Читать книгу A McCabe at Heart - Cathy Gillen Thacker - Страница 7

Chapter Three

Sam had heard Molly Russell was not doing well. Seeing her in person, however, really drove that fact home.

The eight-year-old child who emerged from Robin’s pick-up truck was small for her age and painfully thin. Her red hair and freckles stood out against the underlying paleness of her skin. Her green eyes were filled with a soul-deep sorrow that broke his heart.

Beside her, Robin was a study in good cheer. “Hi, Sam. I don’t know if you two have formally met, but…” She turned back to Molly and said, “Sam is our neighbor to the south. You can see his ranch house from our front porch.”

And he could see Robin’s house and barn from his. “At ten acres each, we both have what barely pass for ranches in these parts,” Sam teased. “I’ve got puppies, though. Want to see them?”

The child offered no reaction.

“Well, I would!” Robin said. She touched Molly’s shoulder gently, guiding her in the direction of Sam’s house.

Molly shrugged away from Robin with a reticence that Sam knew had to hurt.

Feeling for both of them, Sam moved to Molly’s other side. He strode toward the porch. “I was just about to feed them.”

Robin threw him a grateful glance. “I thought all puppies did was nurse.”

“For the first four weeks. Then we start them on actual dog food. Although initially, it’s more of a mash.”

Sam held open the door and together, they went into the family room. There, they found a whelping pen, ten foot square with a linoleum floor and mesh-wire walls. As usual, some of the puppies were sleeping next to their momma. Others were nursing. Two were sniffing around the edges, trying to figure a way out, while another mouthed a soft toy.

Sam set a gate across the entrance to the room, then opened the pen door. Gorgeous nudged her pups away, stood, shook herself off, stretched and came toward Sam. He knelt down to pet her and was soon surrounded by snuggling, jumping, nosing five-week-old puppies.

Robin pointed at the splotch of brightly colored paint on their backs, just behind their necks. “What’s that for?”

Sam smiled. “So I can tell them apart. We’ve got White, Green, Blue, Pink, Red, Orange, Purple, Black, Yellow, and Maroon.”

“I see them all…except Yellow,” Robin said.

Wordlessly, Molly pointed to a leather recliner in the corner of the room.

Sam grinned. The child might not say much but clearly nothing escaped her notice.

He looked at the chair that hid their runaway, then back at Molly. “Shall I get her? Or would you like to do the honors?”

Molly shrugged.

Seeing an opening, however small, Sam told Molly, “Tell you what. How about you get her for me while I make their dinner?”

Giving the child no opportunity to refuse, he retrieved the circular feeding dish with the raised middle and took it to the container that held the puppy food. He scooped some in, added water, and mashed it with a fork until it was as soft and malleable as baby food.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Molly remain where she was.

Eventually, Robin went to the corner. She hunted around behind the chair, and emerged with a puppy in her arms. Yellow shrank from Robin’s touch, much the same way Molly had.

A fact, Sam noted with concern, that did not go unnoticed by Robin.