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“Must make it interesting during heat cycles.” Craig eyed the dense mass of Gino and envisioned his sire. Substantial, like the son, and probably difficult to discourage when a nearby female was in heat.
“Neighbors take him.”
“I see.”
His cell phone vibrated. He glanced at the numerical page and bit back a twinge of guilt when Maggie James’ number flashed in the small display.
He’d dated the local nurse several times over the winter, making her what? The third nurse he’d dated? Fourth, he realized. Amy, Kayla, Brianna and Maggie. Hadn’t his buddy Marc joked that the hospital installed a new warning system designed to alert the female staff when he was on site? Very funny.
He’d ended the short-lived relationship after the Maple Fest. What should have been a fun late-winter day had been relegated to shopping indoor craft booths because Maggie hadn’t dressed warmly enough for the outdoor festival, more concerned with her outfit than the event.
Craig liked people. He embraced country life, the rigors of treating animals in all kinds of conditions. He felt equally at home in office or barn.
But not sheep barns.
Employing gentle twists and flicks, he withdrew the last barbs from the dog’s muzzle, then stepped away to gather ointment and antibiotics. After glancing at his watch, he wrote instructions on a small prescription pad.
“You know how to administer pills to a dog?”
“Yes.”
He handed Sarah the vial and the salve. “Apply the salve twice a day. The pills are an antibiotic to prevent infection. Some of those quills went deep. You’ve got enough for ten days. If you see signs of infection or need a follow-up, give Hank a call.”
They both understood the meaning of his words. Nodding, she sank her hand into the dog’s ruff. “Come on, fella. Let’s go.”
“He’ll be woozy. Might want to wait a few minutes, let him shake off the effects of the anesthetic.” Regardless of the human awkwardness, the dog should have a few minutes of quiet, rejoin-the-world time. Walking the thick-set dog through the door, Sarah nodded, her chin tucked.
“We’ll wait outside so you can close up.” The weight of the dog listed her step. At the second entry she turned. “You stayed late,” she said, her deep tone a blend of smooth gold and rough, gravel roads. A different sound, unique to her. A voice that suited her caramel skin, the long, thick braid, the high cheekbones that hinted at her Native American ancestry. She looked anywhere but at him. “Thank you.”
He had no pleasantries to exchange with her. Nothing that wouldn’t sound trite and manufactured. He huffed a breath as he shut and locked the door.
Minutes later he cruised out of the lot. Slowing his SUV to negotiate the turn, he noted the woman and dog in the cold front yard of the veterinary clinic.
Straight and still, she perched on the verdigris-armed bench outside the main entrance. The dog, equally quiet, sat upright, his chin angled with pride, mimicking her stance.
Maremmas. Great guard dogs, good bonders when housed with a flock at an early age. Smart. Independent. Faithful, not easily cowed. Willing to go their own way, awaiting no man’s guidance.
As he observed the dignified profiles of dog and woman, Craig couldn’t help but see how well they suited one another.
Chapter Two
Wherefore hidest thou thy face, and forgettest our affliction and our oppression? Sarah finished the words of the forty-fourth Psalm mentally, kneading Gino’s ruff as he sloughed off his grogginess.
The poignant words touched her with their talk of sheep and oppression. Enemies. The poem was an aged song of lament and pathos. It helped smooth the dent to her self-worth, gouged deeper by Craig Macklin’s disdain. How she wished…
Nope. She wouldn’t go there. Refused to go there. Craig Macklin was entitled to his opinion, no matter how unreasonable it might be. Craig’s reticence toward sheep was no secret among the local herders. The vets worked things out between them, leaving Hank the man to consult for sheep and goat problems.
By default, being a shepherd and a Slocum gave the younger veterinarian a two-fold reason to avoid Sarah, a task he did well. Knowing his grandmother’s circumstance, Sarah understood why, but wished she didn’t bear responsibility for her half brother’s actions.
But she’d get nowhere feeling sorry for herself. No way, no how. She led Gino to the scarred pickup. The old Ford wasn’t snazzy like Craig’s polished 4X4, but it had a certain dignity in its aged finish, a little rough around the edges. Like me, she noted, shifting to allow Gino access.
The thought made her smile.
The memory of Craig’s face erased it. The tall, handsome, sandy-haired vet usually steered clear of Sarah. At community functions he looked around her, avoiding eye contact. His animosity toward Slocums was unspoken but obvious.
She had never sought his help in a farm crisis. Today was an aberration.
