Punish (Feral Justice Book 1)

by Vella Munn

  Every few minutes one or the other would study him. Once Gun had gotten up, rested his head on his legs and stared at him as if trying to carry on a conversation. Many times before he’d tapped into their thoughts, but this morning he kept his mind closed.

  “You did what you did,” he said. “It’s none of my business.”

  The two gazed at each other as if carrying on a private conversation. They’d had some weeds and leaves on their coats when they’d gotten home, and Gun was acting tender footed. Obviously they’d covered a lot of territory, not that that was anything new. Mostly he hoped they hadn’t had a run-in with anything or anyone.

  Rach was right. He was asking for trouble letting them run the way he did.

  So stop it.

  How?

  A faint thump came from his bedroom. Even as his heart rate kicked up, he smiled. Smoke was home.

  “Come on out here, old girl. You and I need to talk about the hours you keep.”

  No matter when she got home, Smoke was always hungry. He kept expecting her to plant herself in front of him and give him what he called the Food Stare. When she didn’t appear he became a little uneasy. Maybe it wasn’t her after all. Like who else would it be?

  “Smoke? Is it you? You better be all right.”

  He belatedly realized Stone and Gun were no longer at his feet but had gone into the bedroom. Trusting them to play guard dogs if he had an intruder, he relaxed. He got his feet under him then gripped the chair arm as the room spun. Darn it, he’d gotten up too fast. This getting old sucked.

  When the room realigned itself, he walked into the bedroom where his three buddies took up most of the space not claimed by furniture. Smoke’s brothers flanked her.

  “I can’t let you guys do this anymore. I know I keep saying—”

  Gun whined, something the young male had seldom done since leaving puppyhood. Stone echoed his brother and licked Smoke’s neck. Smoke’s head hung lower than usual and she was panting.

  “What’d you do, lady? You hurt yourself running around the country?”

  As Smoke lowered her rump to the floor, he recalled that the three had gotten through puppyhood without serious injury. Given how they’d barreled through their early months, he should have been grateful that except for getting their shots they’d never been to a vet.

  He approached Smoke and rested his hand on the top of her head. She liked being touched well enough. She just wasn’t as demonstrative as her brothers. If she was injured, he reasoned, she might want to be left alone. However, it was his responsibility and right to check her out.

  “You guys are going to be the death of me.” He began his examination by running his hands over her neck, then down her back. Gun and Stone whined. In contrast, Smoke stayed silent. When she relaxed, he gave himself credit. One thing he’d never doubted about the three, they trusted him.

  Nothing appeared wrong with her spine. He knelt in front of her. “You’ve never nipped me. I’m counting on you not to start now.”

  When he spread his fingers over her shoulders, she shifted her weight. He brought his face to hers. “Getting to your boo-boo, am I? Remember when Gun got too close to that nail and I had to shave his side and put on butterfly bandages? He didn’t once try to pull them off, and Stone and you left them alone. I expect the same from you if—”

  His right index finger encountered a lump on the far right side of her chest. Judging by how sticky her hair was, he knew she was bleeding there. Her breathing quickened. He didn’t want to so much as entertain the possibility that she’d bite him, but she might if she was in enough pain.

  He found a second lump, then a third near the first. When he encountered two more, he had no doubt what had happened. Smoke had been hit with buckshot.

  Shot. Could have been killed.

  A chill ran through him, stopping his thoughts. Then bit by bit he returned to reality. Fortunately the bastard who’d done this had been a lousy shot. None of the pellets had struck her face.

  One of his neighbors? Maybe, but he’d been awake most of the night and should have heard. Most of the time the three amigos stayed together during their night-time jaunts. Obviously they hadn’t last night. She presented a large target. Anyone deliberately aiming would have left a multitude of pellets buried in her flesh.

  An unplanned shot? An instinctive response—to what?

  When Smoke lowered her head, he pressed his forehead against hers. “You know what I’m going to say. They have to come out.” He sighed. “By me. I can’t risk taking you to a vet.”

