by Grace Greene
Sandra shivered. It was cold and clammy. If nothing else, Honey would be suffering from hypothermia.
Time to finish this.
As she eased herself down the remaining distance, she shifted from supporting herself by her forearms to her hands. The muscles in her arms trembled, and she knew she had passed the point of being able to pull herself back up into the building, and she nearly panicked. She was still descending into oozing mud, with no hard surface yet in contact.
Sandra tried to maneuver her legs to the side, seeking the edge of the muddy space. Her foot hit something solid. Maybe a board? She kept one foot on it, slanted though it was, and tried to shift her hands for a better grip on the broken boards above.
Splinters bit into her palms. She reacted instinctively and lost her grip. She knew she was going down and tried to control her landing. She didn’t want to fall on Honey or do a face-plant in the mud.
Her hands landed on a solid yet soft, matted body. Honey whined. Sandra felt Honey’s muscles move as she tried to pull away but with little result.
Sandra settled on her knees, thankfully not continuing to slip deeper into the mud, at least as long as she didn’t move much. She ran her hands lightly over the dog’s body. Honey didn’t seem to be in pain. Assuming she’d been here the whole time, Honey was suffering from food and water deprivation, but the biggest problem was probably hypothermia.
The light was brighter now beneath the building. If she could get her head back over the top of the pit, she’d be able to see what was around them.
Sandra assessed the situation as best she could in the low light. She was on her knees, and she sensed that the slope continued downward a bit farther. If she moved wrong and started sliding again, she’d find out for sure. The top of the pit was level with her forehead. If the ground had been dry, any good-size dog could’ve managed to scramble out. It was the mud that made it impossible.
And the water. The rain had stopped, yet a small stream continued to trickle in.
If she could leverage herself behind Honey and push the dog up by her flanks . . .
Sandra felt through the mud to find Honey’s back end. She settled both hands under Honey’s hips but could hardly budge her. Sandra put her hand on Honey’s chest. Yes, her heart was still beating, but there was little warmth in her body.
If Honey couldn’t help . . .
Sandra would simply try harder. “Aunt Barbara, if you only knew . . . ,” she muttered. She dug her feet down into the stinking mud and tried to fit most of her body at the tail end of Honey’s and envisioned pushing her up. It was slippery, but she could overcome gravity. She could do this.
Her feet, her legs, slid farther down. Honey slid another inch or two with her.
She would have to leave Honey to get help. Sandra tried to work herself up, to grip the top of the pit. She’d get herself clear, if she could, then run for her phone.
She heard an engine.
A truck. Colton’s truck. But how would he know she was here? The engine rumbling stopped.
“Colton!” she shouted. Her voice hardly carried, lost in that muddy pit. She needed to move up higher. She needed to yell with force. This was their chance. A real chance. Colton would know what to do. Between them, they could make this rescue happen.
She dug her fingers over the edge and stretched toward the top. She was able to pull up, not enough to climb out, but she had a window that she needed to make good use of before the mud shifted and she lost the opportunity.
“Help!” she called again. The truck had pulled up near the building and parked by a clump of trees. A drier area. The door opened. She heard the truck door slam. She saw cowboy boots. The bottom of the truck was also visible. Black. Not green.
A stranger. Not her first choice, but she was willing to beg for any help. No matter what.
She opened her mouth to call out again. But something held her back. Even the reality of a dying dog couldn’t hush the warning voice in her head.
“Somebody here?” the man yelled.
Sandra went still.
Trent.
Her jaw clamped shut. She pulled back, wishing the mud would swallow her. She couldn’t think, couldn’t allow herself to think, because the questions would start, followed by the swift realization that she had failed again.
He walked over to the porch and stopped. She remembered her jacket had snagged on the post.
“Last chance,” he said. “Thought I heard someone call for help?”
Her tendons turned to mush. She lost her grip and slid back down into the muddy ooze. Her knee hit Honey, and Sandra remembered it wasn’t about her.
“Here,” she said. Not loudly.
