SBC Fighter: Tails Of Love Part 22

"She told me to leave the gate open and let him loose in the woods where he belonged. I didn't want to do it, sir. But she insisted."

The viscount glanced at the dog and then the groundskeeper. He placed the rope in his hands. "You take care of Thor. I'l take care of my mother on the morrow."

He turned from the door muttering something beneath his breath.

Hannah glanced back at the dog, her heart pained at the thought of leaving him. She cal ed after the viscount, "Lord Ashton?"

Thor instantly sat on the doorstep. The viscount turned, equal y attentive.

"I wonder if I could have your permission to look in upon Thor on occasion." She scratched the fur between his ears.

"I'm going to miss him."

A smile eased onto his face. He advanced toward the women, offering his arms to escort them back.

"Miss Waverly, both you and Miss Darlington have my permission to look upon him whenever you desire. In fact, I believe Thor and I would like to become better acquainted with both of you ladies."

A thril slipped down Hannah's spine. Although the viscount had properly addressed the both of them, as wel he should, she had the distinct impression his words were meant particularly for her.

"However, I do foresee one difficulty, Miss Waverly."

"What is that, sir?"

"Given the way my dog responds to Lord Ashton, I believe you shal have to address me in a different manner."

She remembered how the dog sat at her feet whenever she mentioned the viscount's name and imagined the man responding similarly. She suppressed a giggle. "Did you have a suggestion, sir?" she asked.

He stopped and turned expressly toward her. "I thought perhaps you could address me using my Christian name. I know that implies a familiarity that may be premature in nature."

She could feel the warmth of his breath on her face and prayed that his request was not premature at al . On impulse she moistened her lips and tilted her face toward his. "And what, sir, might that be?"

"Harry," he responded. "Lord Harry Ashton."

To read more about the special cla.s.ses at the Pettibone School for Young Ladies, see The Education Of Mrs. Brimley, published by Berkley Sensation, October 2007, ISBN #978-0-425-21830-3.

DANNY'S DOG.

Sarah McCarty.

CHAPTER ONE.

"No one dies today."

Two or three shelter volunteers looked at Kathy askance, before immediately going back to what they were doing, sorting the living from the dead, the healthy animals from the terminal. The stench of urine, feces, and rotting flesh burned through the mask Kathy held over her face as she surveyed the house. So clean on the outside with its blue siding and cream shutters, so much suffering inside.

Footsteps crunched on the dry gra.s.s. Jim, the shelter director came up beside her. "You know we can't guarantee that."

Only a few inches tal er than her five-foot-four he was una.s.suming in appearance, but when it came to the battle to save animals in need, he had what it took. Commitment and the ability to bounce back from one loss to fight another day. In six months, she'd never learned to do that. Kathy pushed her hair out of her face, her fingers catching on a tangle in the blond strands. Turning her hand, she observed the bra.s.sy remnants of her once impeccably maintained highlights. She only knew how to fight.

"You heard me."

Jim motioned a volunteer with a crate of skinny, fussing kittens to the van on the right. Placement in the vans was the first step in a sort of rough triage. The two white vans contained the animals most likely to live. The blue van was for animals with a question mark. The yel ow van was for the ones who might be too far gone for saving.

"Be practical."

She'd been practical her whole life, planned everything.

Fol owed through. The only thing she had to show for it was . . . nothing. "That's your job."

Hers was to coordinate the medical care and fostering for the animals that needed it.

She watched as a big black dog with more sores than hair struggled to fol ow a seasoned volunteer's urging to come with her. From his size, square muzzle, and big floppy ears, she determined he was probably a lab or lab mix. Though every step had to be agony with his infected wounds, the dog went with Susan, even sitting quietly when she stopped in front of the vans. Reflex more than anything else had Susan's hand dropping to the dog's broad head.

The dog flinched. Though the touch had to hurt, he leaned into Susan's side and kissed her wrist. At some point in the dog's life, he'd known love. And somehow, he'd lost it.

Kathy flinched as her eyes met his across the smal yard in silent empathy. Nothing hurt like that. Nothing.

Susan looked at Jim. Mouth tight, he motioned her to the yel ow van again. Blinking rapidly to dispel tears, giving the dog another pet, Susan nodded.

