“Can I hold her?” Lindsey asked.
“No, she’s fine,” Ed said. “You can see she’s a little cold. I’ll just hold on to her over here by the stove.” He started to settle into a chair at the far end of the table, but Lindsey stood and intercepted him.
“I need to hold her,” she said. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep her warm.”
She more or less yanked the dog away from him. Immediately, the little dog’s trembling increased, and Lindsey felt a warm stream of urine run down her hand.
“Oh, she’s gone and peed on you. Naughty girl. Naughty, naughty Maybelle. I’ll just take her now,” said Connie, reaching for the dog.
But Lindsey wasn’t letting go. Turning away from the Brockmans, she set the dog on the floor and watched Maybelle scamper off to see her puppies. As the little dogs whined in effusive greeting, she noticed the mother dog’s furry butt was even more matted than the rest of her. Worse yet, her tail hadn’t merely been docked, although in Lindsey’s opinion the traditional tail cutting was bad enough. It had been completely removed, a common puppy mill practice to facilitate breeding and birthing.
Connie had hiked herself out of her chair and was now running after the dogs, who scampered across the room like a single peculiar creature—one with twenty-four legs and six furry heads.
“Bad doggies! Oh, bad Maybelle! I’ll get you for peeing on nice Miss Ward!”
To Lindsey’s horror, the woman grabbed for a broom. Meanwhile, Ed grabbed a dirty cloth from the counter.
“Too bad our Maybelle had to go messing on that pretty sweater,” he said. “Let me help you with that.” Picking up the dirty towel, he moved toward her, his eyes on her soiled chest.
Eyes rolling, the errant Maybelle scampered over to Lindsey, who scooped her up and pressed her to her breast, blocking Ed with the skill and speed of a cage fighter.
The little dog shuddered in waves that began at her pricked ears and ended at her tailless rump. The shudders seemed to run through Lindsey’s entire body as her rage built and boiled over. What she really wanted to do was grab that broom and give both Brockmans a good thump on the head, but that wouldn’t help the dogs.
And she would help the dogs.
“I tell you what,” she said, clutching Maybelle to her breast. “It’s obvious to me that you’re not able to care for these dogs. So I’ll be taking them off your hands. All of them.”
Connie’s grin nearly cracked her face in two.
“Oh, well then.” She set down the broom and beamed. “All of them?”
Lindsey nodded, gathering the puppies close as she made them a silent promise that she wouldn’t leave without them. She didn’t know where Ed was keeping them, or what conditions were like in his kennels, but the dogs reeked with an ammoniac stench that could only come from unclean bedding—or never-cleaned bedding. They seemed so fearful of people in general, and Mrs. Brockman in particular, that Lindsey suspected the broom and other implements were used often, and with vigor.
“Well, now,” Ed said, his brows lowering. “That’s an interesting proposition. You’re not thinking you’ll breed them yourself, are you? I’m not about to enable my own competition.”
“Not at all.” Lindsey’s stomach was starting to burn from all the harsh words she was swallowing. “I want to keep the family together. And I want them out of here.”
Ed laughed. “It’s your funeral. Lockhart know you’re bringing home a bunch of sissy dogs?”
“Shane? He has nothing to do with this.”
“No kidding.” He narrowed his eyes when he smiled, giving his grin a malicious tinge. “I’d like to see his face when you drive up with this lot. He wanted that kid of his to get a rat terrier, somethin’ tough, but the boy was dead set on a Yorkie.” He snorted. “Kid’ll probably grow up to be a gay.”
Lindsey swallowed a retort. She needed to concentrate on what mattered at this moment—getting out of this house and taking the dogs with her.
Spying a cardboard box by the end table, she swept the puppies inside, dropped Maybelle beside them, and picked up the whole lot. As she started for the door, Ed blocked her way.
“The pups are five hundred, like I told you,” he said. “But Maybelle, she’s different. That dog’s been one of our best breeders, you know. She’s worth a bundle in future litters.”
“And she’s my favorite.” Connie shoved out her lower lip in a very unattractive pout. “I just love my little Maybelle. I don’t think I can sell her, Ed. I just can’t do it.”
