Soldier's Rescue. Betina Krahn
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away a positive lesson from this, and then realized with a mental groan that making it positive was probably up to her.
“Okay, let’s talk about healing.” She sank to a seat on the edge of the shelf beside the dog she had just named Goldie. “We doctors—people doctors and animal doctors alike—can’t make our patients well. Their bodies have their own special systems for doing that. What we do is put things back in place and give them medicines that will help their bodies heal themselves. You know how when you get a cold, it takes a couple of weeks to get better?” He nodded, so she continued. “Well, during that week or two, your body has to figure out which viruses are making you sick, then round them up and lock them away. Your body has a kind of virus police already in place. They just need time to get to work and then repair anything that got damaged.”
She gestured to Goldie. “It’s the same with her. We set her leg bones so her body can knit them back together in the right places, and we stitched her up so her cut will stay together while her body grows new tissue to keep it together permanently. All of that takes time.” She smiled. “One of my old professors always said ‘Time is the best healer there is.’”
Ben nodded earnestly and then put his face close to Goldie’s.
“You take your time, Goldie. We’ll be here to help you get better.” Then he looked up at his dad. “Won’t we, Dad?”
Kate bit her lip to keep from grinning as Nick struggled with that.
“We can check in from time to time,” he conceded, “and see how she’s doing.”
Kate smiled at Ben, who was already on to the next topic.
“What about the other dog? What happened to him?” Ben looked around the surgery as if hoping for a glimpse.
“The shepherd?” Kate rose from the shelf and looked at Nick. “We took him over to the shelter yesterday. It was all my partner and I could do to get him into the Jeep.”
“Can we go there and see him, too?” Ben said in a tone that was clearly a prelude to full-blown wheedling. Kate saw a muscle twitch in Nick’s jaw and enjoyed watching this formidable man made defenseless by his son’s plea. “He’s probably worried about his friend.”
“I don’t think that would be a good idea, Ben,” Nick said, visibly uncomfortable.
“Why, Dad? His friend is here, sick, and he may be scared.”
“Plus, there are puppies who need to be played with and socialized,” Kate said on impulse, batting away guilt at supporting Ben’s begging when Nick clearly didn’t want to go. “And there aren’t always enough volunteers to spend time with them.”
Nick paled, caught in a perfect pincer movement. He seemed to be working hard not to squirm; cords were visible in his neck.
“Okay, we can go to the shelter.” He sent Ben a stern look that didn’t seem to impact the boy’s grin, so he added, “Just for a little while.”
She smiled. “I just have to check on the dogs in the runs and then lock up. I guess I’ll see you there.” As the Stantons headed for the front door, she heard Nick’s deep voice rumble.
“Just to be clear, we are not taking any puppies home.”
And she grinned.
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