I joined her, standing as close as I could to hear the dispatcher—sounded like Candy Tarley, whose hair color fluctuated between cherry Gummy Bear and lemon Life Saver, depending on the month and her mood.
Emerson Watley had been a dairy farmer for over forty years, like his father before him, and his father before him, and knew what a calving cow should look like.
“Tell him I’ll be right there.”
“Okay, Becca.” Deb turned her head toward the mike, obviously waiting for the atrocious static to clear before she did so.
No one had called me Dr. Carstairs since I’d graduated. A few went with Doc Becca. Didn’t matter. As long as the checks they sent to Three Harbors Animal Care didn’t bounce—I had huge school loans—they could call me anything they wanted. I just needed them to call.
I had my hand on the front doorknob before I remembered I had no car. But Owen did.
The hall was empty. I walked back to the living room.
“Huh.”
The living room was empty too.
* * *
The instant Becca moved into the kitchen with the chief, Owen gimped as fast as he could to the front door. Thankfully Deb and Becca faced away from the hall, the chief leaning half out the window as she tried to hear what the person on the other side of the fizzy radio was saying.
Owen quietly opened the door. Reggie sat on the porch, right where he’d left him. Together they headed for the rental truck.
After his injury Owen had been airlifted out of the field and taken to Bagram Air Base. Once he was stabilized he’d been flown to Ramstein Air Force Base in Germany, then transported to Landstuhl Regional Medical Center for surgery. Within a few days he’d been on another plane across the Atlantic to Walter Reed in D.C. Reggie had followed the same general trajectory—Bagram to Germany, though he’d been taken to Dog Center Europe, about fifteen minutes from LRMC.
It was unusual for a working dog to return to the U.S., which on the one hand had made Owen nervous about the extent of Reggie’s injuries. On the other hand, Owen was glad he wasn’t alone. He was used to being with Reggie twenty-four/seven. Without him, he’d be more lost than he already was.
Once Owen had been released from Walter Reed, he’d met Reggie’s plane in New York. They’d flown from there to Minneapolis. They could have taken another hop to the small airport in Ashland, but the cost was astronomical.
Instead, Owen had rented a pickup truck, released Reggie from crate bondage, and driven several hours to Three Harbors. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept, eaten, or showered, and the desire for all three suddenly overwhelmed him.
Reggie climbed into the cab more slowly than he’d gotten out of it. He was favoring his injury more than Owen had ever seen. When he sat, he did so with his haunches against Owen’s. Reggie only did that when he was overtired, stressed, or ill.
The tap on his window made Owen jump so high he banged his bad leg on the steering wheel. Becca stood on the other side of the glass.
“I need a ride.”
He was so tempted to put the truck in gear he actually reached for the shift.
“Don’t you dare.” Becca yanked open the door.
Damn. If he’d put the vehicle in gear the door would have locked automatically.
“Always go with your instinct,” he murmured. One of the very first rules in bomb detection.
“I’m not letting go until you agree to give me a ride.” She glanced toward the house. “And if you don’t want to be stuck here answering questions you don’t know the answers to, we’d better move before Deb gets done talking to the station.”
“Then move.” He indicated the passenger side.
She ran around the front, shooed Reggie, who’d come over to greet her, back to the middle, and hopped in. Owen put the truck into gear, and they lurched toward the trees. Just in time too. In the rearview mirror, Chief Deb emerged from the house. At the sight of his taillights, she kicked the porch railing and it fell into the overgrown flower bed.
“Thanks,” Becca said. “I figured you’d drive off the instant I let go of your door and leave me behind.”
He would have if he’d thought of it. But he wasn’t thinking very clearly or very fast on so little sleep.