Lindsey couldn’t help rolling her eyes. “You were just about to beat your little Maybelle with a broom, Mrs. Brockman.” She fished out what cash she’d brought along—about five hundred dollars—and slapped it on the table. “Final offer for the lot,” she said. “Take it, or I’ll make a call to Animal Control and report conditions here.”
Ed stared at her, his brows lowering in a way that made Lindsey think she should be the one trembling with fear. Channeling her inner Wonder Woman, she stared him down.
It wasn’t easy. Ed and his wife gave her the creeps, and the way they looked at her money made her realize she’d made a mistake. For her five hundred in cash, this pair might be inclined to keep the puppies and make sure Lindsey never said a word about what she’d found here. Who would know what had happened to her if they killed her and buried her in the backyard?
Fortunately, Ed was the first to break the stare down. Glowering, he folded his arms across his chest. “You don’t know nothing about conditions here.”
“I know these dogs are filthy, frightened, and abused.” Lindsey tilted her chin a little higher.
“That’s a lie, pure and simple. These are valuable dogs, Miss Ward. And I’m not about to break my wife’s tender heart for that.” He nodded scornfully toward the pile of cash.
“Okay, then.” She moved toward the table, reaching for the money without putting down the box of dogs. It wasn’t an easy move, since the puppies seemed to sense that their future was being decided by forces far beyond their control. Whimpering, they squirmed from one end of the box to the other, forcing Lindsey to balance it with the skill of a juggler.
Slowly, she began to gather up the bills, watching a silent drama play out between Ed and his wife as Lindsey picked up one twenty at a time.
She picked up the last bill, folded the wad into a fat roll, and began to shove it into her pocket, but Connie, whose face had been getting progressively redder and redder, snatched it away from her.
“That’ll do,” the woman snapped. “Now take those dirty dogs and get out of here. And there’d better not be any phone calls, you hear? My husband has power and influence. He can make your life a living hell.”
The woman toddled off to a back room as fast as her orthopedic shoes could carry her. Lindsey caught a glimpse of a room that might have been featured on an episode of Hoarders as the woman swung the door open and turned.
“And stop your flirting with my husband, missy. I see what you’re doing. Don’t you think I didn’t notice.”
Ed watched the exchange with an evil smile creasing his face. Lindsey suspected he liked seeing his wife upset, and wondered how often he used his supposed power and influence to make Connie’s life a living hell.
“She’s just upset about losing Maybelle.” His smarmy smile told Lindsey she had him worried.
“She’s upset someone’s figured out how you’re treating these dogs.”
A scowl wiped out any hint of ingratiation as Ed wagged a finger in her face. “Don’t be thinking you can get away with something like this again. These dogs are just a little dirty, that’s all. I take good care of my livestock.”
“Really?” Lindsey faced him, the box of dogs balanced on one hip. “I’d like to see the rest of them, then.”
“No way, missy.” Ed’s whole demeanor changed at the mere suggestion. “I can tell you’re one of them PETA people, figgerin’ animals got the same rights as people. Well, that way of thinking doesn’t fly here in Wyomin
g. So don’t be believing you can come out here with your liberal friends and stage some kind of demonstration. My land is protected by Smith & Wesson, if you know what I mean.”
Lindsey resisted the urge to roll her eyes. If all went well, she wouldn’t have to deal with Connie Brockman again. Or her husband.
“There won’t be any demonstrations.” She mustered as much calm as she could. “I believe in taking action, not marching around with signs.”
Ed made a low, growling noise deep in his throat, and Lindsey took a step back, almost tripping over the doorsill. The sound was subhuman, and his expression made her wonder about his sanity.
“You done stole those dogs and threatened my livelihood.” His hands clenched and unclenched repeatedly as he spoke, as if he was just itching to throttle her. “Don’t you think I’ll forget it either. Don’t you ever think I’ll forget.”
