Читать книгу Soldier's Rescue - Betina Krahn - Страница 13

CHAPTER FOUR

THE PARKING LOT was nearly full that afternoon when Nick and Ben arrived at the Harbor Animal Rescue. Nick took in the rambling farmhouse. He could see people in the fenced side yards, playing ball with some dogs. Ben climbed out of the back seat and headed straight for the fence. His face lit like it was Christmas morning as he climbed on a fence rail and watched the dogs romping and enjoying all the attention. Nick hung back for a while, but then made his way to Ben’s side and leaned on the fence to soak up his son’s enthusiasm.

For the past two days, dogs were all Ben could talk about, and Nick had a bad feeling about where this “hurt dog” stuff was heading: Ben asking for a dog of his own. It wasn’t that he didn’t want Ben to have a dog someday. He just wasn’t sure his son was ready for that level of responsibility. Caring for a living being involved a lot, and to be frank, he really didn’t want to have to—

“There you are.” The doc arrived at their side in the middle of his ruminations. He straightened and laid a hand on Ben’s shoulder as she gave them a sunny-from-the-inside-out kind of smile that made his belly tighten. “Want to come inside and check out the puppy room?”

“Yeah, that would be great!” Ben fairly glowed with excitement as he jumped down and headed after her without even a glance at his dad.

Nick sighed and followed.

She led them in the front door of the shelter office, and he fell in behind her and Ben as she explained the rules. “Simple, really. Wash hands before and after a play session, no roughhousing, don’t let the puppy chew on any part of you and if the puppy tries to get away, let it go.”

Reasonable rules, he told himself as he tried to avoid looking at Kate Everly’s khaki-clad hips and honey-gold hair. She was curvy and bright and a major animal lover. He watched the way she touched Ben, the way she used her hands as she talked, the purposeful ease of her gait. Grace, he thought. It sounded old-fashioned, like something his mother would say, but that was the only proper name for it. She had an open, feminine way about her that made people comfortable—probably a good thing in a doctor trusted to care for beloved animals. But those same qualities made every nerve in his body twitch with...anxiety? Expectation? Interest?

There were eight little bundles of fur in the puppy playroom. They were mixes—varying fuzzy shades of solid colors—long-haired dogs in the making. Ben did the obligatory hand washing with his eyes glued to the puppies. He was practically quivering with eagerness.

When the doc asked if Nick was going to join them, he gave a shake of his head and stepped back to lean a shoulder against the door frame. He watched Ben chase first one puppy, then another, trying to pet them. The pups sniffed him and bounded away to investigate other things. Kate Everly found a dry spot on the floor, sank down and patted the floor beside her. She showed Ben how to let the puppies come to him and sniff him. Moments later he was being swarmed by curious puppies and was beaming as he petted them and told them how cute they were.

There were other people in the room, one older volunteer and a girl who looked to be about twelve. The puppies tumbled over their own paws and climbed the humans and tried to chew on their shoes, their pant legs and their fingers. And there was licking. Lots of licking.

Nick stiffened, and his hands fell from his pockets into fists at his sides.

Ben caught one little fur ball chewing on his shoelace and lifted it up to look it in the eye, saying, “No, no. That’s not allowed. You better get with the program, kid.”

A sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a groan came from Nick’s throat, but thankfully was quiet enough to get lost in the confusion of puppy yips and human laughter. His whole body was now rigid; his breath came fast and shallow; and his vision was narrowing to a memory that mingled too intimately with present events.

There had been puppies...little mutts born in the stacks of old supply crates that edged their camp. The brood was adopted by his platoon, and when the mother disappeared—his guys fed and fostered the pups. For them, the pups became personal, something good to relate to in such foreign surroundings, something to care for and protect.

He could still see them...jumping after tennis balls somebody had sent to a war zone in a well-meaning but clueless Christmas package...sleeping sprawled on their backs or curled into sleek little balls that were slid gently into the men’s packs. Some of the little buggers snored or yipped or practiced running in their sleep, which never failed to set him and his men laughing. The bomb dogs assigned to their unit seemed just as enthralled with the puppies as the men they served with were. Jax and Colo, both male shepherds, were downright respectful of the little buggers; brought them balls and shared bones, played tag in the yard, and let the puppies climb and nip—

The blood drained from his head, and suddenly he found it hard to breathe.

He did an about-face and strode out the door and out of the office.

In the parking lot he bent over to recover, taking slow, deep breaths to fight down the anxiety those memories always raised. Gradually, the tightness in his chest subsided and the darkness threatening his vision retreated.

After a few minutes, he was able to take a last, cleansing breath and let it go. It was four-plus years ago and a world away. It had nothing to do with his life now, he told himself every time, but it still weighed on him...a burden he didn’t want to share, especially with Ben.

Squaring his shoulders, he sought normalcy in walking the grassy berm that led to the fenced exercise and introduction areas. There were a number of people about, considering adoption and watching as candidates played with their children. But in the farthest yard, he noticed a young man with an uncooperative dog on a lead, trying to get his charge to cooperate. He watched as the dog became a whirl of motion and the volunteer shrank back to the end of the leash, sputtering a stream of entreaties and anemic commands.

A moment later the dog yanked the lead from the volunteer’s hands and began to run. Nick headed for that far exercise yard, feeling an urgency he couldn’t explain. The dog managed to stop before hitting the fence, but then ran the entire perimeter, frantic for a way out. It was Goldie’s friend. The shepherd. And it seemed like he was getting ready to jump.

“No!” Nick barked out, catching himself and the dog by surprise.

