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After a couple of drinks his conscience started to work on him. He couldn’t stop thinking about that damn dog, imagining the undernourished mutt sitting on a cold concrete floor at the pound, cringing and snarling every time someone walked by. That’s no way to find an owner, he wanted to shout at it. Wag your tail, look happy to see folks, muster up a little warmth and puppy charm.
He was on his fifth, or maybe it was his sixth, bourbon, his mind flipping back and forth between the dog and his last day in Damascus, when the two images merged. He heard a whimper and instead of an injured boy, he was carrying the abandoned pup through mortar blasts and crossfire. Up ahead was the brick building. If he hurried, he’d make it—
A hand gripped his shoulder. “Wha’ the—?” he said, startled into flinging his head up and back.
A familiar chestnut-haired figure in a blue corduroy shirt and jeans stood beside him. Aidan. Marc slumped down in his wheelchair. “You mus’ come here ’lot,” he joked feebly. “This’s the sec’nd time this week you been in the pub.”
His cousin took the glass from his hand and set it on the table. “I’m tired of rescuing you from yourself, bud. It’s time you found another form of entertainment.”
“Stay ’n have a drink,” Marc said when Aidan took hold of the hand grips at the back of the chair and pulled him away from the table.
“Can’t. Emily’s waiting in the car.” Aidan waved to the bartender and started for the exit.
“I can push myself,” Marc protested but Aidan was walking too fast for Marc to get hold of the turning wheels. He twisted in his chair and squinted up at his cousin. “You’re not mad, are you?”
“I’ll be mad if you drink yourself to death after surviving that bomb blast.” He started to help Marc into the truck and without the coordination to transfer himself, Marc was forced to accept.
Emily, Aidan’s six-year-old daughter stared at Marc. “What’s wrong with Marc, Daddy?”
“He’s drunk,” Aidan said bluntly.
Marc winced and turned away from the little girl’s expression of pity and distaste. Once upon a time she’d begged for piggyback rides, shrieking with laughter as he galloped her around the yard. Now, God help him, even the child could see he was sinking.
He stayed away from the pub the next day, and every day that week. But although the hangover wore off, he found he was still thinking about the pup. On Friday after his physiotherapy he checked and discovered that Fiona’s notices were still up in store windows. That meant she hadn’t found a home for the pooch. Marc tried to reason with himself—it was just a dog, for goodness’ sake—but by four o’clock the unfairness of the animal’s fate had him agitated.
“You’re going to wear holes in my carpet wheeling back and forth like that,” Leone complained. She’d just walked in the door after making her rounds as a public-health nurse and was still in her navy blue skirt and jacket. “What’s wrong with you?”
Marc stopped suddenly, blocking her way. “Would you object to me getting a puppy?”
“Do you mean that poor creature your friend Fiona brought over? Of course not. He would be a companion for Rufus with Jim and I both working full-time.”
“Great. I’ll go get him right now. Otherwise Fiona’ll take him to the pound.”
“Give me a minute to change and I’ll drive you,” Leone said. “There’s a special on rump steak at the Pemberton market.” Marc’s eyebrows rose and she added, “Not for the dog!”
A short time later Leone was pulling onto the highway to Pemberton. “What’s her address?”
Marc could have kicked himself—metaphorically speaking. He’d never asked her where she lived and of course she’d never volunteered such information. Then he remembered the notice—which he’d left sitting on top of his dresser in his hurry to be off.
“Let me think.” Shutting his eyes, he visualized the sheet of paper. Free to a good home: Jack Russell–cross puppy. Call Fiona 555-6283. With the image of the numbers imprinted on the back of his eyelids, Marc felt in his pocket for his cell phone and dialed.
A young man answered and said Fiona was out in the barn and could he get her to call him back?
“Has she found a home for the puppy?” Marc demanded. “She hasn’t taken it to the pound, has she?”
“No, the little fella’s right here, snoozing on my lap. I think she’s planning on taking him to the pound when she comes in.” The young man added hopefully, “Why? Do you want him?”
“Yes. I’m on my way now. What’s your address?”
Marc found pen and paper in the glove compartment and wrote down the address, repeating it aloud as he did so. Half an hour later they were pulling into the gravel driveway of an older-style home set on a large property outside town. Alpacas grazed in the field next to a red barn. Late roses bloomed along the footpath and red-and-gold dahlias were staked up in a garden bed under the windows.
But what drew Marc’s attention was the wheelchair ramp that zigzagged from the path to the front door.