Chapter 51
As Lindsey headed for her truck, she wished she’d come earlier in the day. Darkness came on fast this time of year. Almost sprinting to the car, she spotted a ray of light shining out from the east side of the house, about the spot she’d seen Brockman carrying Maybelle. He and Connie had wanted Lindsey to think he was going out to the Quonset hut, but it had looked more like he was coming from the back of the house.
Maybe there was something back there. Or a basement entrance. She hadn’t thought of that.
Shoving the box into her truck, she made a “stay” gesture to the puppies, hoping they’d somehow understand they should keep quiet. So far, they hadn’t made a sound, so maybe Brockman did have a collection of pups in the basement, all of them scared silent.
The light, she discovered, was coming from a single basement window that wasn’t covered with yellowing newspapers. Lindsey couldn’t help remembering an old H. P. Lovecraft story where some unspeakable beast had hurtled out of a darkened room, but she swallowed her fear, sending it down to the pit of her stomach, where it mingled with all the angry words she’d gulped down. All the repression made her slightly nauseous, but she might not get this opportunity again. Kneeling, she peered through the window.
She’d been right. Ed was running a puppy mill. And the sight of it made the angry words in her belly burst into flames that licked at her insides, urging her to action.
Row upon row of cages lined the walls. The bars were rusting and coated with filth, the cage bottoms layered four or five inches deep with damp bedding and feces.
With their sensitive hearing, the dogs had picked up on her presence. Every frightened eye was focused on her, begging for release from what appeared to be the seventh circle of doggie hell.
But there was no barking. Not a sound. And somehow, that was the worst part.
The rustle of leaves behind her startled Lindsey out of her horrified catatonia. Spinning, she staggered back against the house.
She’d been so absorbed in her horror that Brockman had managed to creep up behind her, cradling a double-barreled shotgun casually in his arms. He wasn’t leering at her anymore. No, he was scowling, as if he’d like to use the rusty old gun. Apparently, the man didn’t even take care of his firearms.
“What are you up to, Miss Ward?”
Lindsey spotted a piece of paper on the ground and snatched it up. “There it is!” She waved it in the air and shoved it in her pocket. “Blew out of my truck.” She flashed him a smile that was maniacal in its desperation. “Don’t be a litterbug, right?”
“Go home,” Ed said. “You’ve seen all you’re going to see of my property.” He hefted the gun, letting the barrels swing her way for a brief instant as if by accident, then lowering his aim to the ground right at her feet. “You might have noticed this land is posted.” He pointed to a ragged, torn “No Trespassing” sign that was stapled to a nearby fence post. “I see you here again, you might not get so lucky.”
“Right,” she said. “We Westerners like our privacy, don’t we?”
“Don’t we.” His tone was grim.
Shaking nearly as hard as Maybelle, Lindsey sprinted toward her grandfather’s truck. Just as she reached it, she stubbed her toe on a rock and nearly fell flat on her face. Catching herself allowed her to turn to see if Ed was still watching her.
He wasn’t. He was gone.
But he hadn’t seen the last of her. She’d be back. Either that, or she’d send the nearest Animal Control officer in her stead.
Ed’s little breeding operation was going to be shut down, shotgun or no shotgun.
* * *
Shane was as happy as he’d been in a long time. He hadn’t been too crazy about little Stormy, but the expression on his son’s face when they’d found the little guy was worth all the aggravation the pup dished out. All his memories of chewed shoes, spots on the rug, and incorrigible begging had disappeared in the face of his son’s happiness.
The reunion between boy and dog had been magical. For once, the yapping was music to Shane’s ears. Really high-pitched, skull-piercing music—but still music.
And for once, Shane had forgotten to worry about how much his son loved his dog and simply savored the knowledge that his son had something in his life that gave him joy. At Cody’s suggestion, they were having a welcome-home celebration for Stormy, complete with Kool-Aid and Hostess CupCakes, at the kid-sized picnic table he and Cody had made together. Cody had been delighted to discover that the picnic table worked like a seesaw; if Shane put all his weight on his bench, Cody’s would rise high into the air and the entire picnic would slide into Shane’s lap, Kool-Aid and all. Now that he’d cleaned up and restored order, Shane was giving his thigh muscles a workout by holding himself just above the seat.
