Soldier's Rescue

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“I didn’t ask him yet. He’s busy...saving people...and dogs.”

There was a wistful pride in his tone that sent a pang of longing through Kate. Ben sensed his father’s ambivalence toward this whole dog business, so he wasn’t begging or pushing like most eight-year-olds would. He really was a wonderful kid, a remarkable mixture of curiosity, enthusiasm and sensitivity. And those eyes. Big golden pools of wonder rimmed by thick, dark lashes...just like...

Her next free thought was for the boy’s mother. Was she responsible for the attentive, respectful tone Ben displayed toward adults? As Kate tried to imagine the woman who had captured Nick Stanton’s heart and produced such a bright, lovable boy, a knot formed in her stomach.

Not long after that, she heard Gran’s voice and looked up to find her grandmother smiling down at them. Soon they were watching Gran ply her uncanny magic on the little scamps.

“She’s famous for being able to connect with and teach even the most stubborn dogs,” Kate told Ben in hushed tones. “Puppies adore her. Watch this.”

One by one the puppies were lured to Gran by her special charm. They seemed to relish the affection she gave so freely as much as the little training treats she carried in her pocket.

Ben leaned close to Kate. “They did what she said. They sat down. How does she do that?”

Kate gave him a mysterious grin. “We call her ‘the puppy whisperer,’ although she seems to have a similar knack with animals of all kinds. You should see her farm. It’s practically a zoo out there. And the animals all come running to meet her when she walks outside.”

Ben’s eyes were as big as saucers as they turned back to Gran.

When playtime was over, the tired puppies gravitated to Nance and climbed over each other to reach her lap. They nestled against her as she sat cross-legged on the floor, petting them. Before long, her lap was full of sleepy pups. Two of them resisted the lure of nap time in Gran’s lap to continue exploring and they ended up on Kate’s lap, yawning.

As Ben stroked one of the puppies she held, he leaned close to ask, “Are you a puppy whisperer, too?”

She chuckled softly. “I guess so. It seems to run in the family. But Gran has a lot more experience at it that I have.”

After a few quiet moments, Ben helped put them in their basket and carry them back to the run where their mother was waiting.

“Where’s my dad?” Ben asked, looking around as they exited the kennel and crossed the old patio to the office again.

“I’m not sure.” She frowned as they passed through the kitchen-surgery and the empty reception room. “He stepped outside while we were in the puppy room. Let’s go find him.”

CHAPTER FIVE (#u4ba66162-e059-50c0-b434-fe86b50e6321)

THEY FOUND NICK in the farthest exercise yard with a familiar-looking German shepherd, giving commands and waiting patiently as the dog complied. A teenage volunteer was hanging on the fence near the gate with a leash over his shoulder, watching the interplay.

Kate’s jaw dropped as she saw the dog sit, stay, come and retrieve. This was the same shepherd who growled and bared teeth at staff and became a Tasmanian devil when anyone tried to put a leash on him?

Nick seemed unaware of their presence as he worked with the dog, so they waited in silence for a while. The volunteer responded to Nick’s request and entered the yard to put something in his hand. The instant Nick turned to the shepherd, the dog’s nose was quivering. Seconds later, he was being rewarded with treats and pats on the head, the latter of which caused him to freeze for a moment, still wary after accepting Nick’s commands and the treats that meant a job well done.

Nick reached for the leash, and the shepherd allowed him to slip it over his head. There was some resistance when the volunteer tried to lead him back to the kennel, but after a few words from Nick, the shepherd grudgingly followed the volunteer. When Nick turned and spotted Ben and Kate, he headed toward them with a long, military stride that made it seem he could be wearing full dress blues.

“That was him, Goldie’s friend, wasn’t it?” Ben climbed onto the bottom rail of the fence to greet his dad, his face alight with discovery.

“Yeah, that was him,” Nick responded with a smile that made Kate’s stomach quiver. Then he stopped by the fence and looked to her. “It seems Goldie’s friend has had some major training. Maybe even military. Certainly knows verbal and silent commands.”

