Soldier's Rescue

by Betina Krahn

  “No wonder you decided to become a vet,” he said with a half smile.

  “Those barn nights certainly helped. But it was old Doc Furlong that set me on course. He stopped in pretty frequently to check on Gran’s menagerie and I followed him around, pestering him with questions and trying to help. That man had the patience of a saint.

  “What really sealed the deal was my first puppy mill raid with Gran. She made me stay back with the trucks and cages at first, to comfort and clean up the little ones that were brought out.”

  “She let you see that stuff as a kid?” he said, looking unsettled.

  “Gran has never been one to soft-pedal life, even to kids. With her, you get the full dose—the bitter with the sweet.”

  “I’m not sure that would work with some kids,” he said, glancing in Ben’s direction. She studied his frown, having already seen his opinion on exposing his son to difficult things.

  “Well, my brother and I survived, and life with Gran prepared us to handle the knocks life deals out. Her outlook taught me to see the reality of things—even very difficult things—while not being immobilized by it. ‘Nothing has to stay the way it is,’ she always told us. ‘Things can always change for the better.’ And ‘It’s up to us to make things change.’”

  “So you decided to change things for animals,” he concluded, studying her, giving no hint of what he was thinking.

  “I did. I learned she was right—you can make things better. Not perfect. Not everything. But some things better.”

  She thought for a moment that he might pull her into his arms, but he stuffed his hands into his pockets instead. They walked on together, and she couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed that the warmth they’d shared earlier was cooling. She looked around to find Goldie lagging behind and went back to check on her.

  “She’s doing pretty well.” Out of habit, she ran her hands over the dog in assessment. “She’s certainly walking better than I expected. I swear it’s his influence.” She nodded toward Soldier, who seemed to sense he was the subject of their attention and ran back to prance around Goldie and make himself available for their general adoration. Kate could tell he was watching Nick.

  Nick made a fist and jerked it toward his shoulder. Soldier came alert and sat immediately, watching for another command.

  “That’s amazing,” she said. “That’s one of the ‘silent commands’? That fist thing?”

  “Yeah. Can’t always use verbal commands in the field, so military dogs are trained to respond to both.” Nick leveled his fist with his shoulder, then straightened his arm out to the side. Soldier stood, ears up, eyes bright with expectation. Nick threw the stick again and Soldier went for it like a shot. “This guy seems to know both.”

  “Wow.” Kate was truly impressed. “I think you guys already have a bond going. Hey, does the FHP use dogs? With a little brushup training, maybe he could be your partner.”

  She knew it was the wrong thing to have said the minute it was out. Nick stiffened and control replaced the pleasure in his expression.

  “The FHP pairs dogs and handlers only with felony officers in the CIU, and they never take a dog without a known provenance. They have to know what they’re getting before turning a dog loose in a law enforcement role. Standards for training and certification are strict—they have to be.”

  He was an expert at answering questions without revealing much. But that in itself was something of an answer.

  “And you’re not in the—What is the CIU?”

  “The Criminal Interdiction Unit.” He took a breath and looked away. “I have a young son to raise. I leave handling dogs and chasing drug traffickers to the felony guys.”

  “I’d think that after Iraq, patrolling highways might seem a little mundane.”

  “Mundane—” he started to say something heated, but a second thought chilled his response “—is fine. Just damned fine.”

  There it was again, that retreat from something important. She had to know. She paused and faced him, hoping her genuine concern showed in her face. “Nick,” she asked, “what happened in Iraq? It had to do with dogs, didn’t it?”

  * * *

  NICK FIDGETED FOR a moment, glancing everywhere but at her. She wasn’t going to let it alone, and he was surprised by the thought that that wasn’t such a bad thing. Having somebody care enough to confront him and his issues... He looked down and found his gaze trapped in her blue eyes, warm and understanding. His hands came out of his pockets.

  Why was it so hard to say what had happened, even years later? He should be able talk about it—at least some of it. And if he could talk about it with anyone, it would be her. She’d been both raised and trained to understand the intricacies of human-animal bonds.

  But could he say it without getting lost in those memories and feelings again?

  “We had service dogs. The guys got close to them and to their handlers. Me included. They lived with us, ate with us, patrolled with us and helped us stay sane in our downtime.” He shifted back onto one leg and took a deep breath. “We saw them get shot and get blown up. Sometimes we had to carry them back to camp in pieces.” His throat constricted, making it harder to get the words out. “Other times, we didn’t even have anything to carry back.”

  This wasn’t something he had ever really talked about. To anyone. He could feel his face going rigid as the memories threatened to erupt. He rubbed his temples, making himself focus on just the words.

  “They saved our lives over there, again and again. Mission after mission, town after town...finding bombs, warning us of attacks, leading us to safe ground...they worked until their paws were cut and bloody and they were so dehydrated they couldn’t stand. And they did it all for a kind word and a pat on the head. We traded them—their strong bodies and loyal hearts—for an extension on our own li-ives.”

  His voice cracked. He swallowed hard and shut his eyes to banish that familiar warning sting. He felt her reaching for his hand, and his knees nearly buckled as she threaded her fingers through his.

