Born To Die

scary. Hey, there, Bonz,” she said, opening the cage and snapping a leash on him. “This way.” She patted the dog’s broad head as she snapped on the lead, then walked to another area, an expansive room where the dogs were obviously exercised.

Bonzi’s short coat was the color of warm caramel, and each of his paws was splashed with white to give him the appearance of wearing four white stockings of differing sizes. But it was his eyes that she noticed most. Dark brown and wise and kind.

He stood as tall as her knee.

“This is medium sized?” she asked.

“Well, on the large end of medium,” the vet admitted. “Not quite eighty pounds.”

Despite the fact that he was about forty more pounds of dog than she’d expected, Kacey was smitten. Bonzi was calm and friendly, with a whiplike tail that Kacey was sure could clear a coffee table.

“His owners had to give him up because of a divorce… and now separate apartments with restrictions on pets. It’s a bad situation, and they hated to leave him, but they had no choice. The good news is that he spent the first couple of years of his life with another, smaller dog, two cats, and a little girl. Gentle with all. The family struggled giving him up but just couldn’t keep him.” A bell sounded, Bonzi gave out a deep, sharp bark, and the doctor said, “That’s my patient!”

Trace O’Halleran’s injured dog. Without thinking, Kacey looked toward the door leading to the animal hospital.

“I’ll leave you two to get acquainted. Amber will come and put Bonzi back before you leave, and if you want to adopt him, give me a call tomorrow.”

“Oh, I want him,” she said, but Jordan was already gone, her footsteps fading and a door opening and closing behind her. Kacey eyed the “medium-sized” dog and sat down on the cement floor. “Okay, Bonzi. So what’s your story?”

In response the dog yawned, showing a mouthful of huge teeth, then sighing, circled, lay down beside her, and placed his head upon her crossed leg. She scratched his ears, and he sighed through his nose, his wise eyes staring up at her.

Guard dog? She doubted it, though his bark was definitely unsettling, and when she thought of an intruder stalking the halls of her house, she knew she’d feel a lot safer with the dog in her house. Anyway, the decision was already made. With his heavy jaw upon her thigh, Kacey knew she’d be with this almost eighty-pounder for the rest of his life.

CHAPTER 17

The last person Trace O’Halleran expected to emerge from the back rooms of the veterinary clinic where he waited with his boy for the diagnosis on his battered dog was Doctor Acacia Lambert. But there she was, big as life, her eyes as inquisitive as he remembered, her face just as beautiful.

And it pissed him off that he even noticed.

“Hi,” she said, a bit of a smile teasing her full lips as she let her gaze stray from him to his son. “How’re you, Eli? Taking care of that arm?” She had to have passed the vet on her way out, had to have seen his wounded dog, and her concerned face spoke volumes.

“Sarge is hurt!” Eli blurted, his small face pulled into a knot of worry, just the way it had been since the dog had stumbled into the house, one leg bleeding and slashed to the bone.

“I, uh, saw,” she said softly, “but he’s with Dr. Eagle, and she’s a pretty darned good vet.” She knelt down next to Eli but glanced up at Trace. “What happened?”

“Don’t really know. Looks like Sarge was on the losing end of a fight with God knows what. Maybe a bear or raccoon, even a cougar, I suppose. He was with me when I did the afternoon chores and then went nosing around like he always does. I called for him and waited, went back to the house to relieve the woman who looks after Eli here, and just as I started out to look for him, he came dragging back.” His jaw tightened as he remembered first seeing Sarge limping and bleeding on the snow-packed trail to the back door. He felt like hell for the dog and worse yet for his kid, who was blinking against a tide of unshed tears. Like he was grown up or something. It killed Trace. More than a little. “We called the vet.”

“ ’Cuz he’s hurt real bad.” Eli’s face was red; his lower lip quivering. “He can’t die!”

“Let’s not go there,” Trace said gently.

“Miss Wallis died!”

“I know.” Boy, did he know. It had been one helluva devastating week for all of them.

“But Sarge is a fighter.”

“Dr. Eagle will do her best to fix him up,” Kacey concurred.

“He won’t die, will he?”

She squeezed his good hand. “I don’t know. We have to just wait and see.” Glancing up at Trace, she said, “Why don’t I take Eli over to Dino’s and get him a pizza or something? Then, when you’re done here, you could come over.”

Since Dino’s Italian Pizzeria was just across the street, the doctor’s idea made sense, he supposed. Until they knew the extent of Sarge’s injuries, there was just no reason for Eli to wait and worry. And if it came down to actually having to euthanize the dog, Trace wanted to handle it his own way. Better for Eli not to witness that decision. “I guess that would be okay,” he said, knowing that Eli liked the woman doctor. “What do you think?” he asked his son.

Eli looked up at Kacey, and she took his small hand in her own. “How about we pick out our ice cream even before we order the pizza?”

“Can we eat it first?” Eli asked.

“Well. .” She looked at Trace.

“Knock yourself out. I’ll be right there,” Trace answered, and they headed out the door together.

A blast of wintry air swept into the room, and the tiny bell over the doorjamb jingled, announcing their departure.

Through the front windows Trace watched as Kacey bustled his son across the street. She glanced up and down the snowy street, then over her shoulder, her forehead wrinkling with concern.

About the nearly nonexistent traffic?

Or was there something more in her quick scan of the area?

Don’t borrow trouble. She’s just being cautious, for crying out loud.

What was important was the way she guided his boy gently onto the sidewalk. For a second Trace’s stupid heart twisted as he realized his son’s own mother had never seemed so concerned about Eli’s welfare.

Then again, Leanna hadn’t been a prize as far as mothers went.

Funny, he thought as he watched Kacey open the door to the restaurant, whose modern style was at odds with the overall Western theme of the town. The pizzeria’s storefront was all windows, now decorated for the season with painted snowmen and snowwomen skating, hoisting pizzas on their shoulders across a sea of glass. It was eerie how much Kacey reminded him of Leanna. An odd, almost sinister sensation slithered down his spine and burrowed coldly in his gut at the comparison. Hadn’t there been that same thought with Jocelyn Wallis?

Weird, he told himself, bugged at the turn of his own thoughts as the door to the back room opened and Jordan Eagle, her expression grave, returned to the reception area.

“It’s bad,” he said before she could open her mouth and say one word about Sarge’s condition.

“Well, at least not good.”

“Are we gonna lose him?”

“I don’t think so, but I’m not sure about his leg. The tendons and muscles are pretty mangled.” Her dark, honest gaze held his as she explained that she wanted to do surgery, to mend as much as she could.

“Do what you can,” Trace said. He’d grown up on a farm, seen animals suffer, others die, knew his old man