“And it seems you know how to give those commands,” she said, tilting her head, wishing she could see behind that handsome pair of eyes. “Those dogs you knew in Iraq, right? You were a handler?”

“Not really.” His smile faded. “I took over a few times when handlers got injured or rotated out. The guys attached to our unit taught us the basics, in case...” He halted and after a moment swallowed hard. She noticed, because she couldn’t take her gaze from that muscular neck. Every part of him seemed armored with muscle, impervious—except those eyes, which had darkened and were now avoiding hers.

“You know how to make dogs behave, don’t you, Dad?” Ben’s grin brought back some of the pleasure to Nick’s tight smile.

“Certain dogs.” Nick ruffled Ben’s hair with a big hand and then drew the boy against his side in a half hug. Kate’s stomach dropped. Her knees weren’t feeling any too steady, either.

“It may sound strange,” he continued to Kate, “but I think he’s depressed. It happens to military dogs that lose their handler. They droop physically...lose interest in training...forget how to play.”

“I’ve heard about that, but never treated it. I think you may be right.” Kate looked toward the kennel. “He seemed a lot more energetic just now, not to mention cooperative. Well, now that we know more about him, we can handle him better and start to rehab him. Who knows? Maybe we’ll even be able to find him a forever home.”

Ben looked up at her and seemed puzzled. “A forever home?”

“That’s what we call it when a dog finds people who will love it and make it a part of their family for the rest of its life. A forever home.”

There was a heartbeat’s pause.

“So...some homes aren’t forever?” Ben thought about that, and his eyes darkened as the sense of it hit home. “Some people get dogs and kids, then decide they don’t want them anymore and just...” He glanced up at his dad, then jumped down from the fence and headed for the sanctuary office.

Kate stared after him, speechless, unable to place what he’d said in any reasonable context. She would never have expected to hear such hurt from such a vibrant and seemingly well-adjusted child. Had she totally misread Ben’s relationship with his father? She looked at Nick, but he seemed just as devastated as she was by the emotion packed into Ben’s statement.

“What was that about?” she said, shifting directly in front of Nick.

“It’s not exactly a secret.” Nick’s tone flattened and expression hardened as he spoke. “Ben’s mother left us right after I returned from my last deployment. He had just turned four, and he took it hard. He doesn’t talk about it or about her. But sometimes it comes out...like...now.”

“So his mother is...”

“Not in the picture.” He produced a tight, humorless smile as he stepped to the side and swung over the fence to stand beside her. “It’s just him and me. And my mom. She’s a widow, and she moved in with us after Ben’s mother left. She’s great with him and does everything she can to fill the hole in his life.”

“And who fills the hole in your life?”

It was out before Kate could apply a filter—the thought went straight from her brain out her mouth. His eyes widened a couple of degrees, but otherwise he seemed surprisingly undisturbed by the question and the curiosity that prompted it.

“That wound healed pretty quick,” he said. “We were apart more than we were together, with deployments and all. It’s Ben I worry about. I have to work a lot and don’t get to spend the kind of time with him I’d like.”

“Understandable.” She hooked her thumbs in her pockets. “But then, every parent I’ve ever talked to says the same thing. Time is the one thing there never seems to be enough of when it comes to kids.” She searched his now guarded expression. “If it helps—from an outsider’s point of view—Ben seems to worship you. He talks about you a lot and is very proud of how you help people and dogs.” Back on safer ground now, she smiled. “Fair warning—he wants a dog pretty badly.”

“Yeah, I got that. Seeing him with the golden at your office, then with the puppies—it wasn’t hard to figure out that a dog request is probably in the works.”

“When we were in the puppy room, he said he’d be happy with an older dog. And if I could offer a little advice, that might be a good option for a boy as young as Ben. But all kids want a puppy. The cute factor is overwhelming. I mean—” she remembered his expression in the puppy room too late “—who doesn’t love puppies?”

He straightened and focused on her in a way that made her feel like a specimen under glass. Wow. A shiver ran down her spine at the intensity of his stare. It’s personal, that look said.

She stuttered mentally. More personal than the disintegration of his relationship with the woman who gave birth to his child?