  As recently as last year, he would have been able to stand without help. Now he had no choice but to crab walk over to the bed and push himself to his feet using the bed for leverage.

  “Hell getting old. If I get much worse, just take me to a horse vet and have me put down.”

  Because of what he’d learned from his examination, he thought he could get the pellets out with tweezers. He’d have to do some digging, followed by applying alcohol or iodine to sterilize the wounds. Everything would hurt Smoke.

  “I don’t have a muzzle,” he told the trio from the bathroom. “And I don’t want to try to tie her mouth shut. I guess—well, we’ll see how it goes.”

  The bathroom had everything he figured he’d need except for enough space to work in. Wishing he were doing anything except what he was, he led the way into the kitchen. Every step took him into the past, the last place he wanted to be. He’d gotten good at blocking out his experience as a prisoner of war, at least during the day. Why now of all times was he remembering what it had been like right after he’d been captured and others had controlled his every move? Had left him with a broken shoulder and wrist.

  He didn’t want that for Smoke. Hopefully he could make her understand that digging out the pellets might save her life.

  There was no way of closing the kitchen off from the rest of the house, and he couldn’t bring himself to slip a rope around her neck. He could try to distract her with food but he’d always tried to be honest with the dogs.

  “So here’s the deal,” he said when everyone was in the kitchen. “I’ll do what I have to as fast as possible. The only thing I ask of you is to hold still.”

  After placing his supplies on the counter, he again knelt before Smoke. He might be deluding himself, but wasn’t that trust in her eyes? As he ran his hands over her muzzle, the smell of dog in need of bath assaulted his nostrils.

  Blood.

  Of course. She was bleeding.

  “Hopefully I’m right and there are only five pellets. They’re close to the surface. Did I already tell you that?”

  He reached up and took the tweezers off the kitchen counter. With his other hand, he pulled hair away from the small round hole. She sat.

  “That’s my princess. My brave, strong lady. I’m your old man. I’d do anything for you, and this is going to hurt me more than it does you.” Maybe.

  Getting the tweezers through the opening in her flesh and around the pellet took absolute concentration and a refusal to think about how much pain he was causing her. Unfortunately, when he tried to extract the tweezers, he lost hold of the pellet. Smoke was shaking, as was he. The other dogs paced, yipping and sighing as they did. What he wouldn’t give for some silence and steadier hands.

  It took four tries but he finally got the first pellet out. Blood dripped from the newly enlarged hole. He sank onto his butt and rested his hands on his thighs. Sweat made his shirt stick to him, and his heart pounded.

  Despite his attempt to keep them open, his eyes closed, and his mind left the here and now. The majority of his fellow prisoners had been pilots. Most had been injured when their planes crashed. He’d considered himself badly injured until he’d compared his wounds to some of theirs. That’s when he’d learned to be grateful, because he could still move. He’d also been able to bring water and sometimes food to those who couldn’t sit up. Two had died despite his sad attempts to help them. Their lifeless faces still dominated his n
ightmares.

  Smoke wasn’t dying! God willing—not that he believed in God—the siblings would outlive him.

  And if they did, who would take care of them?

  “Enough.” He opened his eyes. If anything his hands were even less steady. “Too bad I stopped drinking, because a shot right now might help.”

  Smoke’s tongue hung from her open mouth. He could be reading something into it, but did her eyes look as if they might roll back in her head? The thought that she could pass out—did dogs faint?—buoyed him, because it would be easier to work on her then.

  He shook his hand, hoping to increase the blood flow. His butt complained about the hard surface under it, and his back ached. Nothing to do but get ruthless about digging out—

  All three dogs’ ears went forward. Stone and Gun sprinted from the kitchen while Smoke stayed with him. The brothers started barking. They had company.

  Rachelle had to force herself to open the front door. Granted, Joe had told her to come in after she’d identified herself in response to his hollered, “Who’s there?” She drew a blank trying to figure out why he hadn’t come to the door, since the noise left her with no doubt that the grays were waiting just inside.

