Fatal Burn

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Fatal Burn Page 12

by Roxanne Rustand


  From somewhere to the south came a single, long whistle. Farther east, another.

  “Two found—that makes twenty-six to go,” she said. “I’m praying for every one of them to show up tonight.”

  He stopped at the top of another rise and started calling for the dogs. She joined in, then they stood rock still and listened. Nothing.

  “Maybe they all just formed a pack and took the easy route—downhill to the east,” she muttered, straining to hear. She swung the flashlight in a wide arc, illuminating bare tree branches, scrub brush and snow-covered boulders.

  Trace started down an incline. “You never know. Let’s go farther.”

  Halfway down he slipped and went down hard against a fallen tree. When she reached him, his mouth was a grim line. “Are you okay?”

  He struggled back to his feet, favoring his left leg. “I’m good. Let’s go.”

  A long, single whistle sounded from beyond them, then another. Her heart lifted. “Twenty-four left. I’m so grateful that those people were willing to come.”

  Trace soldiered on, his uneven gait more pronounced. “I thought I saw fresh dog tracks back aways. I want to cover at least another mile before we head for home tonight, just in case I’m right. Can you make it that far?”

  Sheltered from the daytime sun, the snow was deeper here, hiding low-lying stumps and rocks, and making the going difficult. Winded, she paused. “No problem. I plan to go all night, if I have to.”

  From somewhere far ahead came the keening of the wind rushing through a stand of pines…or was it? “Wait—did you hear that?”

  Trace stopped to listen.

  Again, it came, faint and high. But it wasn’t the wind. It was a dog, though whether it was crying in pain or terror she couldn’t tell. “Over there—more to the north.”

  “Got it. Maybe a half mile or so ahead.”

  He adjusted his direction and continued at a steady pace, though now and then she saw him grab on to a tree trunk and take a long, steadying breath.

  “I can go on ahead,” she called out. “You could wait here, and if it’s one of the dogs, I can bring it back on my own.”

  “No.” He stopped and waited for her to catch up. “You don’t know what’s out here. And we’re not going to split up. We go together, or not at all.”

  She hesitated. “I want to get to that dog. But if this terrain is going to tear up your knee, then it isn’t worth it. What happened to you, anyway?”

  He didn’t answer, just started on again, skirted a heavy stand of brush and began climbing the next steep slope.

  Stubborn man. “Just remember that I thought you should stop,” she muttered, “when you’re in traction and a cast.”

  He glanced back with an amused expression. “I heard that, and it isn’t going to happen.”

  They were moving deeper and deeper into dense, unfamiliar timber, where rocky shelves rose high on one side and boulders littered the ground.

  “Hear that?” He stopped. “More to the left, I think.”

  After another fifty yards she heard it, too; the weak cry of an animal in pain, then a long silence. Whatever it was, it seemed to be losing ground.

  Trace adjusted their direction and they both walked in silence, listening.

  He suddenly skidded to a halt, and braced a hand against a tree in front of him for support, then swung his flashlight in a slow arc. “This isn’t good. Kris.”

  She slowly made her way to his side and stared over the edge of what appeared to be a large, deep pit maybe forty feet square, and a good twenty to thirty feet deep. The loose shale walls were steep and boulders littered the floor.

  Trace pointed the flashlight to a rocky ledge maybe ten feet from the bottom. “See?”

  “Oh, no.” Kris held a hand at her mouth as she stared down at Lucy. The dog was stretched on her side, and blood matted the silky feathers of one of her front legs. Even at this distance she could see the animal was breathing hard. “She couldn’t have found a worse place in the whole area.”

  “I’ll bet she was trying to go back home.”

  The image of the old dog desperately trying to find her master made Kris’s eyes burn. She blinked and focused on the walls of the dog’s prison. “We can’t leave her there. She’ll die. What about over on the other side—it’s not quite as steep.”

  “I’ll have to go down right above her. How many leashes you have?”

