Christmas with My Cowboy

by Diana Palmer

  She’d lowered the lights in the living room and muted the sound on the channel. She was very tired. It had been a long day. She’d had to track down a witness in a domestic violence case, always a tricky thing to do. The witness, an older woman, finally admitted to what she’d seen but refused to appear at trial or even be deposed. Meadow gently reminded her that the victim, a pregnant young woman, had been admitted to the hospital with injuries that cost her the child she was carrying. The witness reluctantly agreed to appear as a witness for the prosecution.

  Ann Farrell, the assistant district attorney assigned to the case, had gone with Meadow to talk to the witness. Afterward, they’d had lunch and traded horror stories. Civilians had no idea what people in law enforcement had to cope with. District attorneys were also involved in the daily operations of law enforcement when they had to prosecute a case. The assistant DA was confident that she could win the case. The victim was mad enough to testify and had, in fact, already filed for divorce. Since the case was unlikely to be tried until the next circuit court session, the divorce would be through and the husband under a court order not to approach his wife or have any contact with her. A wife could testify against her husband, especially in a criminal case where the wife was the victim.

  Meadow wondered privately what sort of lowlife would raise his hand to a pregnant woman in the first place. Probably, she mused, the same sort of lowlife who would chain a dog to a tree and forget to feed and water it, like poor Snow.

  She reached over and ruffled the fur between Snow’s ears, laughing as the pretty husky raised her head and closed her eyes. Snow was such a treasure. She loved the thick white fur with its pale red tips. She’d never had a pet as intelligent as her dog.

  After a few minutes, she stretched out on Dal’s cushy couch with a pillow under her head and dozed while the television droned on.

  She was barely aware of a faint noise in the back of the house, but Snow heard it and got up quickly. She lifted her head, sniffing the air. She looked at Meadow with her pale blue eyes and howled faintly.

  Meadow sat up. Her hand went automatically to her pistol as she got to her feet and moved on the carpet, silently, to the hallway. She heard the noise again. So did Snow, who jumped forward and ran toward the source of it.

  That sound was coming from Dal’s office. He’d told her about the antique writing desk that was kept there, the one she was guarding. It seemed that his concern wasn’t misplaced. The thief had come back!

  Her heart racing, pistol steady in both hands, Meadow moved cautiously behind Snow. She wanted to call the dog back, but her voice would alert whoever was moving around in the room down the hall. She hoped that Snow wouldn’t do too much damage to him before she got there. The dog was aggressive when she needed to be, despite her usually sweet temperament.

  She heard a thud. Seconds later, there was a loud yelp. “Snow!” Meadow called, and started running down the hall. To hell with stealth. Something had happened to her pet!

  She got to the study where the writing table was kept. Her keen eyes noted the empty space where it had been and the open window behind it. Jarvis was meowing loudly. He was standing on the big desk, and there was a smear of blood on some bond paper that was stacked beside him, near the printer.

  “Are you okay, baby?” she asked Jarvis quickly. He seemed fine, although there was blood on one of his paws.

  She ran to the low window and looked out. Snow was lying on the ground, still, motionless. Her heart stopped in her chest. In the distance, there was a tall figure in a gray coat carrying a big cloth bag, like the sort artists carried their canvases in. He didn’t look back. He was running.

  So Meadow had a choice. Chase the thief, which was her job, or save her pet’s life. It was no choice at all.

  She holstered the gun and climbed quickly out the low window. As she knelt in the snow to put a hand on Snow’s chest, she noticed a long piece of firewood just beside the animal, obviously the thing the thief had used on her poor pet. There was dirt on Snow’s head, visible against the blinding white snow in the outside security light, probably from the wood. Snow’s chest was rising and falling. She was alive! Now Meadow had to get help to keep her that way.

  It was a long way to the driveway where her SUV was parked. She struggled to drag Snow around the side of the house. The dog was very heavy. She was still breathing, but also still unconscious. Terrified, Meadow found strength she didn’t even know she had as she wrangled the big dog up into the vehicle and closed the door.

