by Diana Palmer
Dal stopped dead. “Her dog? Snow?”
Gil nodded, preoccupied with the tracks. “She’s at the vet’s office. They don’t know if the dog will live,” he added, glaring up at his companion.
Dal felt two inches high. Now the imprint on the ground and the drag marks made sense. Meadow had had to drag Snow around the house to her vehicle. Snow might die, and he’d gone flaming mad to Meadow’s house and called her names . . .
“Dear God,” he said on a heavy breath. “I didn’t know. She tried to tell me and I wouldn’t listen,” he ground out.
Gil ignored him. He followed the tracks into the woods, photographing as he went. “The thief is a big man,” he murmured. “Tracks are deep. They end there, at the side of the highway.” He knelt again and photographed the tire tracks. “Probably won’t do any good, but they might be able to match the tread pattern. I’ll get pics of it, anyway.”
He got to his feet. “He was carrying a big canvas bag, wearing a long gray coat,” Gil added.
“He must have removed the legs, to make the desk more portable,” Dal commented. “They screw on.”
“I’ll make a note of that.”
“God, poor Meadow!” he ground out. “They don’t know if Snow’s going to make it?”
“No.” Gil faced him, still irritated. “Head injuries are tricky. I was in Iraq. One of the men in my squad was hit by falling masonry. He went down like a sack of sand and died three hours later without regaining consciousness.”
“I’ve seen fatal head injuries, too,” Dal replied. “I was in Afghanistan.”
Comrades in arms, Gil thought, but he didn’t reply. He was angry at the man who’d made Meadow even more upset. He recalled how miserable she’d been at the Christmas dance. Dal had been responsible for that, as well, although Gil didn’t know what was said between them.
“I need to see your cat,” Gil said.
“I’ll find him for you. I didn’t notice his paws.”
Gil said nothing. He followed the other man into the house. Jarvis was sitting in the kitchen sink, as usual.
“Careful,” Dal said when Gil moistened a small square of gauze and lifted the paw with blood on it, gently squeezing the pad to make the claws appear. “He bites. Meadow can pick him up, but nobody else can. Not even me.”
“She has a way with animals,” Gil agreed. The cat was cooperative. It didn’t offer to bite or scratch while he got the blood sample.
He put away the evidence and turned. “I’ll get back to the office with these and send them to the crime lab first thing in the morning.”
“Thanks for coming over.”
“Jeff told me to,” he replied, indicating that wild horses wouldn’t have dragged him there otherwise. His black eyes narrowed. “Meadow has real self-esteem issues,” he said quietly. “Good job, making her feel even worse while her dog fights for its life.”
He turned and went out the door before Dal could manage a comeback. His conscience stung him as the deputy’s car drove away.
He phoned the clinic and asked for Dr. Clay. “How’s Snow?” he asked without preamble, when he’d given his name.
“I’m part owner, you might say,” he added when she hesitated. “She stays at my house as much as at Meadow’s. I’m concerned.”
“She’s still alive,” was all the vet would concede. “We’re treating her now.”
“Whatever it costs,” he said gruffly. “I’ll take care of it. I know Miss Dawson’s financial situation. It’s going to be tough on her if she tries to afford the care. If you’ll grab a pen, I’ll give you my credit card information.”
There was a visible lessening of tension. “Okay,” she replied. “That’s kind of you.”
“I’ve been blatantly unkind,” he said bluntly. “Maybe this will help make amends. Ready?”
“Yes.”
He gave her the information and asked her to call him if Snow worsened. “Meadow doesn’t have family anymore,” he added. “I’ll take care of her if she loses the dog.”
“Don’t give up on her yet,” Dr. Clay said softly. “She’s a fighter.”
“Like her owner,” Dal said. “Thanks.”
He hung up and glanced at the clock. It was almost nine. He imagined Meadow hadn’t even had time to grab a bite to eat. Nothing had been touched in the kitchen. He knew from her father that she loved cheese and mushroom pizzas. He dialed the number of the local pizza parlor delivery and gave them an order for Meadow, charged to the account he kept there.