"No." The denial burst from her. Oh, G.o.d no. The dog was so close to another chance. Kathy waved Susan back.

Jim cut her a hard look. He'd been doing that a lot lately.

Could he see how fragile her control was becoming?

"You find the money, the foster home and I'l save him.

Hel , I'l save them al ."

It was a fact of life in a shelter. Money was tight.

Volunteers tighter. When it came to who to save, it always boiled down to potential adoptability, and big black dogs were the last to be seen as wonderful, even if they were. To make matters worse, because of their size, they were expensive to treat and expensive to house. When operating on a shoestring, expensive mattered. Kathy and Walt had always planned on adopting a lab mix when Danny got old enough to have a dog. Except Danny was never getting any older, and she'd somehow lost Walt.

"You can't save them al ," Jim reminded her in that no- nonsense voice he used on everyone who lost perspective.

You couldn't save him. There was nothing you could do.

The aching sense of loss that had been Kathy's constant companion for the last six months almost swal owed her whole. The horrible sense of guilt and failure fol owed immediately. She pushed them back. She couldn't take her gaze from the dog's, couldn't stop feeling his trust and joy.

He thought he was being saved. "Not him."

Jim frowned. "I don't have a choice. Our budget's stretched to capacity after last week's raid. We don't even have s.p.a.ce at the shelter to house this lot, forget what it would cost to save him alone."

She knew that. She didn't care. "Then I'l take him."

"It'l cost more than you pay in rent a month just to get him on his feet, forget what it wil take to deal with any hidden issues."

"That's my business."

Jim pul ed his bal cap down over his hazel eyes as the first van loaded with dogs and cats pul ed out of the drive.

He shook his head. "Is this going to be your one?"

She knew what he was talking about. Eventual y, every volunteer ran into that one impossible fight from which they couldn't walk away. "Maybe."

Not taking her eyes off the big black dog, watching as he stayed calmly beside Susan despite a smal dog snapping at his leg as it was led by, she headed across the bone dry yard they were using as a staging area, her boots crunching on the gra.s.s. They'd al been "the one" as far as she could tel . Her reason for rol ing out of bed, her reason to keep moving, the happy endings she created for them giving her a desperately needed sense of control over something.

She took the leash from Susan's hand and rested her fingertips on the dog's practical y bald head, feeling the inflammation in his skin radiating out in a slow burn. It was impossible to tel what he'd look like healthy-beautiful or ugly-but that didn't matter. Al she needed to see was the tentative hope in his big brown eyes. She gently rubbed a patch of hair behind his ear and whispered, "Danny would have loved you."

CHAPTER TWO.

Pul ing the car up in front of the big cape style house, Kathy turned off the engine. The lilies she'd planted last fal had come up, lining the driveway in a beautiful display of white, yel ow, and cream. The gra.s.s was cut short and neatly edged. Walt, as always, was handling everything with efficient practicality. Sometimes, she wanted to hate him for that.

Her hands shook as she took the key out of the ignition.

She could do this. She gripped the wheel. Walt liked animals. He used to like her. Al she had to do was introduce Sebastian to Walt and her mission would be accomplished.

Easing her grip, she stared at the house. Everything was just the way she'd left it. The siding was stil white, the shutters stil black. Even the artificial wreath she'd hung on the bright red door last December was stil in place. She didn't know what she'd expected to change. Something should have been different, but nothing was. The place was exactly as she and Walt had planned. Such a beautiful house to hold so many memories she couldn't face, so much pain she couldn't bury.

Don't come back here again, Kathy, unless you're ready to put this marriage back together.

Oh, G.o.d. What was she doing? This was a mistake. She wasn't ready to face anything, least of al her soon to be ex- husband. She stretched for the ignition, b.u.mped the keys on a lever. They fel to the floor in a discordant jangle.

Swearing, she slammed her hand on the wheel. It didn't help. No physical pain could override her emotional suffering. A whine came from the back seat.

She turned and rubbed Sebastian's head. "It's okay, boy."

It had to be okay. She had to make it okay. As Jim had predicted, there was more to Sebastian's issues than a flea al ergy and a secondary staph infection. Because he hadn't been on a preventative, he now had heartworms.

Advanced enough she'd had to have him treated immediately or there would be no possible recovery.

