A Child's Christmas Boxed Set: Sugarplum HomecomingThe Christmas ChildA Season For Grace

by Linda Goodnight

“You been cleaning those wounds the way I showed you?”

  “Every day.” He remembered the first time he’d poured antiseptic cleaner on the pup’s foot and listened to its pitiful cries.

  Doc stopped, stared at him for a minute and then said, “We’ll have a look at him first.”

  Paige White could always read his concern, though he had a poker face. Her uncanny sixth sense would have bothered him under other circumstances.

  The scent of fresh straw and warm-blooded animals astir beneath their feet, they reached the stall where the collie was confined.

  From a large, custom-cut cardboard box, the pup gazed at them with dark, moist, delighted eyes. His shaggy tail thumped madly at the side of the box.

  As always, Collin marveled at the pup’s adoring welcome. He’d been cruelly treated by humans and yet his love didn’t falter.

  Doc knelt down, crooning. “How’s my pal today? Huh? How ya doin’, boy?”

  “I call him Happy.”

  “Well, Happy.” The dog licked her extended hand, the tail thumping faster. “Let me see those legs of yours.” She jerked her chin at Collin, who’d hunkered down beside her. “Make sure this guy over here’s looking after you.”

  With exquisite tenderness, she inspected one limb and then the other. Her pale eyebrows slammed together as she examined the deep, ugly wound.

  Collin watched, anxious, when she took a hypodermic from her long, leather bag and filled it with medication.

  “What’s that?”

  “More antibiotic.” She held the syringe at eye level and flicked the plastic several times. “I don’t like the way this looks, Collin. There’s not enough tissue left to debride.”

  “Meaning?”

  “We may have to take this foot off, too.”

  “Ah, man.” He scrubbed a hand over his face, heard his whiskers. He knew Paige would fight hard to avoid another amputation, so if she brought up the subject, she wasn’t blowing smoke. “Any hope?”

  “Where there’s life, there’s hope. But if he doesn’t respond to treatment soon, we’ll have to remove the foot to save him. Infection like this can spread to the entire body in a hurry.”

  “I know. But a dog with two amputated feet…”

  He let the thought go. Doc knew the odds of the pup having any quality of life. Finding a home for him would be close to impossible, and Collin only kept the animals until they were healthy and adoptable or ready to return to the wild. He didn’t keep pets. Just animals in need.

  Doc dropped the empty syringe into a plastic container, then patted his shoulder. “Don’t fret. I’ll run out again tomorrow. Got Jenner’s Feed Store to donate their broken bags of feed to you and I want to be here to see them delivered. Clovis Jenner owes me.”

  Warmth spread through Collin’s chest. “So do I.”

  Doc was constantly on the look-out for feed, money, any kind of support she could round up for his farm. And she only charged him for supplies or medications, never for her expertise.

  “Nonsense. If it wasn’t for me and my soft heart, you wouldn’t have all these critters. I just can’t put them down without trying.”

  “I know.” He felt the same way. Whenever she called with a stray animal in need of a place to heal, Collin took it if he had room. He was stretched to the limit on space and funds, but he had to keep going. “Let’s go check on the others.”

  Together they made the rounds. She checked the cats and dogs first, redressing wounds, giving shots, poking pills down resistant throats, instructing Collin on the next phase of care.

  At the horses’ pen, she nodded her approval and pushed a tube of medication down each scrawny throat. “They’re more alert. See how this one lifts her head now to watch us? That’s a very good sign.”

  One of the mares, Daisy, leaned her velvety nose against Collin’s shirtfront and snuffled. In return for her affection, he stroked her neck, relishing the warm, soft feel against his fingers.

  The first few days after the horses had arrived, Collin had come out to the barn every four hours to follow the strict refeeding program Doc had put them on. Seeing the horses slowly come back from the brink of death made the sleepless nights and interrupted days worth the effort.

  Sometimes the local Future Farmers of America kids helped out. The other cops occasionally did the same. Most of the time, Collin preferred to work alone.

  At the raccoon’s hutch, Paige declared the hissing creature fit and ready to release. And finally, she stood at the fence and watched the young buck limp listlessly around the pen.