The absurd thought struck him that she’d been expecting him. Ridiculous. The ramp was weathered and worn, obviously in use for many years.
“At least you won’t have a problem getting inside,” Leone commented pragmatically. “Did you want me to come in? Because if not, I’ll run down to the grocery store and pick up a few things for dinner.”
“Go ahead. I’ll be fine.”
Leone got his wheelchair out of the car and tried to help him into it but Marc waved her off. The feeling of helplessness, of having to rely on others, was the part he hated the most. If he was forced to spend more than a few months in this contraption he’d be looking into a car with hand controls. But of course, it wouldn’t come to that.
Leone stood back while he got himself settled and wheeled over to the footpath. “Shall I push you?”
“I’m fine.” He softened his curt tone. “Thanks for the ride.”
Leone got back into the car with a promise to return in twenty minutes. Marc started up the long ramp.
IN THE BARN, FIONA RAN the brush over Snowdrop’s soft white wool and wondered what Angela Wilde was knitting with the animal’s cria fleece. Something special, she hoped. She could ask Liz to find out…
What was her interest here, she asked herself sharply— Angela and the fleece, or Angela’s connection to the Wilde family? Bill had told her he’d had to call Marc’s cousin again to pick Marc up the afternoon she’d gone to UBC Marc hadn’t been in the pub since. Had he finally found more worthwhile pursuits? For his sake, she hoped so.
She glanced at her watch and reluctantly put the brush away. No one had called about the dog. It was time to take him to the pound. With a heavy heart she walked back to the house, trailed by Bilbo and Baggins who’d waited faithfully at the barn door for her.
Jason greeted her at the door, cradling the dog. “A man called who wants to adopt the puppy. He should be here any minute.”
“Wonderful!” The relief made her smile. “Who is he?”
“He didn’t give his name but he sounded vaguely familiar,” Jason said.
Just then, the puppy in his lap lifted his head, ears pricked. A second later they heard the sound of a car drive up.
Fiona handed Jason the dog brush so he could quickly groom the puppy. The animal didn’t look quite so scrawny as when they’d first got him, but he still cowered whenever anyone put out a hand to pat him. She hoped whoever was at the door wouldn’t be put off by that but instead treated the dog with compassion and kindness.
There was a knock and she went through the living room to answer it. Opening the door set off a burst of heavy-metal rock music pitched at deafening volume. Fiona, who ordinarily used the back door, remembered too late Jason’s latest “invention.” Marc looked as startled at the sound as she was to see him.
“You!” Fiona exclaimed but the sound of her voice was drowned out by the ear-piercing twang of electronic guitar. “Come in,” she yelled, motioning him over the threshold. She shut the door and blessed silence reigned. “Sorry about that. My brother is an electronics nut.”
Marc’s hands gripped his wheels. “I’ve decided to take the dog, after all.”
Fiona crossed her arms over her chest. Secretly she was delighted but after the things he’d said she was going to make him work for this. “Are you sure you can take care of him?”
Marc glowered at her. “I can do a lot more in this chair than most people can on two legs.”
“What will you do with the dog when you take off into the wild blue yonder?” she demanded, flinging an arm skyward.
“Not a problem,” Marc assured her. “My aunt and uncle will be happy to keep him. If they fall through, I’ve got two cousins. Between us we’ll make sure he has a home.”
Fiona tapped her foot, pretending to be debating the issue. “Why did you change your mind?”
“What difference does it make as long as the mutt has a home?”
“Admit it, you fell in love with him at first sight.”
He glanced at his watch. “My aunt will be back in twenty minutes at which time I’m leaving, with or without the dog.”
With a sigh, Fiona stepped aside and let him pass. “Go straight ahead. He’s in the kitchen at the back with my brother.”
Jason, his wheelchair parked beside the table, was still brushing the puppy. “Hi.”
Marc came to an abrupt halt on the threshold of the kitchen and threw her an odd look.
“This is my brother, Jason,” she said. “Jason, this is Marc Wilde.”
“No wonder your voice sounded familiar on the telephone!” Jason exclaimed. “Wow! I can’t believe you’re actually in our kitchen. The last time I saw you on TV you were in Damascus with bombs going off….” Jason’s voice trailed away as he realized what he was saying. “Gosh, Mr. Wilde, I’m sorry. About what happened, I mean.”
“Forget it. Call me Marc.” Marc wheeled closer to peer at the dog. “How’s the pup?”
