Chapter 19
SMILING, SKYE FOSTER RELEASED BUCK’S HAND AND went to pause the CD player before the next song began. When she turned around again, she said, “You’re a natural, Buck. You’ll be ready to turn pro in a few weeks.”
He grinned back at her. “No, thanks. All I want to do is impress a girl.”
“Who?” she asked, the smile fading.
“Not sure I want to say yet.”
She stared at him, obviously planning to stay silent and stand still until he answered her question.
“All right. If you must know, Charity Anderson.”
Skye’s eyes widened a little. Then she smiled again. “Charity. Really? And here I thought you were taking dance lessons so you could spend time with me.”
“You did? I mean, I—”
“Stop, Buck.” She held up a hand like a traffic cop. “Stop before you say something that’ll embarrass us both. I was teasing.” She mumbled something that sounded like mostly as she turned back to the CD player. “Let’s do one more. Then we’ll call it a night.”
It was a slow song. No fast footwork required.
As they began to turn around the floor, Skye looked up at him. “Weren’t you and Charity in the same class in school?”
“Yeah, but I didn’t know her very well.”
“Haven’t you taken out all of the single girls you knew back then?”
He gave his shoulders a slight shrug.
Skye persisted. “But you never dated Charity, huh?”
“No, we never dated.”
“Not your type?” Skye intruded on his thoughts with another question. “What makes her your type now? Why do you like her?”
Buck thought of how pretty Charity was. He thought of her warmth, her sense of humor. She was smart and engaging. She was sophisticated, yet down to earth. She loved dogs and horses. They shared a similar upbringing. They shared the same faith, although Charity was less vocal about hers.
He’d known lots of women who’d shared many similar qualities, but they still hadn’t changed his mind about commitment, about settling down, about giving away his heart. What made Charity different?
“None of my business,” Skye said, a wry smile curving one corner of her mouth. “But from the look on your face, I’d say you’ve got it bad for her. Must be love.”
The comment jolted him, brought him to a stop on the dance floor.
Skye took a step back. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. Really none of my business.”
“No.” He shook his head. “It’s okay. But maybe it’s time to call it a night, like you said.”
“Okay. Next Wednesday. Same time.”
“I’ll be here.” Buck went for the hat that he’d left on a chair and set it on his head. By the time he turned around, Skye had shut off the music, plunging the dance studio into silence. “Thanks. I appreciate your help.”
“You’re welcome, Buck. It’s my pleasure. Really.” She brushed her long black hair over her shoulder. “And good luck with Charity.”
“Thanks.”
He left the studio, pausing outside to look down the street. Kings Meadow pretty much rolled up the sidewalks in the evenings. By this time on a week night, most diners had departed the restaurant on the western edge of town, but the bar half a block off Main was beginning to gain customers. From the opposite direction, he heard some shouting. Young male voices. An evening game of touch football in the park, most likely. Rather than go to his truck, he turned toward the sounds and began walking. The heat of the day had mellowed and shadows had grown long.
Buck had guessed right. A game of touch football was in progress. High school kids from the look of them. Even a couple of girls were in the game, while a few more stood off the playing field, shouting encouragement to their boyfriends.
Buck bumped the brim of his hat with his knuckles as he crossed the street to observe from the sidelines. He recognized quite a few of them, knew some of their parents from church or businesses around town. Of course Ken would know them all. He was that kind of high school principal. His brother knew every kid and every parent. Even knew most home situations—what families were struggling financially, what couples were on the brink of divorce, what kid was in danger of sliding out of the educational system altogether.
As boys, on many a summer’s evening, Buck and Ken had joined friends for games of touch football or baseball, either here in the park or over at the old high school field. There’d always been girls on the sidelines then, like now. Sara shouting for Ken and one girl or another cheering on Buck.
“I’d say you’ve got it bad for her. Must be love.”
As Skye’s words drifted in his memory, he imagined himself in the game and Charity on the sidelines, rooting for him. It surprised him, how much he’d like to make that come true.