  “He’s depressed.”

  “Deer get depressed?”

  “Mmm. Trauma, pain, fear lead to depression in any species.” She squinted into the gathering darkness, intelligent eyes studying every move the deer made. “The wound looks good though.”

  “You do good work.”

  Some bow hunter had shot the buck. He had escaped with an arrow protruding from his hip, finally collapsing near enough to a house that dogs had alerted the owner. Paige had operated on the badly infected hip.

  “I do, don’t I?” The vet smiled smugly before sobering. “Only time will tell if enough muscle remains for him to survive in the wild, though.”

  She turned and started back around the barn to her truck. Collin took her bag and followed.

  Headlights sliced the dusk and came steadily toward them, the hum of a motor loud against the quiet country evening.

  Collin tensed. “Company,” he said.

  “Who is it?”

  “My favorite neighbor,” he said, sarcasm thicker than the cloud of dust billowing around the car. “Cecil Slokum.”

  Collin and his farm were located a half mile from the nearest house, but Slokum harassed him on a regular basis with some complaint about the animals.

  The late-model brown sedan pulled to a stop. A man the size and shape of Danny DeVito put the engine in Park and rolled down a window. His face was red with anger.

  “I’m not putting up with this anymore, Grace.”

  The sixth sense that made Collin a good cop kicked in. He made a quick survey of the car’s interior, saw no weapons and relaxed a little.

  “What’s the problem, Mr. Slokum?” He sounded way more polite than he felt.

  “One of them dogs of yours took down my daughter’s prize ewe last night.”

  “Didn’t happen.” All his animals were sick and in pens.

  “Just ’cause you’re a big shot cop don’t make you right. I know what I saw.”

  “Wasn’t one of mine.”

  “Tell it to the judge.” The man shoved a brown envelope out the window.

  Collin took it, puzzled. “What is this?”

  “See for yourself.” With that, Slokum crammed the car into gear and backed out, disappearing down the gravel road much more quickly than he’d come.

  Collin stared down at the envelope.

  “Might as well open it,” Doc said.

  With a shrug, Collin tore the seal, pulled out a legal-looking sheet of vellum and read. When he finished, he slammed a fist against the offending form.

  Just what he needed right now. Someone else besides the annoying social worker on his back.

  “Collin?” Doc said.

  Jaw rigid, he handed her the paper and said, “Nothing like good neighbors. The jerk is suing me for damages.”

  Chapter Three

  Mia perched on a high kitchen stool, swiveling back and forth, her mind a million miles away from her mother’s noisy kitchen as she sliced boiled zucchini for stuffing.

  At the stove, Grandma Maria Celestina stirred her special marinara sauce while Mama prepared the sausages for baked ziti.

  The rich scents of tomato and basil and sausages had the whole family prowling in and out of the kitchen.

  “Church was good today, huh, Mia?”

  “Good, Mama.”

  At fifty-six, Rosalie Carano was still a pretty woman. People said Mia favored her and she hoped so. She’d always though
t Mama looked like Sophia Loren. Flowered apron around her generous hips, Rosalie sailed around the large family kitchen with the efficient energy that had successfully raised five kids.

  The whole clan gathered every Sunday after church for a late-afternoon meal of Mama’s traditional Italian cooking, which always included breads and pastries from the family bakery. In the living room, her dad, Leo, argued basketball with her eldest brother Gabe and Grandpa Salvatore. Gabe’s wife, Abby, had taken their two kids outside to swim in the above-ground pool accompanied by Mia’s pregnant sister, Anna Maria. The other brothers, Adam and Nic, roamed in and out of the kitchen like starving ten-year-olds.

  Mia was blessed with a good family. Not perfect by any means, but close and caring. She appreciated that, especially on days like today when she felt inexplicably down in the dumps. Even church service, which usually buoyed her spirits, had left her uncharacteristically quiet.

  Collin Grace had not returned one of her phone calls in the past three days, and she’d practically promised Mitchell that he would. She disliked pulling in favors, tried not to use her eldest brother’s influence as a city councilman, but Sergeant Grace was a tough nut to crack.