  “You can’t imagine what it’s like to hear your men...guys who had to clear out IED-infested buildings, and face insurgents and ambushes, and stare down death every damned day...to hear them late at night...in the dark...crying in their bunks because...a dog they loved died in their arms.”

  He sniffed and took a deep, shuddering breath. “I can’t help wondering if it was a good trade, their lives for ours.”

  For a moment, he was back in the desert, everything the color of sand—the ever-present smells of exhaust, machine oil and dirt in the air—the unmistakable brap-brap of distant gunfire, the thud of boots moving single file down a dusty road, the jingle of tags, the constant thirst...the smiles on dirt-and-sweat crusted faces when the dogs came up...the promise of treats and jocular offers to share bunks on the cold night ahead...then the limp paws...the sharp, coppery scent of blood on dusty fur...the pain wrenching deep in his gut...

  Something tugged him back from the brink. He sucked a sharp breath and refocused his eyes. She was holding both of his hands, watching him. The pain in her face matched his own, as if she had somehow glimpsed the memories he fought to put away, and he realized it was her presence that had kept him from getting lost in the past.

  “I’m sorry, Nick.”

  “For what?”

  “For what you went through over there. For you having to live with the memory of it. Most of all, for pushing you to tell me and making you relive it. I won’t do that again.” She squeezed his hands. “But if you want to talk about it ever, I’ll listen. And I’ll do my best to understand.”

  He felt her warmth, her invitation reach into his chest like the benediction it was, loosening a constriction on his heart, giving him room to remember again without fearing that he might not be able to stop remembering. In that minute, he understood
that this woman, this remarkable vet was a once-in-a-lifetime find: as compassionate as she was lovely, as wise as she was desirable. And he sure as hell didn’t want to screw it up with his mountain of military-grade baggage.

  “It’s okay,” he responded, concentrating on the sweet pressure of her fingers between his. It seemed somehow more intimate than kissing her, which he wouldn’t have minded right now. For the first time in forever, he wanted to feel that kind of connection, that sense of being anchored by someone else. The realization surprised him. “It’s just a little too easy to slide back into all that, and I’d rather stay in the here and now.”

  “Dad?” Ben stood twenty feet away, holding a stick up out of Soldier’s reach while staring at them in surprise.

  CHAPTER TEN

  “OH—HEY, KIDDO,” Nick said. “What have you been doing?”

  “You’re holding hands,” Ben said, seeming puzzled but also pleased. He apparently knew enough about the world to understand that holding hands meant men and women really liked each other.

  “As a matter of fact, we are.” Nick slid back into what Kate imagined was the more comfortable dad role, directing his son toward the path to the barns. “We were talking, and Dr. Kate was helping me with something. We ought to head back.”

  Ben nodded, accepting that as he trudged toward the path indicated by his dad’s outstretched arm. “I’m hungry. Can we get dinner soon?”

  “Sure. We’ll see what your grandmother has in mind.”

  Kate smiled to herself as they walked back to the cars. What he said—helping me with something—laid her worst fear to rest. He didn’t hold that bit of prying against her. Did he really think she helped him?

  They were still walking hand in hand when they came within sight of the front porch, where Nance was serving Sarah iced tea and cookies. She slipped her hand from his and reddened when he frowned. She nodded toward the porch and could tell he got it: not in front of the mothers.

  Nance packed up some cookies to send along with Ben and declined an invitation to join the Stantons for dinner in favor of doing her evening chores. Kate had no such commitments and was pleased to join them at a restaurant that had just opened on the east side.

  She had a wonderful time with Nick, Ben and Sarah. Ben let the grown-ups do most of the talking, but when Kate asked Sarah about Nick’s childhood, the boy came to life. Ben bombarded his grandmother with questions and seemed to relish the idea of his dad and Nick’s brother, his uncle Michael, doing “kid stuff” and having kid troubles. Kate got the impression that they didn’t talk much about the past in the Stanton household, but Sarah now warmly recounted her sons’ love of sports and Scouts, their participation in youth groups and school plays, and the family’s summer vacations. They had lived in Ohio and Georgia before moving to Florida, and there were stories about Nick and Michael at each place. It was enough to keep them entertained until dessert, which was chocolate cake for some and Key lime pie for others.

  Kate had to field a few questions about her own history; where she had lived and the frequent moves of her early life with military parents. She was sorry to see dessert end, and not just because the Key lime pie was to die for. They walked Sarah and Ben to Sarah’s car, and then Nick walked her to hers.

  She paused, wondering if it was the right time.

  “How about if you and Ben come for dinner some night this week? I have to warn you, I just moved into a house and things are still a little chaotic. You two would be my first dinner guests.”

  Nick smiled. “Any night but Tuesday. Soccer practice. Or Thursday. Soccer practice.”

  “Friday night it is. Any allergies I should know about?”

  “Not one.”

  “See you at...six thirty?”

  She smiled all the way home. Then she opened her front door and remembered the seven-foot albino Burmese python that had gotten loose in her garage and prayed that it would just stay lost for a while longer.

