clinic. Lori took one look and then set about preparing the supply tray Nic would need. The stranger placed the boxer on the exam table Nic indicated and held him in place.
“What happened?” she asked.
Concern shadowed his whiskey-brown eyes. “A damned leghold trap.”
“He’s your dog?”
He shook his head. “No. He’s probably a stray. Our paths crossed a few days ago while I was hiking the backcountry, but he didn’t hang around or follow me home. When I was hiking on Murphy Mountain today I heard something howling in pain, so I tracked the sound and found him caught in the trap.”
“You poor baby,” she murmured to the dog.
“We tussled a bit when I tried to free him. I’m afraid I made his injuries worse.”
Nic sedated the suffering animal and made a cursory examination. Lacerations, trauma where he’d chewed himself. Broken teeth. She studied the bone. “Not fractured, believe it or not. Significant muscle damage, but I think we can save the leg.”
With that pronouncement, Nic focused on her patient and went to work.
Gabe breathed a little easier when he saw the competent, methodical manner in which the vet acted. Dr. Nicole Sullivan of Eternity Springs Veterinary Clinic—according to the sign beside the door—obviously knew what she was doing. He could leave with a clear conscience.
Instead, Gabe stayed right where he was, watching the woman work.
One minute stretched to five, then to ten. She had good hands—long, narrow fingers that moved with a surety of purpose. Straight white teeth tugged at a full lower lip when she tied off sutures. He judged her to be younger than he was, but not by a lot. Early thirties, he’d guess. She was petite but shapely, fair-skinned with a dusting of freckles across her nose. She wore her blond hair long and pulled back in a ponytail; plain gold studs were in her ears. He saw no rings on her fingers beneath the latex gloves.
She spoke in a quiet, confident voice as she explained her actions to the teenager. A teacher with her apprentice, he thought. She was good at it, too. Gentle and warm, her tone soothing and compassionate. A healer.
Gabe didn’t belong here. He should leave.
Only he didn’t want to leave.
“So where did you come from, boy?” the vet asked the unconscious dog as she frowned over something on his belly. “He’s little more than a puppy. Judging by his body weight and the state of his coat, he’s probably been out in the wild for a while.”
“Think he could have been abandoned at birth?” the teenager asked. “No collar on him, and I’ve never seen a boxer his age who still has his tail. This one is crooked, too. If he had an owner, you’d think they’d have docked his tail.”
“It’s a cute tail,” the vet declared. “Gives him character.”
Gabe tugged a worn leather dog collar from his back pocket. “Here. I have his collar. It came loose while I was trying to free him from the trap.”
He handed the collar to the teenager, who checked its heart-shaped metal tag. “Rabies vaccine is current from a clinic in Oklahoma. Bet he belonged to summer tourists and got lost from his family.”
“I don’t recall any lost dog notices for a boxer,” the vet said. “We’ll make some calls. He could have traveled a long way.” She glanced up at Gabe. “Where did you find him?”
“Murphy Mountain.”
Surprise lit the vet’s pretty blue eyes. “That’s private property.”
“Not private enough, apparently. The owner didn’t set that trap.”
The teenager’s head jerked around. “How do you know? Are you a Davenport?”
“No.”
The girl waited expectantly, and when Gabe remained stubbornly silent, she tried again. “If you know the owner didn’t set the trap, then you must be a friend of the Davenports. That, or you’re just another trespasser.”
Gabe gave in. “Jack Davenport is a friend.”
The girl’s chin came up. “Then would you give him a message for me? Tell him that I’m looking for his cousin, Cameron Murphy.”
“Lori,” said the vet, a thread of steel beneath the warmth. “Don’t.”
“But—”
“Lori Elizabeth, no.”
A mutinous expression settled on the girl’s face, but she went silent. Gabe tried not to be interested in what that bit of drama had been about. Davenport business, obviously. Definitely none of his.
He needed to leave. Should have just dropped off the dog and hightailed it. Why had he hung around, anyway? That wasn’t like him.
The beep beep of a car horn sounded outside. “There’s your ride, Lori,” said the vet, lifting a gauze bandage roll from