“Hello?”
Sandra looked up at the floor above her head and shouted, “I’m here! I need help!”
“That you, Sandy?” His voice sounded clearer, closer. She imagined him kneeling, peering into the dark.
“It’s me, Trent.”
He moved around to the back of the building. It gave him a better view. She could see better, too, when she struggled back up a few inches.
“What are you doing under there? Are you in some sort of hole? You hurt?”
“I’m not hurt, but I need help. Do you have a rope or something?”
He was gone. She heard another slam. A tailgate.
Why was he here? Not exactly an angel sent to help. But accept his help, she must.
“Here, grab this.”
Sandra pushed, and then pulled up again. Trent was several feet under the building, getting closer. He tossed the rope to her.
“Got it? Put your foot in the loop and hold on tight.”
“I have it, but give me a minute to arrange it. I’ll yell when it’s time to pull,” she said.
“I’ll bet you’ve got an interesting story about how you ended up here.”
She was thinking the same thing about him—here despite all her efforts to lose him.
Sandra placed her foot in the loop, put one arm under Honey, and held the rope with her free hand. She drew in a deep breath.
“Pull, but take it slow and easy. I’ve got company in here.”
“Company?”
“A dog. She’s hurt.”
“You’re kidding. I haven’t heard a bark. Sure she’s not dead?”
“Slow and easy, please.”
“Yes, ma’am. You know me. Whatever you want, I’m your man. But, Sandy, you’re gonna owe me for this.” He laughed.
Trent was tall. His shoulders were broad. He looked like the good guy in an old western. She never doubted that he could pull that rope with his bare hands and haul both herself and a nearly dead dog out of that mud. The problem wasn’t whether he could—it was what it would cost her.
“OK, OK. Stop.” She was covered in that gritty mess of mud. Being dragged hurt.
Trent dropped the rope and crawled toward them under the building, apparently oblivious of the mud. He pushed his fingers in Honey’s side, poking at her. “She’s not responding.”
“Stop that,” Sandra muttered, exhausted.
Trent grabbed the dog behind one foreleg and pulled her toward him. She kicked a paw and whimpered but didn’t try to rise. When he had her closer to him, he grasped the other leg and got her the rest of the way out.
“Not dead. But not far from it.” He lifted the dog’s body as if it weighed nothing and walked away.
Sandra struggled from under the building. She reached the outside and stood carefully, resting one hand against the side for a moment. Feeling steadier, she looked down the length of her body. An hour ago, she’d been standing on the front porch admiring the day. Now . . .
Now she’d found Honey. That was the important thing to remember.
And Trent had found her.
He was at the truck. Honey wasn’t moving.
She hurried over. Trent was at the back and was sliding Honey onto the truck bed. He reached up and unhooked the protective bed cover to get it out of the way.
/> He cast a quick look at Sandra. “Where to?”
Sandra experienced a moment of blankness as she fought the urgent need to turn away from him. She forced herself to meet his eyes. “The vet’s office.”
He gave her another look, this one longer, clearly referencing the mud. “Like that?”
“I’ll ride in the back with Honey.”
“Why? She won’t make it anyway.”
Honey chose that moment to lift her head an inch and raise one leg to paw the air weakly. Sandra climbed onto the tailgate. There were some stuffed plastic bags in the way, and she shoved them back to make room.
Trent put one arm around her and hoisted her out of the truck bed. “Stay out of there. Follow me.”
He dragged a canvas tarp from the backseat and spread the rough fabric across the passenger’s side seat, back, and floorboard, and part of the driver’s seat.
“Get in.”
“I’m riding with Honey.”
“I know. Get inside, Sandra.”
Trent was displeased, but he was cooperating. For now. It didn’t matter what he thought she owed him for his help. He had owed her far more, and then there was the question of how he’d come to be here. She clamped her jaws shut as he carried Honey from the truck bed around to where she sat. One thing at a time, she cautioned herself. She was close to feeling defeated. Honey was in rough shape. Not only might she have to tell Barbara that her dog had been missing, but that she was also dead. Not dead yet, Sandra reminded herself.
