Читать книгу High Country Homecoming - Roxanne Rustand - Страница 15

With the windows wide-open to the crisp, clean mountain air, Chloe had slept better than she had in years. Funny how she hadn’t been back since she was eleven, yet this still seemed like home.

She’d put all of her perishable foods in the fridge as soon as she had arrived yesterday. This morning she’d unpacked her clothes and scrubbed the kitchen cupboards. Then she’d put away the rest of the groceries she’d picked up on her way to the ranch, as well as the more unusual canned and dry items she’d brought from Minneapolis.

Now, with the early-morning sun beaming through the windows, she searched through the stack of cardboard boxes on the floor until she found her electric breadmaker. She then collected the necessary ingredients and opened up the file labeled Experiments in her laptop.

Cinnamon pecan bread. Version 12.

Versions one through six had risen to glorious heights and then stuck to the inside lid of the breadmaker like wet plaster. Seven through eleven had been too dense, collapsed or had the tenderness of shoe leather. But eleven had been sooo close.

Who knew it would be so difficult to replicate her late Grandma Lydia’s family-famous recipes for modern appliances? At this rate, it was going to take a decade to get everything right.

But then...she smiled as she carefully measured the ingredients into the machine according to her latest notes, this time adding honey instead of brown sugar and adding a tablespoon of vital wheat gluten. Once she’d retested and photographed every recipe, she could finish her final revision of her cookbook manuscript.

While the breadmaker was chugging through its Knead Cycle, she thumbed through the yellowed, tattered index cards under the cookies tab in Lydia’s wooden recipe box until she found one bearing Lydia’s silent, high praise—so stained and worn that the ink was barely legible.

My Best Chocolate Chip Cookies had to be a keeper, even if it needed tweaking to appeal to modern tastes.

First time through, exactly as written. The following efforts would be when the fun of experimenting began.

The wonderful scents of real butter, vanilla and brown sugar filled the air as she creamed the first ingredients, already hinting that Lydia had been onto something with the exact ratios in this recipe.

By the time Chloe pulled the second cookie sheet out of the oven, she’d polished off two cookies from the first pan and couldn’t help but nab a melty-soft treasure from the pan just out of the oven. Enough.

She usually tried to be careful about eating sweets, and certainly knew better than to indulge like this. Still...these cookies weren’t only wonderful; they felt like a connection to the loving grandmother she’d lost years ago.

She closed her eyes, savoring the rich, perfect confection. Imagining her grandmother measuring the same ingredients, enjoying this same flavor and aroma decades ago.

She opened her eyes with a start. Had she just moaned with pure enjoyment? Really?

Then she heard it again. But it wasn’t the sound of enjoyment. It was a low, agonized moan, and it was coming from outside the cabin’s screen door.

Definitely not human.

Too quiet to be a bear.

For all she knew, Devlin still loved warm cookies, but it would take more imagination than she possessed to envision him with his face pressed against the screen in hopes that she would share. He’d made it more than clear that he planned to keep his distance.

She warily circled the end of the kitchen counter and sidestepped along the wall until she could peek out of the screen door, ready to grab the heavier exterior door, slam it shut and lock the dead bolt against anything big and scary.

But nothing was there.

Just the soft rustling of the pines buffeted by a gentle breeze. A carpet of rusty pine needles and the empty, narrow path leading down to the trail.

Something moaned again, this time a little weaker, filled with pain and hopelessness that grabbed her by the heart. Easing the screen door open a few inches, she scanned the area again and then tentatively stepped outside. A wounded coyote or wolf wasn’t anything she dared encounter, but...

Her gaze dropped to the foundation of the cabin and what looked like a filthy gray pile of rags. A big pile at that.

“Oh, my,” she whispered. “What happened to you?”

* * *

Yesterday had not gone well.

Just the thought of how badly he’d done on the shooting range made Devlin want to slam a fist through a wall, except then he’d have yet another injury, and yet another barrier to having any kind of future at all.

