Dr. Dad To The Rescue. Jodi O'Donnell
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moment all he could see were flashes of red-gold and the writhing, dark-brown whip of the reptile. The struggle propelled both dog and snake into the water, where Elsa completely submerged while still going after the cottonmouth for all she was worth. His heart pumping, Holden’s eyes stung at the raw, fierce beauty of her.
Oh, his brave, loyal girl!
Just as suddenly it was over, the cottonmouth swimming away, oozing dark blood in its wake.
Had Elsa been bitten, too? Caring nothing for his own safety, Holden plunged once more into the floodwaters. But the flow had picked up, and he found himself being carried along. He’d have welcomed the current if it would bring him closer to Elsa, but she was moving as rapidly.
He should never have come here and tried to retrieve his treasure box! It wasn’t worth losing Elsa.
He used his arms and legs as rudders to steer him toward the dog. He came within an arm’s length of her, and Holden stretched out his hand as she thrashed toward him. His fingers caught a handful of slick fur—
Slam! He crashed into a tree trunk, which nearly knocked the wind out of him—and caused him to lose his hold on Elsa.
Holden wrapped his arms around the tree as he searched for the retriever. His heart sank when he located her. She was so very, very far away. If he let go of the tree trunk, he might never catch up to her and would surely lose his life.
It seemed hopeless.
“No!” Holden screamed. “Don’t give up, Elsa!”
But he saw her losing strength, going under, then surfacing briefly, water spraying from her nostrils, chin stretched and straining. Her movements grew sluggish, weaker.
“Come on, girl,” he pleaded. “Don’t give up on me now!”
Her brown eyes fixed on him, valiant, devoted, loyal to the last. She blinked.
Then she was gone.
“Elsa! Elsa!”
He cried her name over and over, was whispering it hoarsely when Dwight and half the county found him hours later still clinging to that tree trunk, even though the water had receded.
They wrapped him in blankets, but the shivering didn’t stop. He didn’t think it ever would, and right then he didn’t care.
Dwight pried the story out of him. Strangely, his uncle wasn’t angry that Holden had risked his life over a dog. He set a forearm across Holden’s shoulders and gave them a squeeze.
“She’s gone, son,” he said. Whether he meant Mama or Elsa wasn’t clear.
Holden hunched his back in resistance and denial. But he couldn’t hold back the truth: He had no one now. No one.
With a sob, he pressed his face against his uncle’s side and cried for all he had loved and lost this day. He cared nothing for the treasure left in the cubbyhole on the edge of the river. That river had taken from him something much more precious. God had taken from him something much more precious.
And he would never, ever forget.
Leaning back in his heavenly throne, God gave a heavy sigh, anguished as always by his children’s pain. Right now, Samuel McKee was waiting at the pearly gates for the arrival of his soul mate. Yet here was another soul who stood aching and alone.
It was not the boy’s time, though. Holden McKee still had much work to do before he would be called home. It was why his canine companion had been placed there, to save the boy. And why God had given man such a creature—to bring the human spirit the example of unwavering trust and hopefulness and faith, which he wished for all his children to find.
“But how to bring them to such trust?” he mused. “Its promise is made on Earth every day—in the bloom of the rose, the rising of the sun, the birth of a child...”
Great fingers drummed a low rumble like thunder on the celestial armrest for a long moment, yet only a blink in time. Then his eyebrows parted like the clouds; eyes cleared like the dawn breaking.
“Of course!” he said. “How else on Earth can you glimpse a little bit of heaven?”
He peered lovingly down upon the boy Holden McKee as he was led home in the darkness.
“Have faith, my son,” God whispered. “I have not forsaken you. In good time, the answers you seek will be yours.”
Chapter One
Dallas, Texas, present day
There came a time in every little boy’s life, Holden supposed, when he was forced to accept the inevitable and often painful fact that the ability to fly was reserved for birds, airplanes, comic book heroes—and certain “illusionists” who performed this amazing deed on prime-time television.
How often had Holden himself listened to such tales of disenchantment as he’d set collarbone or leg, stitched a split lip or patched up the odd contusion sustained as a result of some young man’s literal leap of faith?
Telling himself this instance was no different, Holden shot a sidelong glance at his son, who sat next to him in treatment room three at the Brookside Physical Therapy Associates. Sam’s face was pinched and pensive. Stoop-shouldered, the six-year-old cradled his splinted forearm against him as if protecting a newborn.
Somehow, Holden was not convinced.
Too bad the cast had had to come off this morning, just when Sam seemed to be getting used to it But there was still a lot of healing on his broken arm that needed to be done outside of such a protective shell.
“Are you having any pain?” he asked the boy.
Lips thinning, Sam shook his head.
Holden shifted in his seat, stretching an arm along the back of the empty chair on the other side of him. “That’s good. You should have little discomfort, actually. You heard the orthopedist say the X ray showed the bones had realigned perfectly, didn’t you?”
“Yes, sir.”
He reached into his suit coat pocket. “You could put on some more of this lotion if your skin itches.”
“I’m okay.”
Holden felt his own mouth crease. He would have asked Sam what was the matter, what he could do for the boy, but he didn’t think Sam would tell him. Ever since Sam’s accident, the gap between father and son had grown, especially after Holden had tried to impress upon him the folly of allowing make-believe to take precedence over common sense.
He simply didn’t know what to do or say or ask next, and had told the grief counselor Sam had been seeing just that. The man had given him the rather simplistic advice that Holden should let Sam make the next move. So far, his son had done nothing.
And so the gap widened, imperceptibly.
Yet what if Sam came to him with a question Holden couldn’t answer, a problem he couldn’t fix?
I’m scared.
And I miss her so much.
With a sigh, Holden dropped his chin and massaged a persistent and painful knot in his jaw muscle. He’d always had a tendency to clench his teeth when under stress, but if he didn’t ease up soon, he’d crack every molar in his mouth.
“dead?”
Holden lifted his head. “Yes?”
“I just wondered if—” Sam was looking at him anxiously. Not often did the boy see him showing any sign of vulnerability. After all he’d been through, Holden made sure of that.
He straightened his spine and asked again, “Yes?”
Sam’s gaze slid away. “If I could, you know, hit the bathroom before the therapist comes in.”
“Oh.