A shout of alarm from one of the volunteers yanked her attention to the end of the long gravel driveway, where two dark lumps lay on the pale crushed shell, one still and the other struggling to move. In the distance, hidden by the trees lining the road, an engine revved and tires squealed. Her nerves snapped taut. Someone had dropped off dogs.

She was in motion before she had a chance to think about it. She ran with two other volunteers to see what had been dropped on their doorstep. By the time she arrived, one of the volunteers was on his knees beside a dog that was scarred and bloodied beyond belief. Its head and ears were so swollen it was hard to identify the breed. The other dog, an American Staffordshire terrier—a male “pittie” from the looks of him—struggled to rise, clearly weakened and dazed from loss of blood. There were open, bleeding wounds all over its blocky head and muscular shoulders.

Instinct told her the motionless dog was probably beyond help, so she focused on the Staffordshire thrashing on the stone, trying to make it to his feet. She put both hands on the dog’s chest and ribs to try to get a sense of his heartbeat while murmuring reassurances, trying to calm him. It felt like his heart was going to jump out of his chest; he was frantic to escape whatever torment he expected at the hands of humans.

“We need to get him inside so I can work on him,” she said to the people gathered around. A familiar pair of arms appeared with a blanket to cover the dog and lift it.

“Ben, go to the car and stay there.” Nick’s voice was strained as he carried the dog down the long drive.

“But, Dad, the dogs are hurt and I can—”

“Go!” Nick thundered. “Now!”

Kate was aware of the boy heading away from the group, shoulders rounded and feet dragging. She looked up at Nick with a question she didn’t get to ask.

“I don’t want him seeing this,” Nick said roughly. “He’s too young. It’ll give him nightmares.”

Kate nodded and ran ahead to make sure the exam table was clear and to prepare the necessary supplies. When she looked up, Isabelle and three other volunteers were crowding the doorway behind Nick, who settled the dog on the table with a grim expression.

“He’s in shock. We have to find out where all that blood is coming from.” It was a short-haired dog, but she gave his front leg a pass with the clippers anyway and then thrust the coil of tubing and needle pack at Nick. “Get this going while I check out his wounds.” She sensed his hesitation and looked up. His face was taut and his jaw was set, but after a moment he went to work establishing the IV, and her gaze moved on to one of the older volunteers, Harry Mueller, who was just pushing into the room. Harry had been the one trying to help the other dog. “What happened?”

Harry wiped his face on his sleeve and shook his head. “Gone.”

“Damn.” She froze for a second and then drew a sharp breath. “Well, let’s see what we can do about saving this one.”

For the next several minutes she worked intently, cleaning away blood and investigating cuts—some jagged rips and others clean slashes. There were fresh scars and lumps that looked like old swelling in several places, including on the dog’s head. Part of one ear had been ripped off recently and was only half-healed. The certainty settled in her gut like a stone. “These are fighting injuries.”

“Yeah,” Nick said, looking around for a place to hang the IV bag, but, finding none, simply held it himself. “From the looks of him, this guy has seen plenty of action. We’ve heard rumors that they’re back in this area. The dogfighting rings.”

“But why would they dump their injured off on us?” Isabelle asked from behind Nick. She folded her arms tightly across her chest as she edged around the others to see the damage for herself. “Don’t they usually just bury the evidence somewhere out of the way and move on?”

No one said anything for a minute, then Kate looked up at the ceiling to clear her vision, then back down at the wound she was stitching. “Maybe somebody had an attack of conscience.”

She quit counting knots after a while; it seemed like she stitched forever, having to layer some in the deeper cuts. Swelling caused some of the lacerations to go together unevenly, leading her to comment that he might not be pretty afterward.

An ache had begun in the small of her back by the time she finished. The group crowded into the doorway had since moved on; only Isabelle and Nick remained.

“That’s it,” she said, snapping off the gloves, tossing them into the nearby can and arching her back. “That’s all we can do. I’ll bring over some antibiotics later, and we’ll have to watch him closely for the next few days.”

“You think he’s got a chance?” Isabelle asked.