Nothing was going to stand in his way.

The Marines had been his life for ten years. What other skills did he have but those of a warrior? If he didn’t qualify for the security-company job in New York, what other career was there for a man like him? None.

So this morning he’d risen early. Even before doing chores, he’d done two reps of the exercises given by his physical therapist. Started lifting weights again to build the strength in his damaged right arm and shoulder. He’d run four miles.

And then he’d gone back to the meadow and burned through another hundred rounds of ammo.

His aim had been even worse and his shoulder joint was still on fire from the stress—too shaky to even hold a cup of coffee by the time he’d finished shooting. His muscles ached.

But he could not afford to give up, and he was determined to complete this same routine every single day until he was as good as the man he’d been before. Or better.

Surprised to see an urgent text from Chloe, Devlin awkwardly unsaddled the two-year-old he was starting to work out in the arena, put him in a stall and drove the four-wheeler up to Chloe’s cabin.

Even before coming to a stop, he could smell warm cookies, fresh from the oven, and something else that was rich with cinnamon and butter. Homemade bread?

Almost dizzy from the tantalizing aroma, he took a deep breath and headed for the front steps of the cabin, where Chloe was crouched next to something covered in a fluffy yellow afghan.

“Look at this poor thing,” she said, her voice wavering. “Just look at how badly she’s hurt.”

She edged sideways and pulled back the afghan to reveal a large, gaunt dog covered in matted fur—gray or white, he couldn’t tell. One of its front legs appeared badly mangled, but with all of that thick fur crusted with dried blood, dirt and twigs, it was hard to see. Now that it had been uncovered, he detected the foul odor of infection.

“Does she have a collar?” he said in a low voice.

“No. And she’s really weak. She needs to get to a vet before it’s too late.” She looked up at him, her eyes filled with tears. “But my SUV can’t make it up the narrow trail and I can’t carry her down. Will you help me?”

He hesitated. He’d seen this sort of thing before and knew the dog’s chances were slim, given its overall poor condition. The vet bills for this stray could be huge. But like Chloe, he’d never been able to turn away from something—or someone—in need.

Except for his own father and brother, three years ago, and that was a burden of guilt he would never escape.

“I’ll bring the four-wheeler up close. Do you have any long pieces of cloth we can use for a muzzle? She’s in a lot of pain and might bite when we try to move her.”

Chloe nodded and disappeared into the cabin, then returned with a bedsheet covered with pink flowers.

“Don’t worry, this sheet didn’t come with the cabin. It’s one of mine,” she explained as she ripped a long strip from it and helped him form a soft figure eight around the dog’s nose and the back of her head.

Her fingertips brushed his hand as they fastened the makeshift muzzle, and there it was again—the little flash of warmth and awareness that shot up his arm and landed square in his chest. And from her indrawn breath and the shocked look in her big eyes, she felt it, too. She fumbled at securing the knot, and they had to start all over again.

Bearing most of the weight with his good arm, he helped Chloe ease the dog onto part of the afghan and used it as a sling to lift her into the back cargo area of the four-wheeler. The animal raised her head for a moment and whimpered, then dropped back down and thumped her tail weakly.

On their way down to the hill, Chloe crouched over the dog, trying to hold her steady while Devlin drove slowly around the worst of the rocky bumps, then headed for his own SUV.

“No,” Chloe protested. “If you just tell me where the vet clinic is, I can take her. I know you’re busy, and anyway this was my idea. My work can wait, and I should take responsibility.”

“We can figure that out later.” Devlin pulled out his cell phone and googled Pine Bend veterinarians, called what appeared to be the only clinic in town these days and then slipped the phone back into his pocket. “They said to bring the dog on in. I’ll drive.”

“But—”

He set his jaw. “You might need help.”

She finally capitulated and helped gently move the dog into the back of his SUV. She gave Devlin a grateful smile. “I’m not sure if I turned off the stove. Can I use the four-wheeler to run up and check?”