  Nic, her baby brother, snitched a handful of grated mozzarella from the bowl at her elbow. Out of habit, she whacked his hand then listened to the expected howl of protest.

  “Go away,” she muttered.

  His grin was unrepentant. At twenty, dark and athletic Nic was a chick magnet. He knew his charms, though they had never worked on either of his sisters.

  “You’re grumpy.”

  Brother Adam hooked an elbow around her neck and yanked back. She tilted her head to look up at him. Adam Carano, dark and tall, was eleven months older than Mia. From childhood, they’d been best friends, and he could read her like the Sunday comics.

  “What’s eating you, sis? You’re too quiet. It scares me.” He usually complained that she talked too much.

  Gabe stuck his head around the edge of the door. “Last time she was quiet, Nic and Adam ended up with strange new haircuts.”

  Mia rolled her eyes. “I was eight.”

  “And we’ve not had a moment of peace and quiet from you since,” Adam joked.

  “And I,” Nic put in, “was scarred for life at the ripe old age of one.”

  “I should have cut off your tongue.”

  “Mom,” Nic called in a whiney little-boy voice. “Mia’s picking on me.”

  Mia ignored him and set to work stuffing the zucchini boats.

  “What is it, Mia?” Mama asked. “Adam’s right. You are not yourself.”

  “It’s a kid,” Adam replied before she could. “It’s always one of her kids.”

  Mia pulled a face. He knew her so well. “Smarty.”

  Mama shushed him. “Let her tell us. Maybe we can help.”

  It was Mama’s way. If one of her chicks had a problem, the mother hen rushed in to fix it—bringing with her lasagna or cookies. So Mia told them about Mitch.

  “He’s salvageable, Mama. There is a lot of good in him, but he needs a man’s influence and guidance. I tried getting him into the Big Brothers program but he refuses.”

  “One of the boys will talk to him. Won’t you, boys?” Rosalie eyed her three sons with a look that brooked no argument.

  “Sure. Of course we would.” All three men nodded in unison like bobble toys in the back window of a car.

  Heart filling with love for these overgrown macho teddy bears she called brothers, Mia shook her head. “Thanks, guys. You’re the best. But Mitch is distrustful of most people. He’d never agree. For some reason, he zeroed in on one of the street patrolmen and will only talk to him. The cop is perfect, but—”

  “Whoo-oo, Mia found her a perfect man. Go, sis.” The brothers started in with the catcalls and bad jokes.

  When the noise subsided, she said, “Not that kind of perfect, unfortunately. I don’t even like the guy.”

  But she couldn’t get him out of her mind either.

  “Mia!”

  “Oh, Mama.” Mia plopped the last zucchini boat on a pan and sprinkled parmesan on top. “Our first meeting was disastrous. I bought the man a hamburger to soften him up a little, and he didn’t even stick around long enough to eat it. And now he doesn’t bother to return my phone calls.”

  “You’ve lost your charm, sis. Need some lessons?” Nic flexed both arms and preened around the kitchen, bumping into Grandma who, in turn, shook a gnarled finger in his laughing face.

  Rosalie whirled and flapped her apron at the men. “Out. Shoo. We’ll never get dinner on.”

  Gabe and Nic disappeared, still laughing. Adam stayed behind, pulled a stool around the bar with one foot, and perched beside Mia.

  The most Italian-looking of the Carano brothers, Adam was swarthy and handsome and a tad more serious than his siblings.

  “Want me to beat him up?”

  “Who? Mitch or the cop?”

  He lifted a wide shoulder. “Either. Say the word.”

  “Maybe later.”

  They both grinned at the familiar joke. All through high school Adam had threatened to beat up any guy who made her unhappy. Though he’d never done it, the boys in her class had thought he would.

  “If I could only convince Sergeant Grace to spend one day with Mitch, I think he’d be hooked. He comes off as cold and uncaring, but I don’t think he is.”

  “Some people aren’t kid-crazy like you are. Especially us men types.”

  “All I want is a few hours a week of his time to save a kid from an almost certain future of crime and drugs.” Mama swished by and took the pan of zucchini boats. “The couple of times I managed to get him on the phone, he barely said three words.”