“Turn right when you reach the main road,” she said, “and stay on it until the T intersection, then turn right. The vet’s office is a few miles north.” Then she settled back in her seat, wanting to relax but knowing it was beyond her.
How had he tracked her down?
She refocused on Honey. The mud was lathered, slathered, and caked in her coat. Her eyes opened a fraction. When Sandra held her hand on Honey’s chest, she felt a vibration inside.
“You don’t like dogs, Sandra.” He said it almost as an invitation to disagree.
She held her breath when they crossed the wooden bridge over the creek. Her small car making it across was one thing. Trent’s big truck was something else. But Colton had managed without difficulty, and his pickup wasn’t that much smaller than Trent’s. The creek water was high and rushing past but still well below the planks.
Even when she resumed breathing, silence didn’t seem like a bad choice. Less room for error. She had to get through this. Stray raindrops hit the windshield as they drove along. The truck interior looked the same. Nothing out of place, ever, in Trent’s life.
They reached the fork. “Turn here,” she said.
“It’s getting late. Hope the vet’s in.”
Sandra pressed her lips together, refusing to respond. She smoothed the filthy fur away from Honey’s face. The dog was a mess and smelled. She did, too.
A sense of unreality crept in. One thing at a time. She’d been in tight spots before.
The tension in Honey’s body shifted as the dog lay across her lap. She hoped her own body warmth would help warm up Honey. She wanted to speak to Honey, to murmur reassurance, but not in front of Trent.
As they drove along, Trent shifted his hands on the steering wheel. She recognized the movement. Impatience.
“You haven’t asked.” He let the end of the sentence draw out.
She refused the invitation to engage.
He shrugged. “So why don’t you tell me something? What’s with the dog?”
Trent’s voice, or perhaps it was her own tension, but something caused Honey to raise her head again. Sandra scratched the dirt under the dog’s chin. “It’s all right, girl.”
“You never liked dogs.”
“I never liked your dog.” Darn it. She hadn’t meant to get drawn in. She pressed her lips together. No more.
“That’s why you left, isn’t it? Over Leo? You said he snapped at you.”
There was no law that said she had to talk to him. She caught her lower lip between her teeth. She caressed Honey’s neck. Honey moved her head and peeked at Sandra again. She rested a paw on Sandra’s arm.
Sandra’s chest tightened, and her eyes stung. She couldn’t cry here. She couldn’t expose that weakness in front of Trent. Instinctively, she reached up to touch her eye and saw her hand in time. And her sleeves, her shirt, her pants . . . now she really felt like crying.
She hadn’t been this dirty when she was homeless. What would the vet and his staff think?
OMG. She didn’t have to check her pockets to know she had nothing. No ID. No cash. Not a credit card. Would they turn Honey away?
Her throat tried to close. Her chest tightened. She tried to relax, to envision what that looked like, felt like. She closed her eyes and discreetly tried to keep the air moving, to hold it in her lungs and fight the constriction. But discreet or not, with every breath, Sandra felt Trent’s keen attention. He knew.
He saw her weakness. Like a laser, he could pinpoint her fear before she even knew it was building.
The vet’s office was open. The lobby was lit, and the sign was turned to OPEN.
Trent came around to the passenger’s side and gathered Honey in his arms. As he hovered over Sandra, touching her, she stayed emotionally in neutral. Trent seemed willing to keep this low-key and civil.
As he stepped back, Sandra slid out of the seat, and as she opened the door to the office, she called out, “We need help, please!”
Trent carried Honey inside, and the gal at the desk rushed over—the same one who’d been here when she stopped by with Colton and Aaron.
The woman went to an interior door, opened it, and called out, “Doc Walker? We have an emergency!”