* * *
Someone knocking at the door was the last thing Meadow expected at that hour. Had Snow died and the vet came to tell her in person? It was an illogical thought, but she was traumatized enough that it made sense.
She ran to open the door and found a teenager with acne and a big grin standing on her porch. “Pizza delivery,” he said, handing her a box.
“But I didn’t order . . .” she began, all at sea.
“It’s a gift from a person who wants to remain anonymous,” he said. “Already paid for. Enjoy!”
He ran back toward his car with the pizza parlor’s lighted bar on top.
“Thanks!” she called after him belatedly.
“You’re welcome!”
He moved out of the driveway, swerving to avoid a deputy sheriff’s car that swung into it as he was leaving.
Gil pulled up at her door and got out.
“Pizza?” he mused, grinning.
“Somebody sent it,” she said, eyeing him suspiciously.
“Not I,” he told her with a chuckle. “But it smells awesome!”
“Come in and share it with me,” she said. “I’ll make coffee, too.”
“I don’t know . . .” He hesitated. “Eating on the job, and all that.”
His cell phone rang. He answered it. “Standing on Meadow’s porch. She just got a gift of pizza . . . sure, here.”
He handed her the phone, and she laughed. “Jeff, thanks so much for the pizza! How did you know I like cheese and mushroom?” she enthused.
He hesitated. “Well, it was a lucky guess. Glad you like that kind,” he added, happily taking credit for the gift. “You doing okay? How’s Snow?”
“We don’t know yet,” she said sadly. “It was a vicious blow. I want to hang him up by his thumbs when we catch him,” she added darkly.
“I’ll start stockpiling rope,” he assured her. “If you need me, you call, whatever time it is, okay?”
“Okay. Thanks. Can Gil have pizza with me?”
“Yes, he can. He has to get a statement from you anyway. Tell him I said so.”
She smiled. “I will. Take care.” She hung up and gave the phone back. “He says I have to give you a statement, so you can eat pizza while I’m doing it.”
He rubbed his hands together. “Awesome!”
She laughed and led the way to the kitchen. She put the pizza on the table, got down paper plates, and made coffee.
“This was so sweet of Jeff,” she commented when they’d gone through two slices apiece and were on their second cups of coffee.
“It was, wasn’t it?” he chuckled. “They make good pizza.”
“I wish I could . . .”
The Sherlock television series theme blasted out in the kitchen from her phone. She looked at it with apprehension and grabbed it, fumbling for the answer button. “Meadow,” she said at once.
“Hi,” Dr. Clay said. “Just wanted to let you know that Snow’s conscious,” she said, laughing. “We’re going to keep her for a couple of days, but the prognosis just went from iffy to good.”
“Oh, thank God!” Meadow let out the breath she’d been holding. Tears streamed down her face. “Thank God! Thank you, too! I’ll never be able to thank you enough!”
“You’re very welcome.”
“I’ll come right over and write out a check . . .”
“Oh, Mr. Blake took care of that earlier this evening,” Dr. Clay said. “He was very concerned for Snow. He says he’s almo
st part owner. He must think a lot of her.”
Meadow was almost speechless. “She worries him to death,” she began.
Dr. Clay laughed. “He didn’t sound irritated, believe me. He was concerned, too.”
“It was . . . kind of him,” she said.
“Yes.”
“Can I come see Snow?”
“Whenever you want to.”
“I’ll finish up here and be right over!”
She told Gil the good news, beaming. Then she frowned. “Did you tell Dal about Snow?”
“Yes,” he said. “I wasn’t very happy about the way he treated you. I’m afraid I was less than courteous. I guess Jeff will fire me.”
“Never in a million years. Suppose I write out the statement and bring it to work in the morning?” she asked. “I really want to go see Snow.”
Just before he answered, his radio blared. He pressed the answer switch on the mobile microphone at his shoulder. “Go.”
