In the middle of the stand was a small space, relatively clear. Once inside, she could see that the Bernese had been digging. Mounds of dark earth were piled between Mattie and the dog. Robo lay at the base of the nearest mound, teeth bare and growling. The Bernese stood in a depression on the other side, hackles raised and snarling, filtered light glinting off great white teeth. It looked as if the Bernese might attack Robo at any moment.
No humans present. Heart sinking, Mattie tried to diffuse the dogs’ standoff. Robo was already in a down position, the position he used to indicate his find. She stayed motionless and spoke to the other dog, hoping to soothe it.
“It’s okay. It’s okay.”
The Bernese stopped snarling. Anxiously, it shifted its gaze from Robo to Mattie and then back. Clearly, the dog seemed most threatened by Robo. She knew that if she called him out of his crouch, the Bernese might attack; a single move on Robo’s part could start a full-blown dogfight.
“Robo, quiet.”
The growl rumbling in Robo’s chest ceased.
The Bernese wore a red nylon collar with tags dangling at its chest. The tag on top bore white letters with the dog’s name. Mattie could just make it out: Belle.
“Belle, down.”
The Bernese threw another worried glance toward Robo but hunkered down, peering over the mound of dirt to watch Mattie.
This dog was obviously guarding something. Mattie tried to see over the dirt mound.
“This is interesting,” Brody said with sarcasm, making his way through the juniper.
McCoy materialized through the brush off to the side, his breath heaving in noisy gusts. “What is it?”
Johnson followed Brody, sucking air, sweat gleaming on his freckled cheeks.
“Stay still,” Mattie told the others. “Let me get a leash on this dog.” She knew Robo wouldn’t budge until she released him. Edging up to the Bernese, Mattie spoke in a soothing tone. “It’s okay, Belle. Stay. Good girl.”
Belle whined once. Head lowered, she peered up at Mattie, white rims showing at the base of brown eyes.
With relief, Mattie saw that the dog had decided to submit. She holstered her weapon and reached for the short leash stored in her utility belt. With slow, deliberate movements, she approached the dog. “Good girl. Let me help you.”
As she moved to the other side of the dirt mound and snapped the leash onto Belle’s collar, she discovered what the dog had been guarding. It snatched her breath away.
Belle had uncovered the head, chest, and arms of a girl, her waxy face smudged with mud where the dog had licked it. Dark hair, pert nose, and a bloodstained shirt. Dead.
“What is it, Deputy?”
Mattie faced McCoy. “We’ve got a body.”
Chapter 3
As Timber Creek’s one and only veterinarian, Cole Walker had endured many a sleepless night, but none had exhausted him as thoroughly as the last. And this time, he had nothing to show for it. No recovering animal, no grateful client. All he had was a manila envelope from yesterday’s mail, his final divorce papers stuffed inside. They’d haunted him throughout the night.
The struggle to change Olivia’s mind was now officially over. No more mulling over what he should’ve done, what he should’ve said. It was over. She’d left for Denver three months ago, moved in with her old college roommate, and filed for divorce. Said she needed to “find herself.”
Cole hadn’t even known she was lost.
Now, after working the longest day of his life, Cole’s limbs were heavy with fatigue. He shuffled over to the gray mare he was treating for colic. She stood quietly in the stocks, used to hold horses so they wouldn’t hurt themselves or the people trying to care for them. Her eyelids drooped from the analgesic he’d administered earlier, and Cole thought she looked as worn out and dejected as he felt.
He’d already passed a tube into her stomach to inject about a half gallon of mineral oil, and he’d inserted an IV into the mare’s jugular vein. Now he was pushing fluids through the IV, trying to rehydrate the colicky horse.
Feeling as if he was moving in slow motion, Cole put on his stethoscope and leaned forward to place it over the mare’s heart. He rested against the side of the stocks, the metal rail cold against his face, while he listened to the rapid thump in her chest. He counted the beats. Around seventy per minute, indicating severe pain . . . but still, improvement over a half hour ago.
Tess Murphy, his assistant, stuck her head through the doorway to his clinic. She’d arrived at work that morning with some kind of goo in her red hair, making it stick out every which way. Just another of the experiments she always seemed to have going on with her hair.
“Sheriff’s office called,” she said. “They’re sending in a dog with a gunshot wound.”
Cole sighed. Would this day never end? “When?”
“Not sure, but within the next half hour.”
“Get the clippers, and set up for surgery.”
“Already done. But I have to leave now.”
“So soon?”
“Remember, I told you this morning. I have to pick up my boys early. The sitter has a doctor’s appointment.”
“Oh, yes.” Cole couldn’t remember anything about it, but he’d be the first to admit he’d been preoccupied all day. “Forward the office phone to my cell then.”
Tess turned to go back inside.
Cole stopped her. “What time is it?”
“Almost four.”
“Would you do me a favor on your way out?”
“Sure.”
“Leave a note at the house for my sister. She’s bringing the girls home today, and I doubt I’ll finish before they get there. Tell her to come here to the clinic when they get in.”
“Sure, I’ll tape the note to the front door.”
After Tess left, Cole used the stethoscope to listen to the mare’s belly. Quiet. He’d hoped to hear some bowel sounds, a gurgle indicating the mare’s gut had started moving again, but there was nothing. Resting one hand on the mare’s warm back, Cole leaned against the stocks and let his eyes close for a minute. A dull ache throbbed behind his eye sockets. Needing a distraction, he walked over to the counter that ran down one side of the room and turned on the radio, already set on his favorite country and western station. Kenny Rogers crooned a song about his wife Lucille leaving him.
Cole switched it off.
Turning over a bucket, he sat down on it so he could keep an eye on the mare while he waited for the wounded dog. The gray appeared comfortable at the moment, her eyes closed, her lips hanging loose from the analgesic.
Should he tell his daughters about the divorce being final when they got home? He supposed there would be no reason to get into it tonight, but he knew he’d have to tell them sometime.
It had been hard on the kids all summer. It seemed like their mother was divorcing them, too, since she didn’t want to see any of them. Liv had checked out of their lives the end of May and hadn’t checked back in once. Cole snorted a short derisive sound. Try explaining that to two daughters who love their mom.
And since his plan to bring Liv back to them had failed, what would he do with them now? Who would keep track of them while he worked? And now that school was about to start, he couldn’t keep shipping them off to Denver to stay with his sister. He supposed Angela could take care of herself at fifteen, but Sophie was only eight, too young to be left alone all day. And when it came right down to it, he wasn’t sure he wanted Angela left to her own means all day, either. School started next week, but that only took care of part of the day. It wasn’t unusual for Cole to start work well before eight in the morning and finish up well after eight at night.