  Maybe Joe wanted her out of his life—or worse.

  What was her problem? No matter how tense things were between them, he’d never place her in danger. She gripped the knob and turned it. Pulled.

  Two dogs stared at her.

  “Joe, where are you?”

  “In the kitchen.”

  Maybe she shouldn’t be disappointed because, apparently, he wasn’t eagerly waiting to hear about her research into traditional Hopi lifestyle. She’d been particularly interested in the ceremonies that revolved around the Hopis’ thankfulness for the small amounts of rain that fell in the arid climate.

  The Hopi believe that spirits they called kachinas took many forms, including animals. In essence the kachinas assured the well-being of all living things. Maybe, she intended to propose tongue in cheek to Joe, the dogs were kachinas in disguise.

  If nothing else her half-baked and beyond remote possibility was better than focusing on the tension between her stepfather and herself.

  Even before she reached the kitchen, she sensed that something was off. For one thing, as soon as the two male dogs—she’d checked—recognized her, they’d pressed close to her sides as if deliberately limiting her movement.

  They didn’t trust her.

  Smoke was with Joe. The two were on the floor facing each other. Joe glanced over his shoulder at her. The look in his eyes reminded her of his expression when the first picture of him following his POW release had been taken. Like back then he was so deep inside himself he was barely aware of the rest of the world. Except for a fine tremor, Smoke didn’t move. Blood dripped from a small hole in the left side of her chest.

  “What happened?”

  “Someone shot her.”

  Oh no!

  Before she could think what to say or do, Smoke lifted a paw and placed it on Joe’s shoulder. He took the dog’s leg in both hands and leaned into her.

  “All you all right?” she asked.

  “Not so much. I hate seeing her like this. Fortunately she got hit with pellets, because a bullet would have— I’ve removed one but…”

  Right now, how and why Smoke had been injured didn’t matter. Only Joe’s emotional pain and Smoke’s trust in the man who’d been hurting her did.

  As she placed her purse on the counter, she spotted a pair of tweezers with blood and a few dog hairs on them. A pebble-like object lay near them as did a pinkish soapy washcloth and a bottle of iodine.

  Joe was taking care of Smoke’s wounds because he was afraid to take her to a vet.

  “I know first aid.” She wiped the tweezers off with the washcloth. “The district requires it of all teachers.”

  “You don’t have—”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Why?”

  Because I love you. Because your expression says you’re back in that hellhole the enemy kept you in.

  “She let you dig out the first one?” she asked, because she couldn’t tell him what she was thinking. “She didn’t try to bite?”

  “No.” Joe continued to hold Smoke’s paw. “She trusts me. I don’t know how she’ll be with someone else.”

  “I guess we’re about to find out. You seem kind of shaky to be doing this. What if you pet her or something while I work?” Not giving herself time to change her mind, she knelt beside Joe. When he made room for her, she moved into position in front of Smoke.

  Joe wrapped his arms around the dog’s midsection and touched his lips to a rib. She wanted to believe Smoke trusted her as much as the dog did Joe, but couldn’t. Smoke and her brothers were strangers to her, maybe killers.

  Holding her breath, she explored with her fingertips. Finding the other imbedded pellets wasn’t hard. The hard part would come when she started digging. As if reading her thoughts, Smoke arched her neck and stared at her hands. At least she wasn’t showing her fangs, yet. She felt Gun’s and Stone’s moist breath on her back.

  She stared into Smoke’s eyes. Just like that, the dog’s depths grabbed her. Until now she hadn’t gotten nose to muzzle with one of the grays so hadn’t seen what, the humanity? The intelligence.

  Smoke was a seeker. Driven by a powerful force.

  Even as she turned her attention and steady fingers to extracting the next pellet, Rachelle remained wrapped in what she’d just concluded. She wasn’t just touching fur. There was something, a soul maybe, beneath the short coat. Eyes deep with intellect and wisdom.