Craig Macklin knew his stuff, though. In her years of farming, she’d never heard a complaint against him, and North Country farmers were not easily appeased. His thick, sturdy hands had been firm but gentle as he treated Gino.
She stopped by the local grocery before heading to her sister-in-law’s home in Potsdam. Leaving Gino sleeping in the cab, she approached the front door.
No one answered her knock. She leaned on the bell with more force than should be necessary, if it were working. Obviously not.
Unlocked, the door swung inward with ease. She stepped in, her nose telling her the whole place could use a thorough cleaning. Her eyes took time to adjust to the darkness Rita called home.
“Rita? It’s Sarah. I’ve brought things.”
No answer.
Sarah shifted the sacks and pushed through the antique swinging door between the rooms, its warm russet grain a comfort.
The kitchen was empty of people, but littered with debris.
Sarah grimaced, shifted piles of mail and old newspapers, then set the groceries on the table before she headed upstairs, calling Rita’s name. A glance out the landing window showed Gino still asleep on the bench seat of the F-250. The driver’s-side window was cracked open, but she didn’t dare leave him long untended. A good dog, but young. He could get into mischief without direction.
Calling Rita’s name once more, Sarah crossed the upstairs hall and twisted the knob on her sister-in-law’s room. “Reet? You sleeping?”
A slight movement revealed her sister-in-law’s presence on the bed. Sarah stepped in, reached for the light, then rethought her choices. “I brought a few things. Where are the kids?”
“Movies. Liv took them.”
“Nice. What did they go to see?”
Rita shifted, then rolled, a pillow clutched to her chest. “Some animated thing.”
Sarah blinked. There was no animated movie playing in town. Did Liv take the car? Drive to Canton? She was two years shy of her license but she’d pulled some interesting deals recently. Sarah scanned the driveway through the nearby window. “Is the car in the garage?”
Rita’s old-fashioned garage was behind the home, not visible from this angle.
“In the drive.”
Sarah bit back words of recrimination. Obviously Liv had taken off with the car and the kids, with Rita clueless as to their whereabouts. Dear Lord, she prayed, trying to ignore the dank smell of despair. The room reeked of hopelessness. Loss of faith. A keen smell, the mix of body salts, sweat and sour breath.
“Come downstairs, Reet. I’ll make us a quick supper.” Then I’ll tackle my niece, she promised silently, her anger rising. Couldn’t Liv see her mother’s desperation, the depression that seized her?
Of course she could. In her own adolescent way, Liv was trying to fill the shoes her parents vacated. The same thing that pushed Sarah to buy a farm on Waterman Hill instead of south of Albany like she’d planned. Rita and the kids needed sensible family around, and that was a scarce commodity in the North Country.
Sarah grasped Rita’s hand. “Come on, Reet. Come down and talk to me; I’ll straighten up the kitchen while we chat.”
“Go away, Sarah.”
The response brought Sarah’s chin higher. “Won’t work, not with me. That’s the one part of Slocum that bred true. I’m stubborn as an ox and you need to eat. Embrace the sunshine. It’s almost spring, Rita. Let’s go down together. Please?”
Rita clutched the pillow tighter. “I can’t. I need to rest.”
All you do is rest, thought Sarah, impatience rising. That’s all you’ve done for over a year.
“You can. You have to. Liv, Brett and Skeeter are counting on you.”
“Not anymore.”
“Reet—”
“Sarah, I’m tired.” Rita’s gaze shifted to the curtained window. She blinked as if the shade-mellowed light hurt her eyes. “So tired.”
The first months following Tom’s death had seemed almost normal. Rita had gone on, looking neither right nor left, as if everything were okay.
But then the insurance company rejected Rita’s claim because of a two-year “no suicide” clause. It had been eighteen months since Tom changed companies.
His smaller policy was intact, but the monetary value was minimal compared to the loss of his income. He had developed a retirement portfolio of stocks and mutual funds outside of his illicit investments, but they were inaccessible to Rita because Ed Slocum’s name was included on the portfolio. Without Ed’s blessing, the fund’s worth remained out of reach until retirement. Twenty-plus years, give or take. And Ed had no intention of divesting the portfolio, regardless of Rita’s financial situation.
Rita had crashed with that realization. Just slid right down into oblivion. Rita, who made eyes widen and mouths water with some of the most beautiful and innovative cakes and pastries the area had ever seen, now lived in a hovel, with ovens that hadn’t been fired up since… Well, probably since the last time Sarah cooked a meal.
