Two hands closed firmly around my shoulders. I thought for one moment it was the lieutenant but, as I leaned back grateful for the sympathy conveyed by the gesture, I realized it was Major Laird.
“Take another jolt, Carlysle,” he murmured softly, giving me a little squeeze. I felt his hand brush my hair, half caress, half reassurance.
I obeyed and then turned round. Over Merlin’s still form, the lieutenant caught my eyes. He draped a blanket loosely over the dog, his gestures quick and sure despite the strain he’d been under.
“Protecting him from shock will be the important thing. He didn’t lose much blood and we got him out of the cold quickly.”
DeLord skirted the table and began to wash his hands. The major and Turtle were conferring. Then Turtle left the kitchen as the major experimentally sloshed the coffeepot.
“You’re very knowledgeable about animals,” I said inanely to DeLord, trying to get out a phrase that might possibly express a gratitude too deeply felt to voice. I put my hand impulsively on his damp forearm, instinctively trying to communicate my sincerity by touch alone.
“Raised on a farm, Miss Carla. Bound to learn how to take care of sick and injured critters.” He patted my hand understandingly.
“I can’t ever thank you enough.”
He shrugged. “I’d feel better if we could have a professional check that over,” he sighed, glancing over at Merlin. “Sutures could be tighter.”
“He hasn’t come to,” I said, biting my lip anxiously.
“That was a clout, bullet notwithstanding,” the major remarked, putting a coffee cup in my hand. “Irish coffee,” he added when he saw me looking around for my whiskey. “You got creased, DeLord. Tell Carlysle how long you were out.”
Grinning with boyish ruefulness, the lieutenant’s hand had flown to his head, gingerly touching the scar.
“Several hours, they do say,” he replied. “Now, don’t you worry,” he admonished me kindly.
Turtle clumped back in with a bundle of quilts.
“Over here by the stove, sergeant,” the major ordered and I watched, vestiges of outraged housewifely conscience rising to protest as valuable handpieced quilts were laid down as a sickbed for my dog. Even if Mrs. Laird’s ghost was turning in its grave, my estimation of the major rose.
“We don’t want him falling off the table,” DeLord said.
With great care the three men settled my Merlin on the quilts, covering him as meticulously as if he had been a valued human buddy.
I was about to sit down beside him, preparing to be by his side the rest of the night, when the major took a firm hold on my arm, propelling me towards the study.
“Oh, no, you don’t.”
“But he’ll need me,” I protested, trying to escape.
“Old Doc DeLord’s volunteered for this detail,” the lieutenant put in, dodging around the table to take my other arm.
I couldn’t fight both of them, not that I had the strength to.
“You’ve been through quite enough tonight,” Regan Laird continued inexorably. He seated me on his bed, throwing a spare blanket around me. “Now you’ll finish your coffee and then go to bed. Sergeant, did you get the license on the truck?”
“Naw, sir. Either they covered it up or it was plain too dark. Night like tonight, I couldn’t tell what color the car was but it was a Chevvie body. I’d say about 1938. I lost them by the time they reached the second turn onto the good road. Geez, I coulda sworn I’d punctured the gas tank.”
The major turned expectantly to DeLord.
“Your eyesight’s failing, Bailey. The truck was light gray. The burglar was about five nine, slight build, too muffled in clothing to tell much more. But he sure could move in the snow,” DeLord remarked. “I think I winged the driver. I’m not sure but he gave up shooting and started cussing.”
The major nodded, digesting the information.
“Driver was just a dark blob,” he added and then exploded unexpectedly. “Goddamit, DeLord, where do you fit in all this?”
I was feeling all relaxed suddenly and the fact that the major hadn’t guessed was extraordinarily funny.
“He’s provost marshal, guardian dear. Maybe even CID.”
All three men turned to me with various expressions of astonishment on their faces. I found it difficult to focus my eyes and blinked to clear my vision.
“Provost marshal?” Turtle bellowed, half rising from his chair, disbelief and desperation on his face. “CID?”
The lieutenant ducked his head, his fingers smoothing down the crease scar.
“She’s right, I’m afraid.”
Course I m ri righ right .” I was having the hardest time enunciating. “Summuns wron wi’ me,” and I felt myself falling sideways into darkness. The last thing I saw was the major’s satisfied grin and I knew that there was more m that coffee than whiskey.
CHAPTER TEN
When I woke, the room was brilliant with sunlight reflecting off snow. I hadn’t realized my windows faced due east. I lay there for a moment, logy in brain and body. I yawned fit to pop my jaw, covering my mouth belatedly. My watch registered ten and, positive it had stopped the previous night, I wound it. Then I realized Merlin was absent.
I was out of the bed in a single motion, grabbing up my robe on the way to the door. The floor was icy under my bare feet as I flew down the stairs and burst into the kitchen, ignoring the three men, eyes only for Merlin in the corner.
He raised his head weakly, whining a greeting. I could see him gathering his body to rise. The pain of his wounds forced a yip out of him. I signaled him to stay, hurt to the quick of me that my entrance caused him the least unnecessary pain.
I fell on my knees beside him, crooning softly, stroking his muzzle and ears, kissing him, talking to him, in an excessive display of relieved affection. He licked my face, something he rarely did, and lay back with a sigh, letting me fuss over him, answering me with his own version of a croon, deep in his throat.
“He’s all right,” I told the world, dashing tears from my cheeks, only that moment aware I was crying with relief. “He’s all right?” I questioned, turning to DeLord for confirmation.
“Fine. Drank a half gallon of water,” DeLord nodded. “Very good patient. I know plenty could take lessons from this dog.”
“You bet,” Turtle rumbled.
“You!” I began, pointing to the major at the far end of the table. I got to my feet and marched myself over to him, for once at an advantage because he was seated. “You drugged that coffee.”
“Damn well told,” the major agreed. “You were out on your feet and too damned stubborn a little fool to know it.” Having delivered this considered opinion, he calmly continued to eat his breakfast.
“Flapjacks, Little Bit?” asked Turtle, rising and going to the stove.
I glared at him, indecisively. The major wasn’t going to let me pick a quarrel with him and neither was Turtle.
“Okay, okay,” I said, not the least bit gracious, flopping into a chair. “Pull your diversionary tactics. I’ll wait.”
The lieutenant, with what I now realized was an habitual gesture on his part, ducked his head and smoothed the scar crease. I sighed with exasperation.
“You are all alike, all of you, and that includes my fine four-footed friend.” Merlin answered with a placating whine, raising his head from his quilt a few inches before he sighed plaintively and laid down again. I jerked my finger over my shoulder at him, tapping my foot. “Can’t say anything around here.”
“Sleep well?” asked the major politely, but even his mouth twitched in an effort not to laugh at my frustration.
“No fault of yours.” I glared.
“Drink this and shut up,” Turtle ordered, putting coffee in front of me.