In another heartbeat he was climbing over the fence and standing a few yards from the headstrong shepherd, his feet spread and his fists propped on his hips. The dog hesitated as his gaze flicked between Nick and the nearby fence...ears forward, nose testing the air...escape clearly still a powerful pull on him.

“No,” Nick said matter-of-factly, his tone firm and certain. “You don’t want to jump that fence. You’ve got it good here, tough guy...plenty of food and a clean, dry place to lay your head. You don’t want go back to sleeping in culverts and eating out of garbage cans.”

The dog was still tense and ready to run, but he was listening to Nick’s voice. Did he remember the other night? In the surgery, he’d obeyed an order to sit, and just now he stopped dead at “No.” Maybe he had been trained somewhere along the line. If so, giving him a few familiar commands might help get him under control.

Nick dropped his arms to his sides, lowering his tension, though not his alertness. He waved the grateful volunteer back and took a couple of steps toward the dog, where he paused, making his posture relaxed and confident.

Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

First command: “Sit.”

As in the surgery, the shepherd just stared at him, every muscle taut. Then he added the hand motion, the snap of a fist up against his shoulder. After what seemed like forever, the dog sank onto his rear haunches, a coiled spring ready to release at the slightest provocation.

Nick nodded, thinking of other commands they had used while on deployment. The shepherd watched him as he began to walk the perimeter of the exercise yard. Scent was the quickest way to familiarize a dog with a human, so he walked by the dog, keeping a few feet between them and not looking at him, but close enough for him to get a good whiff. Interestingly, the shepherd didn’t move; he just watched and processed the scent. Nick wondered if he would remember it from their contact the other night and if he would respond.

“Stand.”

If dogs could frown in confusion, this one did. Nick glanced back and saw the hesitation. He stopped, turned and added a hand signal for “stand”: arm curled toward the biceps and then punched straight out to the side, where he held it for a moment. The dog came alert and stood.

Nick smiled.

“You know your commands, tough guy. Silent ones anyway. Let’s see what else you can do.”

The shepherd did indeed know a range of nonverbal commands: stay, down, fetch. Every order delivered and executed helped the shepherd relax a bit more, until one last command—where he refused to bring the stick back and veered toward the fence.

“Come here,” Nick ordered with as much authority as he could muster. The shepherd caught the edge in his voice, and after a pause brought the stick back. It took some serious negotiation to get him to understand a “let go” command, but he finally dropped the stick and backed away.

This time, Nick picked up the stick and said, “Break.” That was a nonstarter. He tried “sit” again and the dog obeyed. After a few moments of toying with the stick, Nick held it up and said, “Finished!” The dog stood, tail twitching, watching Nick. He threw the stick again and this time the shepherd retrieved it and bounded around the yard with it like a puppy with its first toy.

* * *

NANCE EVERLY HAD just pulled her old Chevy truck into the gravel parking lot of the shelter when she spotted a big man in jeans and a T-shirt bursting out the office like his hair was on fire. The guy rushed to the grassy area at the side of the exercise yards and bent over as if he were going to hurl. She bolted from her truck to see if she could help, but before she got close enough, he straightened and stood with his hands on his belt, taking deep breaths. She halted as a look of relief came over him.

This was a first: somebody getting sick over a visit to the shelter.

He seemed to be recovering. She watched as he headed down the greenway. There was something familiar about him. Shaking her head, she turned back to the office and was surprised moments later to find Kate ensconced in the puppy room with a young boy who was as cute as a bug and alive with enthusiasm.

She paused just outside the doorway to watch her granddaughter teach the boy about puppies. There was a light in Kate’s eyes that Nance hadn’t seen for a while. She broke into a wistful smile. Her granddaughter deserved a family of her own and a lifetime of loving and being loved. If only she would cooperate and open herself up to possibilities around her.

“We’ve got quite a crew today,” she called as she entered the room and headed for the sink. “Who’s your friend, Kate?”

“Hey, Gran.” Kate’s face bloomed with a 50-megawatt smile as she put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “This is Ben Stanton. His dad is the trooper who brought in those two dogs the other night. They dropped by the office to check on the golden and then came here to see about the shepherd. I twisted Ben’s arm into helping with the puppy play this afternoon.” She laughed when Ben reddened and grinned.

Nance replaced the towel, then joined them in the puppy pen and stuck out a hand.

“Hey there, Ben. Nice to meet you.” The boy gave her a very adult handshake, and the sense of what she’d seen outside struck her forcefully. His dad, the state trooper, had been about to empty his stomach on the grass outside.

* * *

KATE HAD OBSERVED Nick standing in the doorway watching his son with the puppies, and she’d been jolted by what she saw. Pride, tenderness and what could only be called longing had bloomed in his face, until something more haunting took over. What made him leave the puppy room with such a devastated expression? It was as if he’d closed a door on all the tender feelings she’d glimpsed. And why had he refused to come inside with his son to play with the puppies in the first place? What kind of person backed away from the chance to play with puppies?

At least Ben hadn’t seen him go.

The joy on Ben’s face edged those thoughts aside as she told him about the various stages of puppy development. Socialization with people, she explained, was critical to puppies being able to form bonds with their future families, and socializing with other dogs was important so that they would behave well when they met dogs in the future.

The boy absorbed every word. She caught the sparkle of discovery in his eyes and warmed inside.

“I want a dog,” he revealed, surprising no one. “A puppy would be great—but I’d like a dog of any kind.”

She smiled. “And what does your dad say about that?”

“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.”