Watching the prone figure, Sarah felt overwhelmed. How do I help her, God? How do I ease her out of the pain, out of the darkness?
No answers came in the fetid room. Rita lay still, eyes open but unseeing, wrestling demons Sarah could only imagine. And had no desire to.
A scramble of feet and voices headed toward the kitchen a short time later. The door burst open. Gino, comfortably ensconced on the back porch, ambled to his feet, watchful and curious.
“Hey, Aunt Sarah!”
“Hey, yourself, Skeets. Come here.” Arms wide, Sarah enfolded her youngest niece in a hug, then pressed raspberry kisses to the little girl’s neck. The answering squeal and giggle was justified reward. “Gotcha.”
“That ticklth.” Skeeter’s giggle displayed a gap in her teeth.
“They both fell out, huh?”
“Yeth. Brett says I look like a vampire.” Augmenting the words, she bared her teeth and hissed.
“Oooooo… Brett’s right. You’re positively terrifying. How about setting the table for me?”
“Really? By myself?” Skeet’s excitement quickened Sarah’s heart. Such a little thing, to help a grown-up. Did Skeeter remember such things with her mother? The good times they had? Half her life had been clouded by her parents’ choices. Olivia burst through the door, nose twitching at the smell of food. Brett followed.
“Something smells good. Hey, Gino.” Approaching slowly, Brett let the dog give him a once-over, allowing space and time. Gino offered Brett a measured look, then a good sniff, ending in a typical Maremma token of acceptance. He licked Brett’s face.
“Yuck.” Livvie frowned, disgusted.
Brett grinned, accepting the dog’s ministrations easily. “You’re just jealous ’cause he likes me best.”
“Yeah. Right. Hey, Aunt Sarah.” Liv moved to the stove, her brows lifting in interest. “Smells great.”
“Good.” Sarah eyed her adolescent niece and stirred the extra pot of gravy. Chicken and biscuits were a favorite, but biscuit topping robbed the gravy beneath. Extra was never a bad thing. Shifting her attention, she complimented Skeeter for setting the plates, then turned back to Liv. “What movie did you see?”
“Jinx, the Wonder Dog. It’s about a dog that turns into a cartoon action hero.”
“Really?”
Her tone put Liv on the defensive. “Yeah. Why?”
“Was it good?”
“It was really good,” interjected Skeets, setting forks and knives in random fashion. Sarah re-directed her, showing her where each utensil belonged.
“How did you get there?”
“Drove.” Opening the fridge, Liv pulled out a jug of juice and tipped some into one of the few clean glasses.
Sarah hiked a brow Liv’s way as she set out a fresh green salad. “When did you get your license, Liv?”
“I didn’t drive.” Liv laughed, emphasizing the pronoun. “Shannon Connors did. She got her license in February. They moved into the old Rafferty house.”
“She drove your mother’s car?”
“Sure. Her parents both work and our car just sits here. Mom said it was okay,” she added.
Sarah fought the sigh. No doubt Rita okayed the trip, then promptly forgot she’d given permission for someone to use her car. How long would it take two normal adolescents to realize the advantage they had when their one authority figure lay motionless, hour upon hour?
“She’s a careful driver?”
Liv shrugged her dislike at being questioned. “We’re alive, aren’t we?”
Sarah changed the subject. “Supper will be ready in ten minutes. Anybody need help with homework?”
“I don’t have any.” Skeet’s lack of teeth swirled the words together. Sarah smiled.
“Got mine done in study hall,” Brett confirmed, his hand buried in the ruff of Gino’s coat.
“How about you, Liv? Anything I can help you with?”
“For starters, you could stop playing mother.” Her harsh tone brought Brett and Skeeter’s heads up. They stared. “I’m tired of people showing up out of the blue, telling us what to do. We manage on our own.”
Her anger reminded Sarah of herself at a similar age, her mother recently buried, her family divided. Oh, yeah, she had no trouble identifying with Olivia, but she wasn’t big on placating mouthy teens. “Really? That’s good to know. But it would be more convincing if the entire house didn’t resemble a dump.” Sarah cast a look around the kitchen. She’d made some headway. The dishwasher hummed, the counters were clear and the table set. The floor still needed scrubbing, but all in all, the room looked better.
Liv glared. “Maybe we have better things to do than clean up after her.”
“You’re mad that your mother’s sick?”
“She’s not sick, she’s…” Liv hesitated, stumbling over words. “Lazy,” she filled in. “Feeling sorry for herself. Look at this place.” Liv waved her hands, half spinning, half pacing. “It’s gross.”