  She had her cell phone out even as she revved the SUV and roared off down the snow-covered road, sliding a little in her haste. She’d left the window open, the door unlocked. Dal was going to be furious . . .

  Snow could die! She had no time to go back and secure the house. She had the vet’s number on speed dial, thank God.

  There was a lot of information on after-hours care, with a phone number. She stopped in the road, turned on the overhead light, and grappled for a pen in the console. She wrote the number on her hand, having no scrap of paper except in her purse, on the floor. No time to hunt for some.

  She called the number and shot the big vehicle forward, her heart shaking her with its terrified beat. It rang once, twice, three times.

  “Come on, come on,” she cried aloud, glancing at the dog’s still form. “Please!”

  Apparently angels did exist, because a soft, feminine voice came on the line. “Dr. Clay. How can I help you?”

  “I’m a deputy sheriff. I was standing guard over a priceless antique when a thief managed to get into the house and take it. My Siberian husky tried to stop him and he hit her over the head with something. A piece of firewood, I think, I remember seeing one . . . she’s unconscious. Still breathing. Please . . .” Tears blurred the road in her eyes.

  “Bring her right on to the office. I’m less than five minutes away. I’ll meet you there.”

  “Thank you. Thank you so much!” Meadow sobbed. She hung up. She was about eight minutes away.

  Damn the snow, she thought recklessly, and stood on the accelerator. Thank God they had the snowplows out in force. At least the roads were mostly clear—the main roads, that is. She had to get from the ranch road to the main road, and it wasn’t easy. The snow was deep. But she got through it, sliding onto the main highway but recovering quickly.

  She glanced at Snow and reached over to smooth the soft fur. She hadn’t noticed any blood around the dog’s mouth, which hopefully meant that there was no fatal damage. “Hang on, baby, please hang on! I can’t lose you,” she whispered. Her voice broke. She couldn’t bear the thought of losing her dog, her companion, her friend.

  She gunned the engine, prepared to out-argue any fellow law enforcement officer who caught her speeding. Luckily the road seemed to be empty.

  She spun the SUV off the road into the parking lot of the veterinary office, where another SUV was parked just at the door.

  The vet came running to help Meadow get the big dog out of the vehicle and inside, onto the examination table.

  “Head trauma,” Dr. Clay murmured as her hands went over the still form of the dog. She opened Snow’s mouth and nodded. “Good, good.” She took the stethoscope from around her neck, looped the earpieces into her ears, and listened. She nodded again. Her hands probed the skull and she nodded again.

  “Concussion,” she said, “as you’ve probably guessed. We’ll need to run tests, but the most immediate thing is to get her oxygenated, start electrolytes, and elevate her head. I don’t feel any depressions in her skull that would indicate a skull fracture, and her heart rate is good. There may be some pulmonary issues, but we’ll worry about those after she’s stabilized. She’ll need to be watched continuously until she comes to.” She noted Meadow’s terror. “I’ll have Dr. Bonner relieve me, but I’ll stay with her for the next few hours.”

  She didn’t add if she comes to. Meadow knew from her experience in law enforcement that if a patient with a head injury didn’t regain
consciousness in seventy-two hours, the patient was likely not to survive.

  Meadow took a deep breath. “It was my fault,” she said. “Snow ran ahead after the perp. I wasn’t quick enough to stop her.”

  “Don’t blame yourself,” Dr. Clay said gently. “We’re human. We do the best we can. It’s not your fault. Okay?”

  She nodded, lips pressed together to stop them from trembling.

  “I’m going to have to have help with her once I get the preliminary things started,” the doctor said, and searched for the materials she needed. She had her cell on speakerphone. Meadow heard it ring, and a soft voice answered. “Tanny, I need you to come in. I have a patient, a female husky with severe head trauma.”

  “I’ll be right there,” the vet tech promised and hung up.

  “She’s very good,” Dr. Clay told Meadow as she started Snow on oxygen with a mask. She reached for clippers and removed the fur around the dog’s lower leg, just above the foot, to start a drip.

  “She has to live,” Meadow ground out. “She just has to.”