CHARITY HAD DEVELOPED A CRICK IN HER NECK BY the time she stopped writing. In the living room, a rerun of a cop show played on the television. She glanced at the wall clock. It was half past eight. She rolled her head from side to side, then forward and back, trying to ease the stiffness.
“I’m hungry,” she said aloud. “Cocoa? Are you hungry?”
She waited for her dog to come into the kitchen. Then she remembered she’d let Cocoa into the backyard before sitting down to write again after watching the news.
“Sorry, girl.” Charity rose and walked through the kitchen to the back door. “Cocoa! Come,” she called. But her dog didn’t come running as usual. She pushed open the screen door and stepped outside. “Cocoa!” No response.
A flutter of alarm filled her chest as she went down the steps. She hurried to the side of the house to make sure Cocoa wasn’t sleeping under the blue spruce. Not there either. The side gate wasn’t open, nor was the back gate. Where on earth was she?
“Cocoa, come!”
As she headed once again to the back door, she heard the sound of Buck’s truck a few moments before it pulled into view. He parked it next to the horse trailer and cut the engine.
“Buck!” She left the yard and trotted toward the truck.
He took one look at her face and the smile on his own faded. “What’s wrong?” He hopped down from the cab.
“It’s Cocoa. I can’t find her. She got out of the yard somehow. I let her outside two hours ago, but I only just discovered she was gone. Buck, she never goes far from home. Never. And she always comes when I call. You know how obedient she is.”
“Yeah. I know. Don’t worry. We’ll find her.” He turned toward the east. “That’s the way you usually go on your walks, isn’t it?”
She nodded, though he wasn’t looking at her.
“Let’s try that way first. Come on.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Like you said, she wouldn’t go far, and this road doesn’t get much traffic. We’ll find her.”
She wanted to believe him. Needed to believe him. It had only been a couple of days since she’d poured out her heart to Terri. Two days of feeling as if she’d turned a corner. But if something had happened to Cocoa . . .
God, please let her be okay. Please.
They set off down the road, falling into a rhythm of calling Cocoa’s name, first one, then the other. Otherwise, neither of them spoke. They stared at the fields and pastures, looking for some sign of the dog. With each passing minute, Charity grew a little more afraid that something bad had happened to her faithful friend. Tears welled in her eyes and she had to blink them back. Another hour or so and it would grow dark. What if they didn’t find her before sunset?
Although Charity didn’t make a sound, somehow Buck must have known when she began to cry. He stopped, took hold of her, and drew her into his embrace. That was a mistake, for it gave her permission to let the dam burst. She pressed her face into his shirt and sobbed.
Buck gently rubbed her back with the flat of his hand and murmured words of comfort that she couldn’t quite make out. It didn’t matter. She was comforted by them anyway. She wished she could stay within the circle of his
arms forever.
But she couldn’t. Drawing a shaky breath, she pulled away from him. “Sorry,” she whispered. “I know she’s only a dog.”
“No such thing as ‘only a dog.’ And we’re going to find her. Don’t give up hope.”
She swiped the tears from her cheeks with her fingertips. “I won’t. I’m not.”
He gave her a sympathetic smile.
“She’s never run away before.” She sniffed. “I don’t know what I’d do without her.”
“You won’t have to. We’ll find her. Come on. Let’s keep going while we’ve got daylight.”
But they didn’t find Cocoa, and eventually they had to turn back. Charity felt as if her heart was breaking. If she hadn’t become so involved in her writing, leaving Cocoa outside for so long, the dog wouldn’t be lost now. She was sure of it. This was her fault. Her fault. Her fault.
Darkness shrouded them by the time they got back. Buck’s house was completely dark. The flicker of the television was the only light coming from the Anderson home.
Buck said, “We’ll start looking again at dawn.”
Charity nodded, her chest heavy. She wished Buck would take her in his arms again. She wished he would hold her for a long, long time.
“Try to get some sleep,” he added.
