A Cowboy Under the Mistletoe

by Cathy Gillen Thacker

  And so it went with the remaining whelps, until finally, they were left with eleven pups and ten nipples. Reluctantly, Hank removed the littlest one from Duchess’s side, and handed her ever so carefully to Ally. The last puppy took the little one’s place and began to nurse vigorously.

  Ally cradled the tiniest puppy against her chest. “What are we going to do if she doesn’t nurse any better than that?”

  Hank studied the sweet-faced golden retriever curled against the warmth of Ally’s breast, and knew they were the castaway pup’s last hope. “I’ll tell you what we’re not going to do,” he stated firmly. “We’re not going to wait. I’m calling Kurt right now.”

  TO ALLY’S RELIEF, Kurt McCabe came right out to the ranch, even though it was well past midnight. The personable veterinarian brought a digital scale and his vet bag and checked over the dam and her litter. “Duchess and the whelps all look great,” Kurt said when he’d finished recording the weight and sex of all five males and six female pups.

  “What about the littlest one?” Ally asked.

  “She’s definitely a little weaker—as well as tuckered out from her rocky start. That’s probably why Duchess initially turned away from her—because she knows instinctively that this pup is going to need more care than the rest, if she’s to survive. And on her own, Duchess can’t provide that,” the vet explained.

  Ally glanced at Hank’s face, to gauge his reaction. Obviously, this was something the handsome rancher already knew. Which was why he had looked so concerned, and insisted they ask his cousin to make a house call, even if it was the dead of the night.

  Her respect for Hank grew.

  Ally turned back to Kurt, watching as he gently lifted the littlest one from the warming bed. “Fortunately, the pup’s heart and lungs are strong, and there are a lot of things we can do to help her out,” he continued.

  “Like what?” Ally asked, feeling as protective as if she were the mama herself.

  Kurt handed her the puppy. As before, she held the tiny puppy against her chest, and felt it instinctively cuddle close.

  “The first thing I’m going to do is give her an injection of replacement plasma to help boost her immune system.” Kurt paused to give the puppy the shot.

  The little one flinched and let out several high-pitched squeaks.

  Ally took comfort in the whelp’s strong show of indignation. Judging by the looks on Hank’s and Kurt’s faces, they also thought it was a good sign.

  “It’s important you keep her warm. She’s going to need to be hand-fed every two hours or so, until she’s strong enough to nurse alongside her littermates.” Kurt removed several cans of formula and a bottle from his bag, along with another set of instructions. “Come morning, let her try nursing again. Even if it’s for only a couple minutes, she’ll get colostrum. And of course, keep introducing her to Duchess. Sooner or later they should begin to bond.”

  And what if they didn’t? Ally wondered, exchanging concerned glances with Hank. How would that impact the tiny puppy? Would it alter her chances of survival? Would she grow up feeling like Ally had—as if she never quite fit? Not with her family, not on the ranch, not at school… and now, maybe not even at the job that had been her whole life for the last ten years?

  The thought of the defenseless little puppy being rejected made her heart ache.

  Mistaking the reason behind Ally’s melancholy, Hank stepped closer and patted her arm. “I know this little gal is only twelve ounces—which, according to the weigh in we just did, makes her roughly twenty-five percent smaller than her siblings. And definitely the runt of the litter.” He paused to gaze into Ally’s eyes before continuing in a consoling voice, “But often times the smallest one will turn out to be the scrappiest.”

  “That’s true,” Kurt agreed.

  Realizing worrying about things she couldn’t change wouldn’t help anything, least of all the tiny puppy cuddled in her arms, Ally began to relax.

  Only to see Hank frown again. “The bigger problem is…who do these dogs belong to?”

  Kurt nodded toward the wriggling bodies in the warming bed. “These dogs are all definitely show quality purebreds.”

  Duchess was pretty enough to appear in the Westminster Dog Show, Ally thought, and her puppies were miniature versions of her.

  Kurt continued, “Duchess was obviously bred deliberately.”