  “Wait—you can’t do that. Your leg—”

  “It has to be me. Are you strong enough to climb back up with her?”

  “But—”

  “And you have to stay up here so you can take her from me. It’s the only way, unless you plan to come back tomorrow with more equipment and people.”

  “We can’t wait. I just don’t want you to get hurt, either.”

  “Loop your leashes together. They’re nylon, so they ought to hold well enough for a safety rope in case I slip. Do we have enough? I think it’s about a twenty-foot drop there, and we still need a good, solid wrap around a tree at the top.”

  “I’ve got about fifteen feet of nylon cord in my pocket, too. Maybe you can use it for a sling over your shoulder, so you can support her better on the way up.” She fashioned a rope out of the five leashes, then jerked off her boots and took off her knee-high socks while Trace took off his heavy coat. “Here—you can used these for her leg if you have to.”

  The temperature had warmed today, turning the snow to slush. But now it was steadily dropping. She could feel the extra bite in the air, and patchy ice was forming where the snow had melted. She peered over the edge once again at the narrow rocky outcroppings of shale. Some were glittering with treacherous ice. Many looked thin and fragile.

  Trace shoved the extra nylon cord in his pocket, snapped his flashlight to one of his belt loops, then fastened the makeshift rope around his narrow waist. He tied the other end around a tree close to the edge.

  He tossed his phone to her. “If things go badly, move around a little until you can get reception, then call for help. We’re about a mile due south of my place, just below Blackfoot Ridge.”

  “Please—be careful.” She helped steady him as he started slowly down the vertical surface, holding the flashlight with one hand and letting the rope slowly feed through the other. And then she started to pray.

  God…we’re trying to save one of Your dear creatures, and the heart of an elderly man. It will hurt him so if anything happens to his old friend. Please, please guide Trace’s footsteps and keep him safe…and give him the strength to make it back up. Please…

  The rope jerked. Pebbles bounced and clattered down the cliff. Dropping the flashlight, she grabbed the line with both hands, bracing her feet against a rock and trying to hold it steady while Trace fought to regain his footing.

  “I’m…I’m okay,” he called out. “Almost there.”

  A minute later, the line went slack, and panic rushed through her. “Trace!”

  “I’m good—I’m at the bottom.”

  Holding on to the trunk of a slender tree, she leaned over the edge and saw him sweep his flashlight beam over the dog. He bent over her wounded leg for several long minutes before straightening and in the dim wash of moonlight, she could see him surveying the steep surrounding walls.

  “There’s no other good way out, I guess, but this is going to be slow. I’ll need you to light the way, if you can.”

  He bent over the dog again and fashioned a crude net with the extra nylon rope, then gently picked her up and took the first step up. Lucy whimpered and struggled in his arms and he slipped back down. “We’ve got to do this differently,” he muttered. He bent over her again, retying the rope into a more secure carrier, then tying it to the safety line he’d used on the way down.

  “I’ve got to be down here to guide and lift her, but I need you to help some by pulling on the line as she comes up…can you handle that? Otherwise we’ll never make it—I need at least one hand for the climb.”

  “Go
t it.” Kris pulled the line up, hand over hand, by painstaking inches. Twice, Trace slipped backward, though Lucy—clearly terrified into frozen silence—stayed secure.

  When both the dog and Trace finally reached the top, Lucy staggered a few feet and then flopped to her side, exhausted by her ordeal.

  “I don’t know who to hug—you or the dog,” Kris exclaimed with joyous relief. “This was the longest half hour of my life.”

  She leaned over the dog and stroked her head, then inspected the foreleg matted with blood. “I was afraid her leg was broken, but it doesn’t look like it. She did bear weight on all fours for a few strides.”

  “I agree. She’s not up to walking all the way back, though.”

  “Then we can take turns carrying her. She isn’t that heavy—I weighed her when she arrived, and she was just a shade under thirty pounds. And it really isn’t that far back.”