She knew she wouldn’t sleep a wink.
“Wish there was more I could do.”
“I know,” she whispered. Then, “Thanks, Buck.”
“See you in the morning.”
“In the morning.”
She turned and moved away from him. When she reached the back stoop, she sank onto it and hid her face in her hands. She didn’t weep as she had earlier. She felt too broken for tears.
BUCK HAD BEEN IN BED, THE LIGHTS OUT, FOR A good half hour or more when he felt the strongest need to search his pasture for Charity’s dog. To search it now. It seemed a crazy idea. If she’d been that close to home, Cocoa would have heard her mistress calling. But the feeling wouldn’t go away and so he obeyed, tossing aside the sheet. It didn’t take long to pull on jeans, T-shirt, and boots. Then he headed for the back door.
The night air was cool, and the moon had risen, casting a soft white glow over the valley. But Buck didn’t need moonlight or the flashlight he carried to know his way to the pasture gate. Two of his horses were nearby. One nickered to him, as if asking what he was doing out there at this hour.
“Cocoa,” he called softly as he closed the gate behind him.
He decided to follow the fence around the perimeter of the pasture. If he didn’t find the dog there—did he even expect to find her?—he would try crisscrossing the acreage.
He started off, counterclockwise, calling her name in the same soft tone. Not loud enough to wake his neighbor if her window was open, but loud enough for a dog’s ears. He swept the beam of the flashlight back and forth in a wide arc, both inside the fence and beyond it. Nothing. No sign of her. But he kept going.
On the backside of his property, across the creek and beyond the trees, he stopped still. The sound of water splashing over rocks was all he heard.
“Cocoa.”
No. He was wrong. There was another sound. A whimper.
Buck whipped the flashlight to the north, beyond the fence. “Cocoa.”
Another whimper. Almost too soft to hear but definitely there.
He slipped through the fence onto the neighboring land. It took him another five minutes to find the dog, partially hidden by a bush in the corner of the fences. As he pushed the greenery aside, the flashlight revealed a nasty gash on her back. The odd angle of her front leg told him it was broken.
“What happened to you, girl?” he said, although he suspected Cocoa had tangled with a bear from the look of the injuries.
He debated what he should do. Leave her there and call the vet. Or pick her up and carry her home. Both had downsides, but he thought leaving her had the most risk. He pulled off his T-shirt and ripped it up one side. Using it as a bandage, he wrapped the shirt around Cocoa to protect the wound on her back. He couldn’t do much about her leg except try to stabilize it with a stick and another piece of fabric.
“All right, Cocoa. I’ll try not to hurt you more.”
The dog whimpered in pain as he lifted her, even jerked her head as if she wanted to snap at him but didn’t have the strength.
“It’s okay, Cocoa. It’s okay.”
The hardest part was getting her through the fence. After that, Buck moved at a fast walk toward the house. As he slipped through the gate, he had another decision to make. Go into his house and call the vet or awaken Charity and call the vet from her place. No, there really wasn’t a choice. He had to take Cocoa to her mistress now.
In the moonlight, he saw that the window of a second-story bedroom was open to the night air. Had to be Charity’s room since no one else was home. He stopped beneath it and called out, “Charity. I found Cocoa. Let me in.”
It took only a few moments for her head to appear in the opening.
“She’s hurt, Charity. Let me in. We need to call the vet.”
Without a word, she was gone, no doubt running for the stairs. By the time Buck had climbed the few steps on the back stoop, the door had opened before him.
When Charity saw the now-bloody T-shirt wrapped around Cocoa, she covered her mouth with one hand, as if trying to hold back her shock. But a moment later, she removed her hand, saying, “Put her on the table. What’s the name of the vet?”
“I’ll call him.” Buck placed the dog on the kitchen table. “You stay with Cocoa. She’ll be easier with you near.” He went to the phone, picked up the handset, and punched in the number. He knew it by heart.
The vet answered on the third ring. “Hello?”