The 911 operator’s voice came over the line. “Wreck with injuries, state highway near the Kangaroo at Raven Springs northbound.”
“On my way,” he replied. He turned to Meadow. “That blows my offer of a ride to the vet,” he said. “Have to go.”
“I’ll bring the statement in tomorrow. Did you get a blood sample from Jarvis?”
“Yes, I did, and he didn’t bite me.”
“Wow.”
He chuckled. “Animals like me. Happy about Snow. Night.”
“Good night,” she called after him.
She dealt with the remaining slices of pizza, more than enough for supper the next night. Snow was going to live! She was almost floating as she went to find her purse and coat.
Chapter Ten
Meadow had just locked the door when headlights blinded her, coming toward the house.
A big, black pickup truck pulled up beside her and Dal Blake got out. He looked worn as he joined her on the porch.
“I’m on my way to see Snow,” she began a little coldly. He’d paid the vet bill, but she couldn’t forget the way he’d treated her.
“I’ll drive you. I want to see her, too,” he said in a subdued tone. He moved closer, towering over her in his shepherd’s coat and wide-brimmed Stetson, both dotted with falling snow.
He took her gently by the shoulders. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “Damned sorry.”
She bit her lower lip. It had been such an ordeal. She fought tears. It was deadly to show weakness to the enemy.
While she was thinking it, he pulled her into his arms and folded her close, his lips in the hair at her temple.
She hadn’t had comfort in years. Nobody held her when she cried, nobody except the father who had died so recently. The comfort was too much for her. It broke her proud spirit. She started sobbing.
Dal wrapped her up tight, whispering at her ear. “It’s all right. Everything is going to be all right. Snow’s going to live, okay?”
“It was my fault,” she choked. “I didn’t stop her. I was afraid to say anything, afraid he’d hear me. She went out the window after him. He hit her . . .”
His mouth cut off the angry words. He kissed her gently, softly. “We’ll get him,” he said. “If it takes years, we’ll make him pay for what he did. I promise!”
“She’s my baby,” she moaned.
He drew in a long breath. “She’s my baby, too,” he said tenderly. “Nuisance and all.” He smoothed down her long hair, tangled by the wind where it flowed out under her cap. His hands gathered it up, savoring its clean softness. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “If I’d just let you talk . . .”
She pulled back and looked up at him in the porch light’s glare, her face drawn with worry, her eyes soaked in tears.
He wiped the tears away with his thumbs, his big hands warm and comforting where they cupped her oval face. “Stop bawling,” he said quietly. “She’s going to be fine.”
“Dr. Clay said she might have seizures!”
“If she does, we’ll handle it,” he interrupted. “They have medicines to deal with them. She’ll live. That’s all that matters.”
She drew in a shaky breath. “Okay.” She swallowed. “Dr. Clay said you paid the bill.”
“Yes. I thought it was the least I could do, under the circumstances. The desk was valuable,” he added, “but you can’t equate an antique with a pet’s life. I’d have done exactly what you did, if it had been Jarvis, or Bess,” he added.
She searched his eyes for longer than she meant to, flushed, and dropped them. He’d had too much to say already about her fawning over him. She pulled away from him.
“You’re remembering all of it, I guess,” he said sadly. “All the vicious things I’ve said to you, down the years.” He laughed, but it had a hollow sound. “I don’t suppose you’ve realized why.”
She cocked her head, looking up at him like a curious little bird.
“Never mind.” He smoothed his thumb over her soft mouth. “Let’s go see Snow.”
He helped her into the truck and drove her to the vet’s office, helping her down from the high truck with his big hands circling her waist.
He kissed her gently and smiled. “You’ve been eating pizza. I tasted mushrooms and cheese.”
She laughed. “Yes. Jeff sent it. I hadn’t eaten anything all day. It was so kind of him!”
He didn’t reply. He was going to have something to say to his friend about letting her make that assumption, though.
She glanced at him.
“Jeff’s a prince,” he said belatedly. He pressed the button so the vet could buzz them in. Even here, in the boondocks, security was a big deal at a vet’s office. They kept a store of medicines, including narcotics. There had already been one robbery here. The owners were understandably cautious.