“He’s coming along,” Fiona said. “I took him to the vet for his shots and a microchip in his ear for identification.” She paused. “The vet estimated he’s about eight weeks old. He’ll be the right age to be neutered in four months. You will do the right thing, won’t you?”
“Don’t worry— I’m not in the habit of leaving progeny scattered in my wake and neither will my dog.”
He’d spoken absently and without even looking her way, yet Fiona felt heat creep into her cheeks. Good grief, anyone would think she was someone’s maiden aunt. She moved to the other side of the island benchtop to get out the bag of dry puppy food. He’s here for the dog, she reminded herself.
“You can take this to get you started,” she said, setting the bag by the door. “Be sure to give him plenty of water.”
“I’ve owned a dog before.” Marc reached out for the puppy and Jason handed him over. Immediately the dog began trembling.
“He’ll get used to you before long,” Fiona assured him, worried Marc might change his mind even now.
Marc held the puppy and stroked it for a few minutes. The trembling increased. He put the dog on the floor where it huddled instead of running around and exploring. “Is he sick?”
“Just scared,” Fiona said. “The vet checked him out thoroughly.”
“Does he ever bark?” Marc asked.
Fiona glanced at Jason. “We’ve never heard him.”
“Has he got a name?”
“I’ve held off calling him anything because I thought his new owner should name him.”
Fiona stood between Marc and Jason and the three of them stared at the cowering pup. He really wasn’t the most prepossessing animal.
“I’ll call him Rowdy,” Marc said at last. “Give him something to live up to.”
Fiona couldn’t help but smile. “I’m sure he will in time.”
“Can you stay for dinner?” Jason blurted out. “I made minestrone soup. It’ll give Rowdy time to get to know you before you take him away. And,” he added shyly, “I’d love to hear about your experiences in the Middle East.”
Marc looked surprised at the unexpected invitation. “Thanks, Jason—”
Fearing he was about to add a “but…” Fiona jumped in. “It’s awfully short notice, Jase. I’m sure Marc has other things to do. Plus his aunt is coming back for him.”
Marc glanced at her. “I could always call Leone on her cell phone and ask her to come later.”
“Great!” Jason said. “I’ll heat up some garlic bread.”
“Fine,” Fiona said wondering why she was reluctant for Marc to stay. Jason needed more male company, especially now that high school was over and his friends had gone off to college and new jobs. But not Marc. Instinctively she felt he would be a disturbing influence, infecting Jason with his discontent.
Marc’s presence made the kitchen seem crowded and it wasn’t just because his wheelchair took up extra space. Fiona moved nervously around the room, pulling out the table, setting an extra place, aware of Marc’s gaze on her as he petted the dog.
“I gather you like Greece,” he said, nodding at the posters.
“I’ve never been,” Fiona admitted. “But I’d like to.” She paused to gaze at one of the posters. “Something about the light and the blueness of the water and sky attracts me.”
“You’ll go someday.”
She uttered a short laugh. “In my dreams.”
Fiona carried the food to the table and they seated themselves. She bowed her head to say a few words of thanksgiving and then handed around bowls of Jason’s steaming savory soup and hunks of buttery garlic bread sprinkled with fresh herbs from the pots she grew outside the back door.
In response to Jason’s prodding, Marc told them tales of his travels through war-torn countries. She noticed he didn’t embellish his own role or glorify war, concentrating instead on the bravery and fortitude of the local people who survived in near-impossible conditions. A different side to him shone through, one she admired.
“You’ve got a knack for bringing their stories to life,” Fiona said. “Yasmina, the schoolteacher, seems as real as, well, me.”
“People aren’t that different the world over, not where it counts,” Marc said with a shrug. “Jason, this soup is delicious.”
Jason blushed to the roots of his hair. “Thanks.”
“How old are you, seventeen, eighteen?”
“I turned eighteen last month.”
“Then you’ve finished high school,” Marc said. Jason nodded. “What are your plans for the future?”
“I want to go to university—” Jason began.
“Good plan,” Marc said. “Education opens doors.”
“—but Fiona won’t let me,” Jason finished.
Shocked her brother would say that in front of a stranger, Fiona froze as Marc turned to look in her direction.
CHAPTER FOUR
MARC’S GAZE FLICKERED from Jason to Fiona, trying to fathom the undercurrents of tension that had suddenly risen to the surface between brother and sister.
“That’s not strictly true, Jase,” Fiona said tightly. To Marc she added, “We’re exploring his options.”
