* * *
“Emma, you have a way with animals. What I call a special touch,” Nate said to his assistant at the animal hospital, then finished entering notes in a computer file for his last patient, a Great Dane, similar in coloring to his own white-and-black one.
“Dogs are my specialty. Now give me a cat and I’m often at a loss as to why they do the things they do.”
Nate laughed. “That’s because they have an independent streak with a touch of stubbornness. It’s usually their way or no way.”
“I do have to admit I’ve trained a few dogs like that. Some I’ve given up on. Not all of them can be a service or therapy dog.”
He leaned against the counter in the examination room. “I’ve been thinking about talking to you or Abbey about Caring Canines,” he said, referring to the organization that Dr. Harris’s daughter, Abbey, had started last year to help supply service and therapy dogs for people who needed them, regardless of their ability to pay. “I have a friend I think who could benefit from a therapy dog.”
“What’s the problem with your friend?” Emma asked, her long blond hair pulled back in her usual ponytail.
“This isn’t common knowledge and must remain between you and me.”
“Always. When I train a dog for a person or someone comes to get one, what information they tell me remains private.”
“She lost her leg from the knee down in a car accident and is having a hard time coping.”
“No doubt. That can be quite an adjustment. Abbey is working with some veterans who have lost limbs. We’ve even matched up the ones who want a therapy dog. Nothing beats an animal attuned to your moods, especially when you’re depressed. Is she having any nightmares about the accident? Sometimes people will relive the moment their life changed over and over when they sleep. Their subconscious at work.”
“I don’t know.” And he didn’t feel he was in a place to ask her—at least not at the moment. For the past two days since Kit had told him, he’d wrestled with what to do about the information, but he knew he had to help her.
“Does your friend have a preference on the breed of dog? Will she talk to me?”
“I’m not even sure if she’ll accept a therapy dog, but I have to try. She used to have a black poodle as a kid. Missy went everywhere with her.” He could still remember the day Missy died and how hard Kit took it. He’d hurt almost as much as Kit, watching her deal with her grief. When she cared about something, she did deeply.
Then why couldn’t she have cared enough about me? That question came unbidden into his mind, warning him to be cautious with Kit.
“There’s a white, medium-size poodle at Caring Canines I’ve been working with. I could escalate her training, and she could be available by next week.”
“Great. In the meantime I’ll talk with Kit about it.” He’d have to think carefully about how to approach her so she didn’t get her defenses up and refuse. “What’s the dog’s name?”
“Lexie.”
“Okay, then, I’ll visit her and see what she says.”
“If she doesn’t want a poodle, bring her out to Caring Canines. We have several other therapy dogs ready right now.”
The receptionist peeped around the door frame. “Your next patient is here.”
“Thanks, Caroline. I guess we’d better get back to work,” Nate said as Emma made her way into the hallway to bring the next animal back to the examination room.
As Emma led in the next patient, a pet pig, Nate decided to call Howard and invite himself to dinner one evening soon.
* * *
Kathleen struggled but managed to secure the saddle on Cinnamon, put the reins over her mare’s head and rest the leather straps across her withers. After Kathleen let down the stirrups, she looked to see if anyone else was around the back of the barn where she would mount her horse. Howard had worked with Cinnamon to get her accustomed to being mounted on the right, but this was the first time that Kathleen had ridden her.
Since arriving at the ranch five days before, she’d kept to her cabin. But her brother had come to see her earlier this afternoon and told her about what he’d been doing the past few days since Cinnamon was better. He’d all but challenged her to go for a ride. She’d wanted to but always seemed to come up with a reason not to, even after Cinnamon was over the colic.
What if she couldn’t ride with her prosthetic leg? She didn’t want to make a fool of herself in front of others. Holding Cinnamon in place in front of her, she stepped up on the mounting block that Howard had adapted with a railing. With a mental count to three, she put her right foot in the stirrup then swung her leg with the prosthesis over the back of her mare and successfully sat on top of her horse. She punched her fist into the air, joy spreading through her.
But when she started out in a walk, her left leg slipped out of the stirrup. Frustrated, she stopped Cinnamon and slid it back into place. She didn’t go far from the barn in case there was a problem. Her foot came out a couple of more times until finally she left it out. Her balance was a little off, but she managed to walk Cinnamon around the pasture. Even for a brief moment, she relished the fresh air with the scent of newly mowed grass peppering the light breeze.
When Kathleen glimpsed a red truck drive up the lane—Nate’s—she thought about heading for the rolling hills to the east of the house but knew she couldn’t avoid him. She made her way back to the barn at a fast walk, her left leg bouncing around more than she liked, which only increased Cinnamon’s gait. She hung on and concentrated on keeping her balance. She wanted to dismount before Nate caught sight of her.
What are you afraid of? He knows. Do you really think you can keep it a secret from everyone for long? That inner voice that had been nibbling away at her resolve to hide from others kept chipping away at her. What was she going to do, not just for the rest of her life, but right now, the next few weeks? Sit around doing nothing? Maybe ride once a day? Would that be enough?