  * * *

  “IF YOU SHOW up at my house, you’re a dead woman,” Kate said with narrowed eyes and just enough heat to show she was serious. It was Wednesday and the clinic was hopping—they had a waiting room full of anxious dogs, indignant cats, uneasy birds and an iguana that wouldn’t eat.

  “Come on.” Jess spun on her stool, abandoning the microscope she was using to scan a Rottweiler’s feces for parasites. “You’ve got to at least let me see this guy.”

  “You’ll see him.” Kate turned back to counting out antibiotic tabs for a sheltie’s bladder infection. “Eventually.”

  “If you don’t kill him with your cooking first,” Jess snarked.

  “Hey, lay off my cooking. You’d have starved in vet school if not for my spaghetti.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Jess waved that old claim away. “What are you planning to feed him?”

  “Simple fare. Steak and baked potatoes. Corn on the cob. I unearthed the grill from—”

  “Don’t tell me you’re going to try to grill steaks for that guy. And on that rusty antique Weber of yours.” She stood and squeezed the bridge of her nose as if the very notion gave her a headache. “One of the cardinal rules of man-feeding is Never try to grill food for a man. Men all consider themselves experts on grilling. If you try to do it for them, they either feel emasculated or insulted, and end up nitpicking the food to death. Lord, didn’t Nance teach you anything about the male of the species?”

  * * *

  FRIDAY EVENING CAME before Kate was ready for it. With Jess’s “wisdom” weighing on her mind, she had decided to forgo the grill in favor of her well-practiced spaghetti, salad and garlic bread, followed by a dessert of pound cake, fresh peaches and ice cream.

  She left the clinic a couple of hours early to give herself time to find a tablecloth in her moving boxes, rustle up some cloth napkins and stick the flowers she had bought in a crystal vase left over from her Jared days. Satisfied that the table would pass inspection, she started on the food.

  The sauce was bubbling, the bread was ready for heating and the pasta water was simmering by the time the doorbell rang. She opened it to greet two faces that made her heart beat faster. Ben blurted out a “hi” and darted inside to explore. Nick looked abashed as he handed her a bottle of wine and headed after his son, admonishing, “Don’t touch, Ben. Remember your manners.”

  “There’s nothing here that he can hurt,” she said, smiling as she followed them into the sparsely furnished living room. Her new house was a modest three-bedroom Florida-style stucco with a two-car garage, set on a lot at the end of a cul-de-sac. The main feature of her living room was a huge blank wall that led up to a white-beamed cathedral ceiling. The adjacent wall was entirely covered with floor-to-ceiling bookcases containing books and artfully placed curiosities—the only real decorating she’d managed thus far. The rest of the furniture was an aged sofa that faced the bookshelves, an equally venerable coffee table, and a pair of bean bag chairs between the bookshelves and the coffee table.

  “As you can see, I’m still putting things together. This is larger than any place I’ve lived in the last ten years. I’m still trying to figure out what to do with all this space—” she pointed to boxes in the corner and under the front bay window “—and with all of that.”

  “If you’re anything like most women, you’ll have it filled up in no time,” Nick said with a chuckle, before realizing what he’d said. “Not that you’re like most women. I mean, you are, but you’re certainly not... You’re more...” He glanced around and found Ben reaching for a big rock on one of the shelves. “Hey, what did I say about—”

  “Wow. What is this, Dr. Kate?” Ben held a large, sand-colored rock with what appeared to be symmetric ridges running parallel across the top.

  “That is a mammoth’s tooth. Fossilized.” She joined him in front of the shelf wall and Nick came along. “My dad and
I got it when my parents were stationed in Oklahoma. I must have been six or seven. There was a dig not far from the base, and he took me out to see it. Apparently teeth are pretty common in such finds, so one of the professors in charge let us have it.”

  “This is just one tooth?”

  “Yep.”

  “Imagine what the tooth fairy would have to shell out for one of those,” Nick said, getting a laugh from Ben.

  “Cool. Mammoths were huge.” Ben’s eyes sparkled as he placed it back on the shelf. “And this? It’s purple and—are those diamonds?”

  “No, it’s a geode.” She smiled and moved him into a sunbeam to help him see how it could sparkle. “These are quartz and fluorite crystals—the purple is also known as amethyst. Water penetrates rocks and finds itself trapped with a lot of minerals to unload. Over hundreds, even thousands of years it deposits the minerals in arrangements that form these crystals.”

  She had him turn it over to see the plain, rounded bottom. “The rock looked just like this when somebody found it. You’d never know from the outside that there was something so beautiful inside.”

  He kept turning it over and over in the light, fascinated by the refracted light and deep colors. He looked up moments later with the joy of discovery in his face. “This is so cool. Wait till Wyatt hears about this.”

  “Okay, I better get back to dinner. You can look all you want—just don’t drop anything, okay?”

  “Okay,” Ben said, carefully laying the geode back on the shelf and scanning the display for another treasure.

  “Want to come and open this bottle for me?” she asked, leading Nick into the kitchen and then handing him back the wine he had brought.

  “Nice house.” He looked around while she searched a drawer for a corkscrew. He sniffed. “Even smells new.”