  Adam swiveled her stool so that her back was to him. Strong hands massaged her shoulders.

  “The guy was short and to the point. No. The least he could do is explain why he refuses, but he clams up like Uncle Vitorio.”

  Adam chuckled. “And that drives you nuts in a hurry.”

  “Yes, it does. Human beings have the gift of language. They should use it.” She let her head go lax. “That feels good.”

  “You’re tight as a drum.”

  “I didn’t sleep much last night. I couldn’t get Mitch off my mind so I got up to pray. And then, the next thing I know I’m praying for Collin Grace, too.”

  “The cop?”

  “Yes. There’s something about him…sort of an aloneness, I guess, that bothers me. I can’t figure him out.”

  Adam squeezed her shoulders hard. “There’s your trouble, sis. You always want to talk and analyze and dig until you know everything. Some people like to keep their books closed.”

  “You think so?” She swiveled back around to face him. “You think I’m too nosey? That I talk too much?”

  “Yep. Pushy, too.”

  “Gabe thinks I’m too soft.”

  “That’s because he’s the pushiest lawyer in three states.”

  Didn’t she know it? She’d lost her first job because of Gabe, and though he’d done everything in his power to make it up to her in the years since, Mia would never forget the humiliation of having her professional ethics compromised.

  Nic stuck his head into the kitchen, then ducked when his mother threw a tea towel at him. “Mia, your purse is ringing. Should I get it?”

  Mia slid off the stool and started toward the living room. She might be pushy, but she played fair.

  A large masculine hand attached to a hairy arm— Nic’s—appeared around the door, holding out the cell phone.

  Taking it, Mia pushed the button and said, “Hello.”

  “Miss Carano, this is Monica Perez.”

  “Mrs. Perez, is something wrong?” Mia tensed. Today was Sunday. A strange time for calls from a client. “Is it Mitchell?”

  The woman’s voice sounded more weary than worried. “He’s run away again. This time the worthless little creep stole money out of my purse.”

  * * *
>
  Collin kicked back the roller chair and plopped down at his desk. He’d just returned from transporting a prisoner and had to complete the proper paperwork. Paperwork. Blah. Most Sundays he spent at the farm or crashed out on his couch watching ball-games. But this was his weekend to work.

  “I need to see Sergeant Grace, please.”

  Collin recognized the cool, sweet voice immediately. Mia Carano, social worker to the world and nag of the first order, was in the outer office.

  “Dandy,” he muttered. “Make my day.”

  Tossing down the pen, he rose and strode toward the door just as she sailed through it. She looked fresh and young in tropical-print capris and an orange T-shirt, a far cry from the business suit and heels of their first meeting.

  “Mitch has run away again,” she blurted without preliminary.

  “Nothing the police can do for twenty-four hours.”

  “We have to find him. I’m afraid he’ll get into trouble again.”

  “Probably will.”

  Her gray-green eyes snapped with fire. “I want you to go with me to find him right now. I have some ideas where he might go, but he won’t listen to me. He’ll listen to you.”

  The woman was unbelievable. Like a bulldog, she never gave up.

  “It’s not police business.”

  “Can’t you do something just because it’s right? Because a kid out there needs you?”

  Collin felt himself softening. Had any social worker ever worked this hard for him or his brothers?

  “If I take a drive around, have a look in a couple places, will you leave me alone?”

  “Probably not.” Her pretty smile stretched wide beneath a pair of twinkling eyes.

  She was a pest. An annoying, pretty, sweet, aggravating pest who would probably go right on driving him nuts until he gave in.

  Against his better judgment, he reached into a file cabinet and yanked out a form. “Sign this.”

  “What is it?”

  “Department policy. If you’re riding in my car, you gotta sign.”

  The pretty smile grew wider—and warmer.

  He was an idiot to do this. Her kind never stopped at one favor.

  Without bothering to read the forms that released the police department of liability in case of injury, Mia scribbled her name on the line and then beat him out of the station house. At the curb, she stopped to look at him. He motioned toward his patrol car and she jumped into the passenger’s seat. A gentle floral scent wafted on the breeze when she slammed the door. He never noticed things like that and it bugged him.