphabetized, but he had stacked them with the labels facing out. And what about his tendency to put the salt shaker on the left of the pepper—even in restaurants—for no reason other than, “People say salt and pepper, not pepper and salt.”

  “Good grief,” he muttered, heading back to the kitchen, “she’s as loony as I am.” But then, he had the Marines to blame for his “a place for everything” mind-set. What had turned Honor into an “everything in its place” girl?

  “If … when we get together, the two of us are gonna drive the twins plum loco,” he told Rerun. “Which reminds me … you haven’t met Steve and Warner yet. Or Cash. We’ll have to do something about that. You’ll love ‘em. And I know they’re gonna think you’re the best thing since—”

  Honor’s phone rang. Matt didn’t feel it was his place to pick up, so he merely listened as the answering machine picked up. Four rings later, her recorded voice said, “This is Honor. Wait for the beep, then, you know what to do.”

  On the heels of the shrill one-note signal to talk, a grating cackle, followed by some of the most foul language Matt had ever heard—and he’d spent half his waking hours in a newsroom, where four-letter words were as routine as “The coffee pot’s empty again.” Shaw’s broadcast had aired months ago, so what kind of loser was this guy, that he still got a sick thrill out of torturing her with yesterday’s news? Matt remembered feeling sorry for Honor that day at T-Bonz, when a couple of the guys seemed more interested in raking her reputation over the coals than in toasting Austin’s enga
gement. He’d watched as, in a matter of seconds, her expression flicked from friendly to fearful to forbearing, but until now, he hadn’t understood the full scope of what that story had done to the rest of her life.

  A powerful urge to wreak some good old-fashioned vengeance rose up in him, and he unclenched one fist long enough to grab the handset. Matt mashed the Talk button, determined to give the jerk a reason to think twice before dialing her number again. But when he put the receiver to his ear, all he heard was a quiet click.

  “Yeah, well, if you think you can get off that easy, you’ve got a couple-a thinks coming …” Matt dialed star-69 and waited for the pervert’s phone to ring. “Let’s see how you’ll react when somebody has the guts to identify himself, you lousy, stinking—”

  The operator’s sing-songing “We’re sorry, but this service is not available in your area” made him want to pitch the receiver across the room. Punching End, instead, he slammed the handset into its cradle and hit the Play button, and as soon as the disgusting message began, he punched Erase. He had no business deleting it. This wasn’t his house. Wasn’t his phone. And Honor wasn’t his girl, officially. But she’d been through enough today! If he had to step over every line of protocol and privacy ever written to protect her from garbage like that, so be it.

  Thankfully, the robotic “Your message has been erased” recording had ended before she padded into the room on those tiny white-socked feet. The sight of her was enough to make his bad mood disappear, like the smoke from a spent match.

  Matt thought she looked like a teenager with her face scrubbed clean of makeup and her still-damp curls pulled back in a ponytail.

  “I thought you wanted coffee,” she said, stepping up to the cabinet above the pot.

  He noticed that every mug handle faced east, but Matt wasn’t surprised. “I did want coffee,” he stammered as she poured the steaming black liquid into one. “I do,” he added when she held it out to him. “Thanks.”

  She sat at the table, and so did Matt. A minute ticked by, then two, yet she didn’t ask what he’d done with Rowdy. Even if she asked, he wouldn’t tell her how he’d stuffed the bloody blankets into a trash bag and tossed it into the bed of his truck, or that tomorrow, he’d pitch it into the dumpster at work. “I washed him up as best I could,” and put the bloody rags into the bag, too, “and wrapped him in a quilt I found in a box in the garage.”