Kathleen made it to the mounting block as Nate strolled out of the back of the barn and paused near the entrance—watching her.
“Go away,” she said, her grip on the reins tight. Cinnamon tossed her head, and Kathleen loosened her hold.
“I came to see you.”
“I’m busy.”
“I can wait.” He folded his arms across his chest, the brim of his cowboy hat hiding his expression partially.
She drilled her gaze into his, trying to force him to leave. This would be the first time she dismounted with her prosthetic leg. What if she stumbled, fell? She swallowed over and over. “Please.”
He strode to her and patted Cinnamon while he looked up at her. “It’s okay to need help.”
“I need to do this by myself, and I don’t want an audience.”
“Okay.” He pushed his hat off his forehead, revealing his smoky-gray eyes, soft with concern deep in their depths. “I’ll be in the barn. Howard is meeting me down here.”
“Thanks.” She waited until he’d disappeared inside before slipping her right foot out of the stirrup and planting it on the block, and then she swung her left leg over Cinnamon. The past half an hour had drained her energy, and her thigh muscles burned. She sank down onto the piece of wood, holding Cinnamon’s reins while she gathered her strength to finish taking care of her mare.
Kit led Cinnamon toward the barn to remove the saddle nearer where it was stored. She heard murmurs as she approached the back entrance.
“Give it a try. It might work,” Howard said to Nate as she entered.
“Try what?” Kathleen asked, stopping at the saddle rack.
Her brother shot Nate a look as though to say, You tell her.
Nate cleared his cough. “I have a gift for you.”
Chapter Four
“I think I hear Beth calling.” Howard scurried t
o the exit, throwing a glance over his shoulder and adding, “Dinner is in an hour. See you both up at the house.”
Nate wanted to erase the worry in Kit’s eyes. “Your brother isn’t subtle. He wanted me to meet him down here, but when I asked him why, he didn’t have a reason.”
“I don’t think he knows the definition of subtle.” Kit continued her trek across the barn to the saddle rack. “What did you mean you have a gift for me?”
Realizing she might protest, Nate still hurried to help her with removing the saddle. When she allowed him to lift it off and onto the rack, surprise must have graced his features.
“I haven’t fully recovered from my accident. I’ve done too much today.”
He took the brush from the shelf nearby and ran it over Cinnamon’s coat, keeping a sharp eye out for any outwardly signs of colic. “She looks good. Howard told me she got into a bad batch of feed—that was what had her sick. He threw it out. Thankfully she was the only horse affected.”
“I’m glad she’s better. It felt good to be riding her again, but it was different. I’m used to using my legs some to control Cinnamon. I’m going to have to modify how I ride and work on building up certain muscles.”
“That won’t be hard for you. Cinnamon is a good horse and picks things up fast.”
“She’ll train better than I will.”
He slanted a look at her over Cinnamon’s rump and saw a grin tilt up the corners of Kit’s mouth. “You’ll do fine. I’ve seen you practice a dance move until you did it flawlessly.” Her smile faded when he mentioned the word dance. “You can’t forget what you did for so much of your life. Who’s to say you can’t do something else involving dance.”
She closed her eyes for a long moment, her chest expanding then collapsing before she regarded him again. “You never told me what the gift is that you have for me.”
He laughed. “You haven’t changed in that department. You always hated not knowing what I was giving you for your birthday or Christmas.”
“My birthday isn’t for a while, and Christmas is half a year away. I can’t wait that long.”
“You don’t have to. I’ll have the gift in a couple of days. That is, if you want it.”
She lounged against a post nearby while he finished with Cinnamon. “What is it?”
“A poodle named Lexie. She needs a home, and I know how much you loved Missy. She’s white and about the same size as Missy.”
Her face pale, Kit pushed away from the post. “I don’t know about that. I may not be here long.”
“That’s why I asked Howard if he’d keep Lexie if you left and didn’t want to take her with you. He said the kids would love to have another dog.”
“I know you’re a vet and come into contact with animals that need homes, but why pass her along to me? Why are you doing this?”
“You think I have an ulterior motive?”
“Do you?”
He began walking Cinnamon back to her stall. “Howard wants me to leave her here another night rather than putting her out in the paddock to make sure she’s still okay.”
Hands on her hips, she scrunched her mouth into a frown. “Nate Sterling, out with it. Why are you giving me a dog?”
After Cinnamon was safely in her stall, he faced Kit. He couldn’t keep from her where Lexie came from, but he’d wanted her to fall in love with the poodle before he told her. “I’m getting her from Caring Canines.”
“What’s that?”
“Abbey Winters, Dr. Harris’s daughter, and his assistant, Emma Tanner, run an organization to help match therapy and service dogs with people who need them.”
“I don’t need a service dog. I can do for myself.”
“I agree.”
Her eyes widened. “You think I need a therapy dog!”
“Do you?”
She opened her mouth to say something, but no words came out. Finally she limped toward the front barn doors.