“Devon. It’s Buck Malone. We’ve got an injured dog here at the Anderson place. Looks to me like she got into a scrape with a bear. She’s got a deep gash on her back and a broken leg. Shall I bring her to the clinic?”
“No. I’ll come to you. I just finished an emergency call and was about to head home. Give me ten minutes.” The vet hung up without saying good-bye.
Buck turned around. “He’s on his way.”
Leaning over Cocoa while stroking the dog’s head, Charity glanced up. “A bear?”
“Most likely.”
“Where did you find her?”
“Beyond my back fence. The McClellan property.”
She rubbed Cocoa’s ear between two fingers as she straightened. “How did you happen to look there?”
“Just a hunch.” He shrugged. “A feeling I couldn’t ignore.”
Thank you, she mouthed before her gaze returned to the dog on the table. “Hold on, Cocoa. The vet will be here soon.”
IT WAS LONG AFTER MIDNIGHT BY THE TIME DR. Devon Parry drove away from the Anderson home, his sedated patient’s back stitched and bandaged, her leg secured with a splint. When Charity could no longer see the lights of the vet’s truck, she turned back into the house. Buck was in the kitchen, rubbing disinfectant spray that the vet had left across the table surface. He stopped when he saw her.
“Better not tell your mother that her kitchen became an operating room for a dog.” He gave her a teasing smile.
Surprisingly, she laughed, even as tears welled in her eyes. “Agreed. It’ll be our secret.”
Tenderness filled his expression. “Cocoa’s going to be all right.”
“Thanks to you.” She swallowed the hot lump in her throat.
He resumed wiping.
“You don’t have to do that. It’s late. You should go home and get some sleep. You’ve done so much already.”
Her hand covered the back of his and he stopped still.
When had she leaned across the table? How had her lips moved so close to his?
A muscle jerked in his jaw. His gaze seemed hot upon her skin. She drew back slightly, then was pulled by some invisible means toward him again.
Their lips met. Only their lips. Softly. Sweetly.
The room seemed to hold its breath right along with the two people in it.
Yes, she held her breath. Held it for a long time. Too long. What else could explain the dizziness that swept over her? The weakness in her knees. The inability to string a rational thought together. When Buck drew back, Charity sucked in air, all the while wishing he would make her hold her breath again with another kiss.
No. No, she shouldn’t want him to kiss her again. Didn’t want him to. His friendship had become important to her. She didn’t want to lose it. And she would lose it if she allowed him to think they could enjoy a brief summer fling. She straightened—and almost fell over a chair. Instead, she dropped onto it.
“Hey,” Buck said, “are you all right?” He rounded the table, looking concerned.
“I’m fine. I’m fine.” She lifted a hand to ward him off. “It’s just . . . It’s been a difficult night. I’m tired. I think you’d better go.”
His eyes narrowed. A crease appeared between his brows. “Sure. Of course.” He took a step back. “You’ll let me know how Cocoa’s doing?”
She nodded.
“Good night, Charity.”
“Good night,” she whispered, lowering her gaze to her hands, folded in her lap.
A few moments later, she heard the closing of the back door. Silence surrounded her. So silent she could hear her own breathing. The emptiness was almost too painful to bear. She needed Cocoa.
But she wanted Buck.
BUCK STOOD IN HIS BACKYARD, STARING AT THE Anderson home. He saw when the kitchen light went off. He saw the light go on in the second-floor bedroom, then moments later go out again.
I shouldn’t have kissed her. The timing was all wrong.
He would blame it on how adorable she’d looked in her blue-and-white print pajama bottoms and oversized T-shirt with the image of a kitten stamped on the front. Her long hair had fallen free over her shoulders and down her back, delightfully disheveled. And with the crisis over, with her hand on top of his, it had been the most natural thing in the world to lean close and kiss her.
He’d thought she wanted it too. There was no doubt that she’d kissed him back. No doubt. And she hadn’t pushed him away. So why, all of a sudden, had her defenses gone up?
Whenever You Come Around Page 15