  “Which means someone has to be looking for her.” Hank knelt down to pet the retriever. He rubbed her large shoulders and stroked behind her ears with so much tenderness Ally felt her own mouth go dry.

  “The larger question is how she became separated from the breeder in the first place.” The muscles in Hank’s own broad shoulders tensed. “Since I’m sure some of these puppies, if not all, have got to be spoken for already.”

  Surely not the littlest one, Ally thought, then caught herself up short. What was she doing? she wondered in alarm. This puppy wasn’t hers to keep! None of them were….

  Kurt unhooked the stethoscope from around his neck. “Some dogs want their privacy when they give birth, and slip off to nest in secret. My guess is that’s what Duchess did.”

  “But wouldn’t someone have reported her missing by now?” Ally asked.

  “You’d think so,” the vet replied.

  “It’s a mystery,” Hank concurred grimly. “But one I intend to solve.”

  Kurt packed up his vet bag. “I’ll do everything I can to help.” He paused to pet Duchess and several of her puppies. Standing, he glanced wryly at Hank and Ally. “In the meantime, try not to get too attached.”

  “Easier said than done,” Hank muttered beneath his breath.

  And for once, Ally knew exactly how Hank McCabe felt.

  “SO HOW DO YOU WANT to do this?” Hank asked her, after Kurt had left.

  Ally handed him the littlest pup so she could prepare a bottle of canine milk replacement formula, according to the directions, and set it in a bowl of warm water to heat. Then she checked the items in the emergency kit Kurt had left for them, taking out the unscented baby wipes, cotton balls and petroleum jelly, and lining them up neatly on the table. Lips pursed thoughtfully, she went to the drawer in the kitchen where linens were kept, and pulled out several clean dish towels.

  Trying not to notice how cuddly—and fragile—the little puppy felt, Hank followed Ally back to the table. He wasn’t sure exactly when the tables had turned. He just knew that she was now the “professional” on the scene. Aware how comfortable she looked in the home she was determined to sell ASAP, he asked, “You want me to handle the feedings tonight?”

  Ally shook a few drops of formula on the inside of her wrist, looking up from what she was doing long enough to say, “I can manage the bottle feedings tonight. If we do one now…” She glanced at the clock. It was two in the morning. “…then I’ll do another at four, and at six.”

  Which meant she’d get practically no sleep whatsoever, Hank thought in concern.

  He watched her pull out a kitchen chair and sit down. “You sure?”

  Ally spread one of the towels across her lap, then held out her arms for the puppy. “I don’t mind.” Her expression was incredibly tender as the transfer was made. Looking as contented as a new mother, she settled the puppy on her side and gently offered her bottle. “You’ve got other responsibilities.”

  No more eager to leave the brand-new litter than she was, Hank pulled up a chair beside them. “So do you.”

  Ally smiled as the puppy finally got the idea and began to suckle. “Yours are more pressing,” she reminded him.

  Hank couldn’t argue that. It had been raining all night, and the temperature was near freezing. His cattle were going to need extra feed to successfully weather the elements. Plus there were Duchess and the other puppies to consider. They needed help now, too. “Okay.” He rose. “I’ll take the ten puppies to Duchess, so they can nurse again, and then get everyone settled for the night.”

  Fifteen minutes later, all eleven puppies ha
d been fed, licked by Duchess to ensure they would go to the bathroom, and then been cleaned up by their mama. Because Duchess still had no interest in the littlest one, Ally had taken care of the runt. She’d rubbed a moistened cotton ball across her bottom, and after the desired result, had cleaned her up with more cotton balls, adding a protective application of petroleum jelly.

  Amazed that a self-professed city girl like Ally could take so early to such a task, Hank moved the puppies away from Duchess and back into the incubator, one by one, where they would be certain to stay warm.

  All except the littlest one.

  “You want to put her in the warming box, too?” he asked Ally, before he went up to bed himself.

  Her gentle smile beautiful to behold, she cuddled the tiny pup to her chest. “I think I’ll hold her just a little while longer,” she murmured, without looking up.