He nodded tersely and ran a gentle hand over the dog’s quivering flank, then covered her with part of the afghan and shut the tailgate. He got behind the wheel and started the motor.

He’d intended to simply disappear at the Langford ranch for a while, to drop out of sight while physically preparing for what he wanted to do with the rest of his life. A life that would be far different now than what he’d always imagined.

And he’d intended to avoid Pine Bend for however long he stayed.

He could well imagine the small-town gawkers and their avid curiosity over a Langford son returning with obvious injuries from a war far away. Thanks to his father, the Langford name spurred resentment in some and envy in others. There would be stares. Whispers. Intrusive questions. And, of course, the effusive, empty show of sympathy that he recoiled from every single time.

Yet here he was, heading for town. His resolve had lasted all of four days, thanks to Chloe and her compassionate heart. But how could he refuse?

At least he didn’t recognize the vet’s name, so maybe she was new to town since he’d left home. Maybe she wouldn’t even recognize the Langford name.

Chloe was gone and back again in a flash, and when she climbed into the front seat of his SUV, she put a foil-covered paper plate on the console between them and settled a stainless steel tumbler into the cupholder.

“The stove was already off, but while I was there I took my bread out of the breadmaker, and decided I should bring you these as thanks for helping me. Milk and cookies.”

The intoxicating aroma of chocolate chip cookies filled the air when she lifted the foil.

She looked up at him with a twinkle in her eyes. “And, I admit, giving these cookies away is a desperate ploy on my part, because I cannot leave them alone.”

Taken aback by the thoughtful gesture, his gaze locked on hers and time seemed to stand still. How could someone this pretty still be single?

He snorted under his breath. That didn’t take much thought. She’d been a persistent little pest when she was younger. If she was anything like that now, prospective boyfriends probably hit the road in record time...

Only, that wasn’t really true.

He’d believed it as a callow teenage boy, wrapped up in his own world, with little regard for the child who’d looked up to him like some hero.

The truth was that she’d been sweet and thoughtful as a little girl, and she was just as sweet and thoughtful now. And pretty. Really pretty. The kind of woman who made a man look twice, catch his breath and then think about a lifetime commitment.

So why was she here alone, instead of raising a family of pretty little redheads somewhere, with an adoring husband at her side?

He cleared his throat and turned the key in the ignition, forcing his attention to the ranch lane ahead and then the highway into town. Not his business.

He’d be leaving the ranch by July, she’d be leaving even sooner. There was no sense in thinking about anything beyond basic courtesy.

But he was already sure that he wouldn’t stop thinking about her anytime soon, and he definitely wouldn’t stop thinking about those cookies. He’d finished every last one by the time they were halfway into town, and he still wanted more. “Thanks. They were awesome.”

She chuckled softly. “It’s my Grandma Lydia’s recipe, so I can’t take any credit.”

He sorted through his old memories. “I think I remember her visiting here. She used sign language, right?”

Chloe nodded. “Mom started teaching me sign when I was a toddler so I could talk to her, but Grandma passed away when I was eight. I barely knew her, sad to say.”

Devlin glanced in the rearview mirror and adjusted the angle to check on the dog in the back. The poor thing hadn’t done so much as whimper during the fifteen-mile trip to Pine Bend. Was she even still alive? Given the extent of the wounds and obvious infection, she was going to face a long recovery if she even made it into town.

At the clinic, two vet techs came out and helped carry the dog into an exam room. The older one, a woman in her fifties with Bonnie on her name tag, began an initial exam, while the younger gal filled out information on a clipboard.

When the younger tech left to get a handheld chip scanner, Bonnie cocked her head and gave Devlin a long look. “You must be Gus Langford’s middle son. Am I right?”

Since he’d given his name over the phone before driving into town, her guess wasn’t much of a stretch, but he knew a conversational ploy when he heard it, and also knew how to deflect. He nodded curtly.