  “There are positives,” the doctor said. She was elevating Snow’s head with a board. “Have to turn her every half hour,” she murmured to herself as she worked. “No bone fracture, her vitals are good, if a little off center. How old is she?”

  “Two years,” Meadow choked.

  The vet nodded. “Young. And she’s in great shape physically. There may be some neurological problems if . . . when,” she added after a glance at Meadow’s drawn face, “she recovers. Seizures, most likely. We’ll have to put her on anticonvulsant medication. Look at that,” she added softly, noting Snow’s sudden sharp movement. The blue eyes opened and looked around. They closed and she breathed regularly. “Another good sign.”

  Meadow let out the breath she’d been holding. She reached out to pet Snow’s soft fur. “When I get through my current nervous breakdown, I’m going to move heaven and earth to find the man who did this to her,” she said through her teeth.

  “If you get him, I’ll be more than happy to testify,” the vet said grimly. “I hate animal abusers.”

  “Me too.”

  “Dr. Bonner and I will take turns watching her, around the clock if we have to. But we’ll need someone to special her once that’s out of the way. It may be expensive.”

  “I don’t care what it costs,” Meadow said, choking up. “It’s so hard!”

  Dr. Clay patted her on the shoulder. “I know. I’ve been in this situation myself,” she added. Her pale eyes were sympathetic. “You go home. There’s nothing you can do here. Give me your cell number. I’ll call you if there’s any change.”

  Meadow gave it to her, tears running down her cheek. “She’s the only family I have left,” she said huskily.

  “I know how that feels, too.” Dr. Clay took the pad and pen she’d loaned Meadow and put the number into her own cell phone.

  “Will she come out of it, do you think?” Meadow asked after a minute. “Honestly?”

  “I don’t know,” came the quiet reply. “In cases like this, we have to wait and see. I’ll run those tests. They’ll help us decide on what treatments to pursue. You have to authorize them.”

  “I’ll sign anything.”

  The doctor smiled sadly. “Try not to worry. I’ll do whatever I can. I promise.”

  “I know that.” She smoothed her hand over Snow’s fur and ground her teeth together. “Don’t leave me, baby,” she whispered. “Please, fight. You have to fight.”

  The dog seemed to stir a little again at the words. Meadow kissed the fur behind an ear. “I’ll be waiting at home, okay?”

  She moved away, shaken, terrified. Her wide eyes met those of the doctor. There was really nothing else to say. It was a matter of waiting now. She signed the electronic permission form, fighting more tears.

  She passed the veterinary technician on her way out the door. She was a young woman, short and dark-headed, with a sweet face and a compassionate smile.

  “I’m Tanny,” she told Meadow. “Don’t worry, we’ll take good care of your dog,” she assured Meadow. “One of us will make sure you know the minute she comes around,” she added with an optimism that Meadow prayed was justified.

  “Thanks so much,” Meadow said huskily.

  “It will be all right,” the vet tech said quietly. “You have to have faith. It really does move mountains.”

  Meadow just nodded.

  * * *

  She went home, dragging, worn to the bone, sick with worry. It was far worse than when Snow had wandered into the barbed wire fence and everyone had been out searching for her. She could die. If only she could do something!

  Her heart jumped when she saw that Dal Blake’s big truck was sitting in her driveway when she got there.

  She got out of the SUV. He was furious. She winced as he moved closer, face like a thundercloud.

  “You let the thief take my table right out the damned window, and you didn’t even chase him! I followed his footprints to the woods, only his, yours went to the damned driveway! You left the doors unlocked, the window open . . . what the hell kind of security are you?”

  She started to speak, but she couldn’t get a word in edgewise.

  “Next time I want someone to guard my house, I’ll have Jeff send a real law enforcement officer, not some damned flighty woman who welcomes thieves into houses and walks off without even leaving a note behind!”

  “Let me explain,” she began.

  He cut her off. “You’re useless,” he said icily, “as a deputy, even as a woman. You don’t even know how to kiss, for God’s sake! Always watching me, trying to seduce me . . . as if I’d ever want some backward virgin who doesn’t know what to do with a man!”