  And Hank knew for certain what he’d only guessed before. Ally was in love. With the puppy whose life he had saved…

  “JUST A LITTLE WHILE LONGER” turned out to be most of the night. Hank knew that, because Ally was still up, albeit nodding off, when he rose again at five-thirty. “You’ve really got to get to some sleep,” he told her, as he put another pot of coffee on the stove.

  Ally yawned and stretched. “You’re up.”

  Hank took the puppies and placed them at Duchess’s side, one by one, and made sure they all latched on. “I’m used to staying up all night to nurse sick animals.”

  Ally shrugged and began preparing another bottle of puppy formula. “Financial analysts pull all-nighters, too.”

  Hank didn’t doubt that she gave her all to whatever she did. Tenacity was something he and Ally seemed to have in common. However, he still thought she needed a break. He closed the distance between them, wishing he could kiss her again. He put his hands over hers, stilling the movements of her fingers. “Seriously, I can handle all the dogs for the next two hours if you want to catch a little shut-eye.”

  Ally pulled away. “I can’t hit the sheets just yet. Gracie is due for another feeding.” Her kissable lips assumed a stubborn pout.

  Hank pushed away the forbidden image her sweet, soft lips had evoked.

  With effort, he concentrated on the problem at hand. “Gracie?”

  Reluctant pleasure tugged at the corners of her mouth. “I thought she should have a name, other than ‘the littlest one.’”

  Their eyes met. Once again, Hank felt a mutual purpose, a bond. The same sort of connection he figured parents of a newborn baby felt. But then she lowered her gaze, and it was gone. He studied the newborn pup’s velvety golden coat and scrunched up face. “Gracie is good. It suits her.”

  “You’re not going to argue with me?” Ally joked, only half-humorously. “Tell me that I shouldn’t name a pup I’m only going to have to give away?” She snapped her mouth shut, as if worried she’d reveal even more of her runaway emotions.

  Hank shrugged. “I figure you probably already know that. Besides,” he said slowly, “Gracie is the runt of the litter.”

  “What does that have to do with anything?” she demanded, narrowing her eyes.

  “Someone willing to pay top dollar for a show quality retriever may not want anything less than perfection. Cute as Gracie is, her size could be a deterrent.”

  Ally fumed. “Not to me!”

  No kidding. Her intense reaction worried him a bit. Ally was becoming personally involved in the situation and was bound to get her heart broken if and when Duchess’s owner showed up to claim the litter and their mama. She almost would have been better off if she had continued to loathe the canine species as much as she had when Duchess first showed up.

  The sound of a truck motor in the driveway broke the silence. Ally wrinkled her nose and continued cradling the puppy like a newborn baby. “Are you expecting anyone?”

  Hank shook his head. “You?”

  She furrowed her brow. “At dawn?”

  A knock sounded on the back door, and Hank went to open it.

  His father was standing there, foil-covered plate in hand.

  Hank figured he knew what this was about.

  The blessing was, Ally didn’t. And if he could help it, she would never have any idea.

  Chapter Six

  “Might as well get it over with,” Hank told his father short minutes later. As the sun rose over the horizon, the two of them emerged from Hank’s pickup truck and strode toward the back. Hank opened the tailgate so they could get at the supplemental feed for his herd, and shot his father a knowing glance. “’Cause I know you didn’t come here just to say hello to Ally, see the new pups and help me tend my cattle.”

  “You’re right.” Shane hefted a big bale of hay and carried it into the mesquite-edged pasture where the hundred cattle had weathered the cold and rain the night before. “I did want to talk to you in private.”

  Hank cut the twine and separated the feed, scattering it about so the steers could get at it easily. “What about?”

  The two of them got back in the truck and drove a little farther on before stopping and doing the same thing again.

  “The word in town is that Corporate Farms is wooing Ally,” Shane stated.

  Hank shrugged. “She’s talking to a Realtor about listing the property, too.”

  His dad lifted a silver brow. “I thought you had a deal with her.”