“Sorry about your dad, bless his soul. Parkinson’s is such a cruel disease. He had a long, hard struggle, but Betty and Jess did right by him.” She nodded, as if agreeing with herself. “You should have no doubt about that.”

If there was any accusation in her voice, he couldn’t hear it, but he felt a sliver of guilt at any rate. He should have been here. He could have been here at least part of the time, to help out at the ranch. But he’d let the pain and bitterness of the past inform his decisions, and death offered no second chances.

The other tech bustled into the room to scan the dog for any identification chips, and the young vet—Dr. Weldon, according to her name badge—walked into the room ten minutes later.

“My goodness,” she said softly. “Who do you have here?”

“She was laying outside my cabin,” Chloe said. “I don’t know how she managed to get there, because she’s so weak.”

The vet gently examined the dog and shook her head. “Obviously she’s had this injury for some time, and that infection doesn’t look good. With her high fever and malaise, it could well be systemic by now.”

“But you can save her, right?” Chloe pleaded. “The poor thing deserves a chance.”

“Once we’ve got her cleaned up better, get some X-rays and bloodwork drawn, we’ll have a better idea of what we’re dealing with. Why don’t you two step out for a bit—we won’t be long.”

When they all convened in the exam room once more, the vet ran a gentle hand over the dog’s ribs. “She does have oblique fractures of the second through fifth metacarpals.”

Devlin frowned. “Four bones? That doesn’t sound good.”

“Think of them like the bones that lie close together within the palm of your hand. They do show less displacement than I feared, so that’s in her favor. At first glance, I was expecting comminuted—badly shattered—fractures that were perhaps beyond repair, with significant soft tissue damage and possibly the start of necrosis. Meaning, her best chance would be amputation of that leg.”

Chloe drew in a sharp breath, and the vet looked up at her with a gentle smile. “You’d be surprised at how well dogs can do on three legs.”

“She has a good chance of recovery, then?”

The vet nodded. “She’s dehydrated and hasn’t eaten in a long while, so I want to debride her wounds, start IV fluids and antibiotics, and put her on a critical nutrition diet. She does need surgical repair of that leg, probably with bone plates and screws. Do you have any idea where she might have come from?”

Devlin cleared his throat. “No idea. I’ve been away from Montana for a long time, so I don’t know the locals anymore.”

“With no chip and no collar, we can’t contact her owners.” Dr. Weldon studied the dog for a moment. “I wonder if this could be Leonard Farley’s dog.” She looked up at the older tech, who shrugged. “Farley was an old Vietnam vet who lived by himself in a remote area. Hikers found him dead last fall. Heart attack, according to the autopsy. There were no relatives to contact, but the sheriff told me he owned a Great Pyrenees service dog that no one ever found.”

“From the looks of her, this dog didn’t have much more time left.” Devlin shook his head slowly, imagining the dog’s struggle to survive on its own for so long—even throughout an entire Montana winter. “After what she’s been through, she deserves good care and a good home. I’ll take responsibility for now. If an owner turns up, he can settle with me later.”

“No—I will,” Chloe said firmly. “You were kind enough to help me with getting her here, but it isn’t fair to let you pick up the bills.”

Chloe and her foolish pride. Yet he could hardly fault her for her strong sense of honor, and his respect for her grew.

Dr. Weldon looked between the two of them with a wry smile. “Usually I’ve got people trying to avoid responsibility in these cases. I’ll put you both down and let you figure it out between the two of you later.”

“Just give it to me.” Chloe had that stubborn gleam in her eyes again, but this time she wasn’t going to win.

A whopping vet bill could be devastating to someone like her, who was between jobs and driving a battered fifteen-year-old SUV. And knowing her parents, they probably came to her for money rather than the other way around. She wouldn’t have any help from them.

For all the mistakes he’d made during his life in Montana, for all the times he’d hardened his heart and resolutely gone his own way without looking back, this could be one small chance to finally do the right thing.