  The sting of those words went right through her. On top of the worry for Snow, it was just too much. “You go to hell, Dal Blake!” she said harshly, tears running down her face.

  “That table had been in my family for three generations,” he said through his teeth. “It was all I had left of my grandmother. And you let someone just walk off with it!”

  She took a shaky breath. “I’m sorry.”

  “You’re sorry! You don’t know what sorry is, but you’ll find out. When Jeff knows what you did, he’ll fire you! No wonder you left the FBI. You can’t find your left foot with a fork!”

  She turned and went to the front door. Her hands were shaking as she unlocked it.

  “That’s it, run away!”

  She did. She closed the door and locked it behind her. Then she went into her bedroom and collapsed into tears on the bed. It had been a horrible night. In many ways, it was one of the worst nights of her life.

  She didn’t put on a gown. She lay down on the coverlet in her sock feet, still in her pantsuit, in case she had to rush back to the animal hospital. She thought of Snow, poor Snow, who’d been hurt trying to save stupid Dal Blake’s equally stupid antique table.

  He was the most horrible person in the world, and she was sure that she never wanted to see him again.

  Snow. She recalled so many happy times with the rescued dog, playing in the snow, chasing along paths in the woods, sitting by the fireplace at night, with just the light of the burning logs. Snow was more than a dog, she was a companion, someone to talk to, someone to keep her company. Snow was . . . like her child.

  The tears came back, flowing like hot rivers down her cheeks, into the corner of her mouth. Please, she prayed silently, please don’t let her die because of me. I should have chased her, I should have stopped her. It was just one more foul-up in a life full of foul-ups. And now her stupidity was going to cost her Snow.

  * * *

  Belatedly, she recalled the job she was doing when the tragic events unfolded. She called Jeff at home on her cell phone.

  “Snow was injured?” Jeff exclaimed. “I’m so sorry!”

  “They don’t know if she’s going to live,” she said, managing not to burst into tears. She wanted so badly to have someone to just ho
ld her and let her cry. Fat chance of that. “I saw the thief. He had a big canvas bag, like artists carry their paintings in, over his shoulder. He was tall. I couldn’t see much, but he had on a gray overcoat.” She hesitated. “Oh, and Jarvis had blood on one paw. There was a smear of it on some paperwork on the desk in the study. It might belong to the perp. Jarvis was fine, but if he scratched the man, it might explain the blood.”

  “That’s terrific detective work,” he said gently. “At least it’s something to start with,” Jeff said. “I’ll get Gil out of bed and send him over to Dal’s place right now.”

  “Dal said I was useless,” she began, and her voice wobbled.

  “Yes, he phoned me,” he said, and didn’t add what the man had said. “Never mind. I have no plans to fire you, okay? I don’t blame you for putting your dog’s life over trying to catch the perp, which it’s unlikely you could have done anyway if he had that much of a head start.”

  “I want him. Bad,” she added coldly.

  “So do I,” Jeff replied. “Don’t worry. Dr. Clay came to us from a prestigious animal clinic in New York City. She’s one of the best I’ve ever seen. She treats my dog, Clarence.”

  “She’s very nice. Oh, darn,” she ground out. “It’s been a horrible night. But I’m sorry I let the man get away.”

  “We’ll get him,” Jeff said. “I’ll phone Gil right now. You take care. If you need me, call, okay?”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  * * *

  Gil arrived at Dal’s front door more than a little out of humor. He’d had the story from Jeff. This rancher had laid into poor Meadow without even giving her a chance to explain what happened. Typical Dal Blake—yell first.

  “I’m here to get evidence,” he told an irritated Dal.

  Dal didn’t even reply. He led the deputy to his study. Gil went to the desk and took out a kit to get a sample of blood from the paper.

  “I need to see your cat. I hope you haven’t washed his paw,” he added. “There may be some dried blood on his claws. I’ll need a sample of it.”

  “What blood?” Dal asked, frowning. He looked over Gil’s shoulder.