CHAPTER NINE
Trent rushed into the examining room with Honey in his arms, and Sandra was left standing in the entry, lost in a feeling of unreality. Having escaped the horror of being trapped in a muddy pit with a dying dog, to now being trapped in the vet’s office with Trent, should be enough to cause anyone to break down, and yet, what else was she to do? Refuse his help? Again, it pricked at her. How had he found her? How had he come to be there? And why was Trent standing at the table with the doctor and the vet tech while she, Sandra, hovered in the reception area?
She heard words. Dehydrated . . . Possibly aspirated . . . They pulled her toward the action, but she didn’t want to get in the way. She didn’t want to be asked questions. She didn’t know any answers.
A soft voice behind her caused her to jump. A hand touched her arm. The gal from the front desk asked, “Are you OK?” Sandra must’ve looked confused because the girl added, “You look like you’ve been through . . . a lot.”
Sandra looked down at her clothing. The drying mud was shedding on the clean tile floor.
“I’m sorry for the mess.”
“No, no worries at all,” she said with a laugh. “When you’re ready, would you let me know? We should fill out the paperwork.”
There it was—the official financial stuff. Her stomach plummeted. “I’m sorry,” she repeated. Sandra gave up on watching what was happening in the examining room and followed the receptionist back to the desk.
“I have money, but it’s back at the house. I didn’t have time to go home first. I hope you’ll trust me for it.”
The woman looked startled. “Again, no worries. I can see the situation. I’m glad you found your dog.” She looked toward the room. “And in time, I think. It’s a miracle.”
A miracle. Sandra could use one. Honey, too. Was it a miracle or a sick joke? Maybe if the truck had belonged to someone other than Trent.
“You didn’t give up, and it paid off.”
“You remember us?”
The woman laughed gently as she shuffled a few papers onto a clipboard. “How could we not? We’ve been getting calls from you twice a day asking if we’d seen or heard anything of her. Plus that little boy of yours is so cute. He called a bunch of times, too. Did you know?”
Little boy of mine? Sandra almost corrected her and then realized it didn’t matter.
“I thought the other guy was your husband, but I guess not. This is a different man.” She looked toward the examining room door. “Not my business anyway.”
Sandra nodded toward the room where Trent and Honey were. “He’s . . . he’s someone I used to know. He surprised me with a visit today.”
“Like I said, none of my business. I apologize for being nosy.” She handed the clipboard to Sandra. “Honestly, I hate asking you to do this. You must feel awful about your dog, and with all you’ve been through. I can’t begin to imagine. Give me what information you can, and we’ll finish it up later. Meanwhile, I’ll see if I can get an update on her condition. Also, we have coffee in the back. Would you like some?”
“Thanks for your help. No thanks to the coffee.” She stood, staring at the door to the examining room. She should be in there beside the table, hearing what the doc was saying. She should be there for Honey to see, for them to see that she, Sandra, was reliable, that she cared about her aunt’s dog. But she felt collapsed inside. What more could she do for the dog anyway, other than what was already being done?
Sandra stayed at the counter. She was a walking mud ball. How could she sit in the chairs? As she filled out the form, her sleeve dragged. It was stiff and filthy. She pushed it up, out of the way, but her arm was filthy, too.
The receptionist returned with a cup of water and set it near Sandra’s arm.
“He’s giving her some fluids. She’s responding well. He thinks she may have aspirated some of that mud. He’ll probably keep her overnight. That’s a guess, but we’ll know for sure soon.”
The vet decided to keep Honey overnight.
“Overall, she’s responding well,” Dr. Walker said.
Sandra was unconvinced. Honey was dirty, her coat matted, and her eyes looked inflamed. Her breathing seemed steady, if a little labored, and she attempted to rise as the vet’s assistant cleaned the mud away from her muzzle and eyes.
“She’s hydrating now. We’ll try some food later, if all continues as I hope. I’m worried about her lungs, though.” He rested his hand on her chest, then nodded. “If she feels like eating later and I don’t see anything developing, then I’ll feel very encouraged.” He nodded again. “So Trent said you and the dog were stuck in a hole under an abandoned building?”