“A slim one.” Kate frowned as she studied her handiwork, then turned to the sink to scrub her hands and arms up to the elbows. Her clothes were a disaster. “Maybe twenty-five percent.”

“All that work for twenty-five percent.” Nick’s voice sounded thick.

She reached for a towel and turned to look at him. “Without that work, his odds would have been zero.” She met the storm in his gaze with a calm she had learned at her grandmother’s side. “That’s what we do...better the odds. We give it all we have and trust in the outcome.” She paused and ran a hand gently over the dog’s battered, heavily stitched head. Emotion that had been held at bay by professional duty came rushing in.

“You learn early on, working with animals, that you’re a conduit for healing, not the source,” she said quietly, as much to herself as to him. “We’re not responsible for every life we touch. That’s a burden too big to bear. After a while the weight of that kind of thinking would paralyze us. It’s also a recognition that we’re part of the natural processes of life. We help wherever we can, whenever we can, always knowing that the outcome may be out of our hands.”

Tears pricked her eyes, and she grabbed her stethoscope to busy herself listening to the dog’s heart: slow, but still beating.

Moments later, Gran entered with an anxious expression, towing a young boy behind her.

“Ben and I were wondering what’s happening.”

Nick wheeled and found Ben moving toward the table where the injured dog lay—swollen, stitched and inert—in a mass of bloody cloths.

“Did he die, too?” Ben asked, his eyes wide.

“What the hell?” Nick ground out before checking himself and bending to take Ben by the shoulders. “I told you to—” He reddened with what looked like chagrin and then glowered up at Nance. “He doesn’t need to be seeing this stuff.”

Kate watched Ben recoil from his father’s anger and rounded the table to intervene. “It’s all right, Nick. It’s probably not as bad as he might imagine. If you’ll let me explain to him—”

“He’s seen enough for one day.” He turned Ben toward the door and gave his back a gentle push to get him going. “He’s just a kid, for God’s sake.”

Shocked silence descended as Nick rushed Ben out, and the sounds of their departure wafted back through the offices. It took a minute for the tension to dissipate. Kate felt Nance studying her and hoped her grandmother wasn’t reading every confusing emotion she was feeling. Nance looked to the door where the two had escaped.

“I’ve seen a lot of creatures in pain in my time,” she said with a concerned look at Kate, “enough to know that one is carrying a load of torment inside him.”

Kate nodded, her anxiety melting into something softer, something more complicated. It was too late for grandmotherly warnings. She was already involved, heart-over-head, with the trooper and his adorable son.

CHAPTER SIX (#u4ba66162-e059-50c0-b434-fe86b50e6321)

KATE STAYED AT the shelter that night, catching a few winks of sleep on the lumpy, donated sofa in Isabelle’s closet-size office. In the empty hours before dawn she kept going over the day’s events, recalling everything Nick had said and second-guessing every response she had given. She’d be lucky if she ever saw the Stantons again.

Nick clearly had a thing about hurt dogs, undoubtedly tied to his experiences in war zones, and was doing his best to avoid resurrecting bad memories. And Ben had a thing about hurt dogs that produced the exact opposite reaction. He was drawn to them, wanting to help in whatever capacity he could.

By dawn, she was aching from lying on that miserable couch and bleary-eyed from lack of rest. And when she checked on the injured dog, her heart sank. His heartbeat had grown weaker and was giving her a premonition that this case was not going to end well. After all that work...she hadn’t lied to Nick, she truly did believe she wasn’t responsible for every life she touched. But that didn’t mean she didn’t get involved with animals or that losing a patient didn’t take a toll on her.

Nance arrived early in the morning with breakfast sandwiches and gigantic cups of coffee. Jess came by on her way from an overnight somewhere and agreed to come back later and stay with the dog so Kate could go home and get some rest. Isabelle checked in between sessions with potential adoptive families. And Hines showed up with his new buddy, the visibly smaller but not entirely mobile Moose, to spend a little time with his other charges in the kennels. But overlaying all of that normal activity was a quiet sense of expectation, an air of impending loss. It was almost six hours before the dog’s weary heart gave way to the inevitable and stopped beating.