Dr. Clay greeted them and led them back to Snow’s cage, where she was still on oxygen and a drip.
She looked at them drowsily.
Dr. Clay laughed. “We’ve had to sedate her. She wanted to get up and instruct us in the proper management of her case,” she added, tongue-in-cheek. “Odd thing about huskies, that so-superior attitude of theirs.”
“I know.” Meadow laughed, settling on the floor beside Snow, to rub her fur. “She’s always like that.”
Snow nuzzled her hand. She looked up at Dal and panted, her blue eyes laughing at him. He knelt beside Meadow and smoothed over Snow’s head.
“Poor baby,” he murmured gently.
The vet, watching the two of them, was seeing more than they realized. She just smiled.
“Will she recover?” Meadow asked after a minute.
“Yes. As I told you, there may be some neurological issues to deal with. We’ll keep her under observation for a few days. I’ll have Tanny special her tonight so she’s not alone. If anything goes wrong, I live less than five minutes away and I’m a light sleeper,” she added when she saw the new lines of stress on Meadow’s face.
The lines relaxed. “Okay. Thank you. Thank you so much.”
“Oh, she did all the work,” the doctor said with a smile. “She’s got grit. That will mean a lot while she’s getting back on her feet.”
“Can I come and see her tomorrow?”
“Every day, whenever you like,” the vet replied.
“All right. That makes it a little easier.”
“You find whoever did this to her,” the vet said suddenly. “He needs to be locked up!”
“I’ll find him,” Meadow said, and it was a promise.
Dal drove her back home. He was reluctant to leave. “I don’t like having you here on your own,” he said curtly. “You can come stay at the ranch. I’ve got five spare bedrooms.”
She swallowed and flushed, sure he was going to go right up the ceiling and the truce would be over when she refused.
“I see,” he said softly, smiling at her embarrassment. “That squeaky-clean reputation wouldn’t allow it.”
“We all have our handicaps,” she began.
/> “It’s not a handicap,” he replied, his voice deep in the stillness of snow and darkness. He searched her eyes in the porch light. “My grandmother would have reacted exactly the same. She was a tiny little woman, sweet and kind and gentle.” His face hardened. “My grandfather got drunk and knocked her around. Dad was afraid of him. I never was. As soon as I was big enough to hit back, I tackled him in the living room one day and told him to leave my grandmother alone. After that, he still drank, but he never touched my grandmother.”
She touched the soft white fur that peeked out of the lapel of his sheepskin jacket. “Nobody in my family drank,” she said. “But I started dealing with drunks when I was seventeen and volunteered at the St. Louis police department.” She laughed. “Mama had a fit. She tried to talk the captain out of hiring me, but there was a shortage of peace officers. He reassured her that they’d watch out for me. And they did. They were a great bunch of people.”
“Why law enforcement?” he wanted to know.
“I’m not sure. I think I was looking for a way out of marrying this man Mama had picked out for me,” she confessed. “He was a lot older than I was, very rich, and she said he’d take care of me.” She pursed her lips. “Two years after that, he was arrested for dealing drugs. I was in on the bust. Mama was appalled,” she added on a chuckle.
“So much for her judgment,” he agreed.
“She wanted me to marry and have a family.” She shrugged. “I knew that wasn’t going to happen,” she added sadly.
He frowned. “Why not?”
She lowered her eyes to the top button of his jacket. Snow was falling beyond the porch. “I’m clumsy and old-fashioned. Not pretty, like a lot of women. I don’t move with the times.”
“But you’re lovely,” he said softly, scowling. “Didn’t you know? It’s what’s inside you that matters. You’re tender and loving and you never quit on the people you care about. Those are virtues.”
“Being tender and loving with perps is not an option,” she said, trying to lighten the conversation.
“I’ve made you feel small for years,” he said sadly. “I didn’t even know why. Picking on you became a defense mechanism.”