“I never thought you were a chicken,” Nate called out from behind her. “I’ve seen you meet so many challenges head-on. What harm will it do to see if you and Lexie get along? She may be able to help you.”
At the entrance, she spun around on her right leg. She wobbled but caught her balance. “How?”
“Comfort you when you need it. Listen to you. You know how attuned animals are to us. You may not want my help, but take Lexie’s.” He couched his tone and words into a dare, knowing in the past she couldn’t refuse one. “I’ve talked to many pet owners and so many times they praise how much joy their pets bring to them.”
“Okay. I’ll try it on one condition. I don’t want you to look at me and only see my injury. That’s all I got from my dance buddies in New York. Tonight I plan on telling Carrie and Jacob about my leg. I’ll have enough to deal with them.”
“What makes you think I look at you like that?”
“Because you went to the trouble of getting Lexie for me. I’m not broken. I just need time.”
A surge of aggravation flashed through him. He clamped his lips together, trying to choose his words carefully. “I never said you were broken. You did. I’ve never looked at you like that. An injury isn’t what defines a person. How you handle it does.”
She glared at him, then turned toward the exit. “Tell my brother I’ll be up to the house after dinner to talk with his children. I’m suddenly not hungry.”
He wasn’t going to let her run away. He moved quickly and planted himself in her path. “No, you tell your brother that. I’m not your messenger.”
“You’re not my friend, either. A friend wouldn’t push me like you are.”
“I hope I have friends who will push me when I need it,” he fired back at her.
She stepped away. “Fine. I’ll call Howard. Be gone by the time I get there.” When she charged toward the cabin, her limp was more pronounced.
Nate deflated. He’d blown it. He’d wanted to shake some sense into her, but he hadn’t handled it at all correctly. When she was forced into a corner, she always came out fighting. Somehow he would find a way to reach her without putting her on the defensive. He might not be able to, but maybe the kids in the youth group could when they come to the ranch tomorrow to plan the fund-raiser. Tonight he’d solicit Howard and Beth to make sure Kit was there when they arrived.
* * *
As Kathleen strolled toward the main house, her attention zeroed in on Nate’s truck, parked out front. His red Silverado mocked her order for him to be gone. She came to a halt in the yard, trying to decide what to do.
Beth opened the door and stepped out onto the porch. When she saw Kathleen, she moved toward her, carrying two mugs. “I was wondering where you were. I made the special tea you like so much.”
“Trying to bribe me to stay?”
“Is it working?” Her sister-in-law passed the mug slowly under her nose.
Kathleen drew in the scent of peaches and cream wafting in the heat rising from the cup. “Maybe just a little. Is Nate inside?”
“Nope.”
“His truck is here.”
“Your powers of observation are sharp.” She started toward the house. “Let’s sit on the steps. It’s been a long day, and I could use the break. And tomorrow will be busy.”
“What’s going on?”
“We’ll have eight teens descend on the ranch. Howard offered this place for the Western Day Fund-raiser next month and the first onsite planning session will be held here.”
Kathleen frowned, clasping both hands around the mug and leaning forward. “Nate wants me to help him with the fund-raiser.”
“Are you going to?”
“After this afternoon, I shouldn’t even consider it.” She took a sip and welcomed the smooth taste as it slid down her throat.
“What happ
ened?”
“He thinks I need counseling. He wants me to have a therapy dog.”
“That isn’t what having a therapy dog means. Abbey started Caring Canines because she has a sister-in-law, a child really, who lost her parents in a plane crash and her legs were injured. The doctors weren’t sure if she would walk again even though Madi had several operations to repair the leg. They fixed what they could. The rest depended on physical therapy and the little girl’s will. Abbey found a perfect dog to replace the one Madi lost. Her pet died in the crash. Cottonballs was trained to be a therapy dog. It’s not like a service animal. Cottonballs helped Madi deal with her injuries, and today Madi runs and plays like anyone her age.”
“A therapy dog can’t give me back my leg so I can dance.”
“No, but you haven’t come to terms with that yet. Maybe the dog will help you.”
Kathleen’s grip around the mug tightened, and she waited half a minute before asking, “How?”
“You can hug and love on her. She’ll return the love unconditionally. You can talk to her and she’ll listen, but she won’t say something you don’t want to hear.”
“Like you just said to me.”
“I’ve always been up-front with you.” Beth sipped her tea, then set it on the step next to her. “You know my cat, Willie. He listens to me rant and rave about a problem, and by the time I finish talking my way through it, I often have a solution.” Her sister-in-law smiled. “And not because Willie told me what to do.”
Kathleen put her tea down and shifted toward Beth. “What if I can’t figure out what to do?”
“You have me and Howard. I suspect you have Nate, too. He wouldn’t have done what he did if he didn’t care about you.” Beth covered Kathleen’s hands with one of hers. “And if you need to talk to a counselor, that is understandable. You’ve gone through a traumatic ordeal.”
“I might not stay here.”
Her Hometown Hero Page 5