  He looked up from the leashes he was untying and laughed. “I think you must’ve developed amnesia from all the excitement, but if you’re game, that’s fine with me. Let me start carrying her, though.”

  He snapped one leash on Lucy’s collar, handed Kris the others, then he gathered the dog in his arms and started making his way through the snow.

  The sight of him—a big, broad-shouldered man so gently cradling an old dog, moving so carefully to avoid jostling her, did something warm and wonderful to Kris’s jaded heart. She could imagine him with an armload of toddlers at bedtime, a big bear of a man who nurtured the most tender little heart, who kept those children safe and who guarded their futures with exquisite care.

  What would it be like to love a man like him? To be with him forever, until they both grew old? She would probably never know.

  He would be a wonderful father someday, but he would never be a part of her life. His roots went deep here. She would have to leave.

  But for as long as she lived, she knew she would never forget the image of Trace Randall helping her save the life of an old man’s beloved friend.

  FOURTEEN

  Trace forced himself to step down from his pickup and walk toward the Wind Hill kennel with an even stride the next morning, even though searing pain shot through his knee with every step.

  He’d managed to pull off yesterday’s late-night search without stirring up Kris’s worries, and he wasn’t going to let his guard drop today, either.

  One woman hovering was enough…and Carrie had enough energy for three.

  “Kris?” he called out as he opened the office door.

  The place had been pristine until last night, but now it was in shambles, papers and supplies thrown everywhere, the stainless-steel exam table turned on its side. It was a display of senseless violence that made his adrenaline surge—and it had been directed against someone who wouldn’t stand a chance if this guy came after her.

  What kind of sick jerk would do this—and why? It spoke of rage and power and of wanting to leave a message. A threat.

  Trace could think of a message or two he’d like to give the perpetrator, but neither of them were legal. Even a well-deserved uppercut to the guy’s jaw could mean landing in jail himself.

  And a person like this wasn’t worth it.

  He took a steadying breath to calm his anger as he went into the kennel area of the building. “Kris? Are you here?”

  Half of the runs were still empty, their front gates ajar. The remaining dogs barked and whined and scrambled against the chain-link barrier for attention.

  Lucy was curled up with Bailey in a big cardboard box filled with soft blankets at the end of the aisle, clearly receiving special dispensation after her adventure.

  “Where’s Kris, old girl—do you know?”

  Both dogs raised their heads to acknowledge the interruption, then blissfully sank back into their warm nest.

  “If they know, they’re not telling.”

  Trace turned around to find Carrie standing in the aisle, her hands on her hips. “What are you doing here?”

  She winked at him. “I could ask you the same thing.”

  “I came again to see if I could help. Looks like a lot of animals are still missing.”

  She nodded. “I’ve been out searching with the volunteers since seven this morning. Someone picked up several of the dogs wandering down the highway, where they could’ve been killed. A couple of others were found several miles away in someone’s yard. A deputy is bringing those dogs in shortly, or so I heard.”

  “I’d sure like to find the person who turned them loose.”

  She shook her head, “Unfortunately, a lot of the volunteers are saying that Kris is just careless and lazy because this kind of thing never happened at the old facility. They’re thinking the trashed office was a way for her to cover it up so it would look like an intruder had been here.”

  “That’s crazy.”

  “It gets worse. Apparently rumors are flying about Kris and her ex dealing drugs and even doing time. One of the women said a store clerk in town refused to take a check from her last week, because she ‘knew’ Kris was in deep financial trouble and figured it would bounce. The clerk claimed that when she said she would only take cash, Kris threatened her.”

  “At this rate, it will be a miracle if she doesn’t just decide to sell out now and move out of town.”

  “That’s what I think. I mean, where is all of this coming from? She’s been here almost two months and suddenly it’s like a smear campaign. If a popularity poll was taken right now, her name would be in the gutter.” Carrie glanced at all the empty pens. “And you can bet that if some of these dogs get hit or disappear for good, this town will never forgive her.”