As if sensing the waver in her attention, Sebastian whined again. She glanced over her shoulder. He was staring at the house with what only could be cal ed antic.i.p.ation.

"You don't know what you're asking."

He nudged her shoulder. Clearly while he was sympathetic, he wasn't going to back down. He was fighting for his life while she was fighting for . . . She ran her fingers through her hair. She didn't know what she was fighting for anymore. Everything in the last six months had become a blur. And she was so tired.

The garage door jerked and started to open. Her heart leapt into her throat. Even as she dove for the keys, her eyes stayed glued to the slow revelation. First to come into view as the white door lifted were wel -scuffed, brown cowboy boots, then muscular legs encased in faded denims. The tear in the right knee made her want to cry.

She knew the exact minute and hour Walt had gotten the tear. He'd been teaching her to play footbal . She'd been going for a touchdown. He'd tackled her, turning so he took the worst of the tumble. She remembered the laughter in his gray eyes when he'd gotten up, the lovemaking that had begun when the laughter had stopped. The sheer joy being with him had always given her.

The door rose higher, revealing rock-hard thighs, a loose shirt tail framing lean hips, and a slabbed abdomen. She tore her gaze away before the door rose higher. Kathy didn't want to see Walt's bare chest. She pressed her palm over her own chest and felt the smal gold disk above her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. She hadn't taken it off in thirteen years. She didn't want to know if he'd taken off his.

Her heart beat against her knuckles. Terror or desire? It was so hard to tel anymore. She hadn't taken a thing from Walt after she'd left, refusing his requests to talk, his offers of money. She'd taken enough when she'd taken his son.

But now she was back, proverbial hat in hand. Because she didn't have any choice. There was nowhere else to turn.

"This isn't going to be easy, Sebastian. So when we walk up, look sweet."

Sebastian didn't make a sound. His attention was on Walt, who stood in the doorway. She shoved the door open on her beat-up Cavalier. It stuck halfway like it always did.

She gave it a kick. It creaked the rest of the way open. A quick glance as she opened the back door showed Walt was standing, legs apart, arms folded across his chest, watching her in that a.s.sessing way he had that always made her think of a warrior. He was a cop. It was probably close enough.

Emotions tumbled over her, joy, fear, pain-too many too fast. Pretending to fumble with the leash, she bought herself a little time, but not nearly as much as she needed. Final y, there was no hope for it. She straightened and gently urged Sebastian out of the car. It was only a smal step down for him, but he gave a little yelp as his feet hit the pavement.

"I'm sorry."

He had very little skin on his pads. She wished she could afford boots for him to wear until it grew back, but she couldn't afford anything. Donations had covered half his heartworm treatment, but only half. The other half was going to have to come out of her grocery bil , her gas money, and likely her rent. She blew her bangs off her forehead. Mr.

Bentley was not going to be pleased.

She rubbed the top of Sebastian's nose. Since this wasn't the first time rent was going to be late, she likely wasn't going to have a roof over her head come August.

But Sebastian had a chance. And she needed that more than she needed a roof over her head. Sebastian gave a soft woof. "Don't worry, he's not as gruff as he looks."

Not that a body could tel from Walt's expression. That ability to conceal his softer side had been a self-defense mechanism for Walt growing up in a house where his parents waged constant war, and scary as heck to her the day he'd asked her to the soph.o.m.ore dance. She'd been shy and insecure and head-over-heels in love with him from afar. He'd been so calm, so self-a.s.sured, so devastatingly in control, she'd been sure it was a joke, but he'd shown up on her doorstep at the time he'd stated, smiled softly at her stammer, and then swept her away. She'd been his ever since, secure in the belief that nothing could come between them. She sighed and tightened her grip on the leash.

She'd been very naive.

Walt didn't say a word or raise his hand as she walked up the driveway, but at least he'd b.u.t.toned his shirt. The glance he cut Sebastian wasn't encouraging. When Kathy looked down, she found the dog watching Walt with the same steady a.s.sessment.

"Another one of your lost causes?" Walt asked as she got close.

"He's not lost, he's with me."

Her smile felt stiff on her lips, so she wasn't too surprised when Walt didn't smile back. Stil , she'd hoped for anything other than the cold implacability with which he leaned against the garage doorjamb and observed her.

"It wouldn't kil you to say hi."

"No, it probably wouldn't."