  I thought so, too. Which was what he got for letting the arrangement be as convenient as Ally had needed it to be, when he had volunteered to watch over the property for her last summer, in the wake of her dad’s death.

  Hank went over to check the water supply. Ice had formed around the edges of the trough, so he broke it up with a hoe. “She agreed to let me run cattle here and live in the house, in exchange for my help tending to the ranch.” At the time it had seemed the perfect solution for both of them.

  Shane studied the property with a horse rancher’s keen gaze. “She knew you were interested in buying it?”

  “Eventually.” When I had the money. “Yes.” Hank carried another bundle of feed across the rain-soaked ground. “She also figured—rightly so—that I couldn’t afford it yet.”

  Shane followed with another bundle. “I wish you had talked to me before you struck that deal,” he said with regret.

  Hank’s irritation increased. Tired of weathering his father’s meddling in his affairs, he squared off with him. “We both know what would have happened if I had!”

  “You’d be better off now,” his dad countered, his disapproval as evident as his need to help.

  “I’d be better off if you and the rest of the family stopped trying to coddle me!” Acting as if he were some damned invalid, instead of a decorated ex-marine embarking on the next chapter of his life.

  His father grimaced like the take-charge man he was. “We’re not doing that,” he argued.

  Like hell they weren’t! “You’ve done nothing but that since Jo-anne’s death,” Hank countered.

  Shane’s jaw set. “You fell apart.”

  Hank turned his gaze away from the mounting concern in his dad’s eyes. “And I’ve long since put myself back together again.”

  Shane sighed. Tried again. “The point is, son—”

  “The point is,” he interrupted curtly, lifting a staying hand, “we shouldn’t be having this conversation. Not now. Not ever.”

  ALLY WAS UPSTAIRS IN the sewing room when Hank and Shane returned.

  It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know something had happened while they were gone. The two men appeared to be barely speaking as they parted company. Which was a surprise. Ally had thought the McCabes were a close-knit family through and through. Yet as Hank stood watching his father’s pickup disappear from view, he looked as tense and bereft as she had usually felt when dealing with her own parents.

  Not that it was any of her business, she reminded herself sternly, returning to the cutting table.

  Seconds later, she heard him come in.

  Footst
eps sounded in the hall. The door to his bedroom closed.

  Fifteen minutes later, Hank emerged, looking freshly showered and cleanly shaven. He paused in the doorway of the sewing room. A smile quirked his lips when he glanced at the puppies snuggled together in the warming bed, with Duchess lying on the floor next to it.

  An eyebrow lifted in silent inquiry.

  Self-consciously, Ally explained, “I needed to do work up here, and I didn’t think I should leave them unattended so soon.”

  Hank nodded, a knowing light in his midnight-blue eyes.

  “By the way, the candy cane shaped coffeecake your mother sent over was absolutely delicious.” The festive gift had sported a flaky golden bread, cranberry-cherry filling and cream cheese frosting.

  Hank folded his arms and propped one shoulder against the frame. “I’ll tell her you said so.” He nodded at the sophisticated ivory fabric she was measuring. “What are you doing here?”

  Ally picked up the shears and began to cut. “Making new drapes for the downstairs windows, to dress up the space.”

  He came closer, in a drift of sandalwood and leather cologne. “You know how to do that?”

  Her gaze flicked over his nice-fitting jeans and navy corduroy shirt, then rose in a guilty rush. “My mother taught me how to sew when I was eight. I helped her make custom slipcovers and draperies.” And she needed to stop remembering what it had been like to be held in his arms, kissing him passionately.

  Hank hooked his thumbs in the belt loops on either side of his fly. “I didn’t realize she had a business.”

  Ally swallowed around the sudden parched feeling of her throat. “They needed the income she brought in to buy more land.”

  His gaze roved her face, settling briefly on her mouth. A prickling, skittering awareness sifted through her. “And put you through college?” he added, almost as an afterthought.

  Ally tensed and marked off another length. “I did that myself.”