  Yet Trace had seen her horror last night when she’d discovered the missing dogs. He’d witnessed her absolute determination to go after every single one of them, and only a long argument had convinced her to give up her search at three in the morning.

  Even on the long hike back with Lucy, she’d insisted on carrying the dog most of the way.

  If that was the behavior of a woman with callous disregard for the animals in her care, he’d eat his best boots.

  She’d once said that she’d had a troubled past, but a lot of people did foolish things when they were young, learned from their mistakes, then went on to live honorable lives.

  If she was still guilty as charged by the good folks of Battle Creek regarding those other issues, he’d eat his spurs right along with ’em.

  “So where is Kris now?” he asked, starting for the door.

  Carrie’s eyes widened. “You’re hurt, Trace. You need to prop that leg up with ice packs and rest, not go gallivanting all over the county. I’m going to call that doctor again and get you an appointment.”

  “I’m just fine, and he’s going to get real tired of me canceling. Pretty soon he isn’t even going to take your calls.”

  She strode right up to him, grabbed his forearms and glared up into his face. “You know what that surgeon said.”

  He tried to gently extricate himself from her grip, then gave up. “I can’t just sit around and baby an old injury, or my ranch could fail. And if I don’t help my neighbors when they need it, maybe they will.”

  “If you last that long. Goals can change, Trace. Circumstances do. Things can be out of our control.”

  “The good Lord willing, this ranch could be financially secure in another five years, cattle prices stabilize, and we get enough rain.”

  “It’s a wonderful goal, it truly is, but maybe you need to form a partnership with someone. But I’m only telling you what the surgeon told me—push yourself too hard, and you’ll blow that knee. And there’s only so many times it can be repaired.”

  During the next few days, cars pulled in now and then with another one of the refugees. Only eight dogs were still loose by the following weekend, but where they were was anyone’s guess.

  It didn’t take guesswork to know about the gossip spreading through the area, though. Kris had overheard the volunteer search party tal
king between themselves. People at the drugstore a few aisles over, who hadn’t realized she was there. Even after church on Sunday, out in the parking lot.

  Trying to fight it all with the truth would be like trying to stop a leak in the Hoover Dam with bubblegum.

  Trace and Carrie hadn’t been over since and she hadn’t even seen them in church, so she was pretty sure they’d been hearing the rumors, too…and were probably taking care to establish careful distance from the mess her life had become. That was the part that hurt the most, though had she ever really thought there was a chance with Trace?

  She was drawn to him on every level. His strength, his determination. His quiet, easy wit. The fact that it made her heart warm just hearing his voice. If she’d ever allowed herself to dream, he was the kind of guy she would’ve imagined.

  But there was no way she could stay at Wind Hill forever. She needed the sale money for clearing her debts and to resume her search for Emma. She did need to leave, while his roots were here.

  So maybe it was a blessing to have a clean break now…before her foolish feelings for him grew too deep.

  Now, she stood in the kennel office as an installation tech finished putting in the security system and wondered if the expense had even been worth it.

  The county board met on the second Tuesday evening of the month, and she could only imagine the heated discussion they were having right now—one that might culminate in a formal letter rescinding her provisional contract as the county’s animal shelter. Would she need to put the place up for sale far sooner than she’d thought?

  “This security system will operate just like the one you installed up at the house, right?”

  “Yes, ma’am. If a smoke detector is triggered, it sounds a loud alarm here and alerts our call center. That operator calls your local 911 system. You can also trigger it by touching a button on the control panel. Same thing if someone forces open a door or window. You have five minutes to call the service number and cancel.”

  “And you haven’t seen any problems with it?”

  He shrugged. “Every company is different, and even this one offers a tier of features and service. You have the most basic level, but it’ll get the job done…unless your phone service is interrupted.”

 

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