The growl of an engine and the grating of gears heralded Lindsey’s arrival. Stormy, fully recovered from his adventure, raced around the corner of the house to welcome her, yapping with excitement just like always.
After much slamming of doors and mumbling, Lindsey appeared, doing her best to avoid tripping over the ecstatic Stormy. She couldn’t see the dog, who was leaping happily around her legs, because she was carrying a large, whimpering cardboard box.
Whimpering?
“Hey, little dog,” she said, craning her neck so she could see Stormy around the corner of the box. “I sure am glad to see you. Where did you find him, Cody?”
That was one of the things Shane liked about Lindsey. She talked to Cody like he was a grown-up, with respect, rather than deferring to Shane all the time.
“He went a loooooong way!” Cody wriggled with excitement. Shane figured he’d be telling the story of Stormy’s adventure, complete with embellishments, for years to follow. “He was lost in the forest. Waaaay over there!” He pointed toward the far fence line, nearly knocking over his Kool-Aid glass.
“Amazing.” Lindsey shook her head in wonder, shifting the box to one hip. “That’s Stormy for you. He’s a tough little guy, isn’t he?”
“Tough as nails!” Cody agreed, nodding so hard Shane was afraid he’d nod his head loose.
“Well, look what I got.”
Lindsey set the box on the ground and gazed ruefully down at the sorriest selection of canines Shane had ever seen. A seething mass of brown-and-black puppies rolled and tumbled at one end of the box, while a slightly larger dog hunkered in the far corner, shivering.
“Oh, wow!” Cody’s eyes were huge. “Lookit all the puppies! And is that their mom?”
Shane wasn’t quite as excited, and did his best not to make any expression at all. Letting out the slightest hint of negativity tended to open the door to more, and there was no point. Lindsey would do what she wanted. She’d made that clear.
“It sure is.” She turned to Shane. “That place was just as bad as I expected.” She turned to Cody, who was picking up Stormy. “Don’t put him in with them, and don’t take them out,” she said. “They might be sick, and we don’t want Stormy to catch anything.”
Wide-eyed, Cody peered at the puppies, who had rheumy eyes and matted fur. “They don’t look so
good.”
“That’s why we have to quarantine them.” Lindsey picked up the box. “Want to help?”
“Sure!” The boy paused. “What’s quartermining? It’s not bad, is it?”
“No, it’s not bad. It just means we separate them until we know they’re healthy. Tell you what.” She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “You go fix up one of the new kennels for them, okay? Remember how I showed you the way to put straw in for bedding, and fresh water?”
“Okay!”
With Stormy at his heels, Cody ran off to the barn. Lindsey turned to Shane, and her expression had gone grim. “He’s got them in the basement. Rows and rows of cages.” She lifted out the older dog, the one who was trembling. “This one’s been bred half to death.” She turned the dog around, and Shane couldn’t help wincing at the animal’s dirty, matted rear end. “They cut off her tail to make things easier.” Though her voice trembled with rage, Lindsey set the mother dog back in the box gently, as if the little animal might break.
“I had no idea,” Shane muttered.
Someone needed to help these critters, but it sounded like there were far too many for even Lindsey to handle. And then there was Brockman himself. Shane doubted anyone could get past him, now that Lindsey had put him on notice.
Besides, he’d probably clean up now that he knew his secret was out. Lindsey would call in the authorities and look like a fool when there was nothing wrong.
“Could you help me?” She asked the question so hesitantly it broke his heart. “Please?”
Remembering his vow to listen, to help, and to understand, he nodded. “What do you need?”
“Could you call Animal Control? I doubt Wynott has one, but just find the nearest town, even if we have to call all the way to Cheyenne. I’ll go help Cody and get the pups settled in for the night.”
Shane was so relieved, he thought he might fall off the picnic bench. Maybe Lindsey realized what an impossible task she was taking on. From what she’d described, Brockman had a lot of dogs. Maybe the sight of them, sad as it must have been, had made her realize she couldn’t save them all on her own.
How to Wrangle a Cowboy Page 32