  Driven.

  Allowing herself to be hurt because she comprehended the end result. Patient and steady.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “I hope she doesn’t get an infection,” Rachelle said as she used a cotton swab to press iodine into the last puncture. “I pinched the wounds to make them bleed. That should help.”

  “She trusts you.”

  She stood and extended her hands, indicating she’d help Joe get up, but he didn’t accept the offer. She hadn’t paid much attention while treating Smoke, but now she realized Joe hadn’t done more than shift his weight from his right hip to his left while she’d been playing vet.

  “It was your presence.” She rubbed between Smoke’s ears. The dog had sighed several times while Rachelle was working on her but otherwise had suffered in silence. “I’m glad that’s over. I hated hurting her.”

  “She knows.”

  Rachelle bent over, ran a hand under Smoke’s chin and lifted her large head. The intensity was gone from her eyes, making Rachelle wonder if she’d imagined it. Smoke stuck out her tongue and licked her face.

  “You’re amazing,” she whispered. “I wish I understood you and—”

  “Rach?”

  “What?”

  “I, ah, I think I need to lie down.”

  “Of course. This has been an awful start to your day.” As she again extended her hands, she wondered what time it was. She was going to be late to work. The moment Joe was comfortable, she’d call the school and beg someone to ride herd on her class until she got there. This couldn’t go on. She’d lose her job if she wasn’t more dependable.

  Joe sank back on his hip. Hoping this wouldn’t hurt him, she ran her hands under his armpits and hoisted him to his feet. The effort took all her strength. He swayed. Smoke stood, watching Joe as she did.

  “Legs fall asleep?” she asked. “Shake them. That should get the circulation going.”

  Joe leaned against her. “Hard to walk,” he muttered.

  Her concern growing, she wrapped an arm around his waist and helped him into the living room. She planted him in front of the recliner.

  “Why don’t you sit?”

  “Y—eah.”

  The dogs had followed them. Stone was standing so close to Joe she had to knee the big male out of the way so she could ease Joe down. That done, she pulled the handle and made
the chair recline. As she stepped back, she got her first good look at his face.

  The left side drooped.

  God! “You don’t feel good, do you?”

  He pressed his right hand to his forehead. “Headache. Worst I’ve ever…”

  “Is your heart bothering you?”

  His silence scared her. Forcing herself to remain calm, she took his free hand and placed her fingers over his pulse. She had nothing to time the beats with, but she didn’t need to. His heart was racing.

  Heart attack or stroke. The label didn’t matter.

  “Do you have aspirin?” She didn’t wait for his response but hurried into the bathroom. His medicine cabinet consisted of little more than a razor and shaving cream, toothpaste and a box of bandages. Fortunately he also had aspirin. She couldn’t remember how much a person should take for a suspected heart attack, so she shook out two. After a detour through the kitchen for water, she returned to him. He’d sat up and was hunched over, his right hand against his forehead. The fingers of his left trailed over the armrest. The dogs stared at him.

  “Swallow this.” She held the pills between her thumb and forefinger and placed them against his lips. When he opened his mouth, she put them on his tongue. Then she guided the glass while he swallowed. He drooled.

  “I’m calling nine-one-one” she said, surprised by how calm she sounded.

  “No. Rach, no.”

  “Why not?” She couldn’t say whether she was angry or frightened, probably both.

  “I’m not that sick, damn it!”

  Yes, you are.

  He straightened, then flopped back, muttering something she couldn’t understand. Maybe it was her imagination, but his face seemed to have gone from gray to white. Lines were carved into the corners of his mouth.

  “You’re in pain, right?”

  “Huh?”

  “Tell me the truth.”

  He blinked several times. “It hurs to talk. My head.”

  Why didn’t she know the difference between a stroke and a heart attack? “I’ll make you a deal. I won’t call for help if you’ll agree to get in my car so I can drive you to the emergency room.”