had “put down” more than his share on his own, with his rifle or pistol, depending. Death was just a part of life. Trace accepted it. But he was thankful Sarge was going to pull through. He didn’t want Eli to face losing the dog. Not yet. Not when he’d already been abandoned by his mother and just learned about his teacher’s death.
“Do what you can,” he repeated to the veterinarian.
“It could get expensive.”
His jaw tightened. “Just keep me posted.”
“I will.”
“Thanks.” He squared his hat on his head and made his way out the door.
In his mind’s eye he saw the dog, wrapped in a blanket, usually bright eyes dulled with pain as he lay beneath Eli’s short legs on the floor of the pickup. Damn, he hoped the mutt pulled through. Hands buried in his pockets, Trace jaywalked across the street, then peered through the glass doors of the pizzeria, where a Friday night crowd of patrons sat on benches surrounding long tables littered with half-eaten pizza pies and near-empty pitchers of beer.
Kacey had lifted Eli off his feet so that he could get a better view of the ice cream in the display case. Nearby a couple of grade-school girls in skinny jeans and oversized sweatshirts were discussing the options.
He pushed the door open, and the niggling sensation that something wasn’t quite right followed after him into the noisy restaurant. The air was thick with conversation and the scents of oregano and tomato sauce, warm bread and beer. A bevy of teenagers cleaned tables and waited at the counter, where a man in his seventies, sporting a thick gray mustache, striped shirt, and black pants, barked orders, manned the kegs and wine bottles, and kept an eagle eye on the cash register all at the same time.
As if by a sixth sense, Eli heard the door open. His head jerked up, and he twisted around, spying his father. Sliding out of Kacey’s arms, the boy hit the floor running. “Is Sarge okay?” he asked anxiously, his small face tight with concern.
“So far, so good, but he needs surgery.” Trace swung his son into his arms. “Dr. Eagle is doing her best.”
“You left him.” Tears puddled in his son’s accusing eyes. Embarrassed, Eli tried to swipe them away with the fingers poking out of his blue cast.
“Just for the night. The doc said she’d give us a call tomorrow.”
“But he’ll be okay?”
“As far as I know.”
“Can I see him?” Eli asked as a heavyset girl behind the pickup area spoke into a microphone. Her voice rang through the barnlike building. “Forty-seven. Brown party. Forty-seven.”
“Can I see Sarge?” Eli repeated.
“Maybe tomorrow. We’ll see.”
Eli wanted to argue; Trace saw it in his boy’s eyes, so he tried to derail the endless questions. “What do you say we get dinner?”
“She said I could have ice cream!” Eli swung his casted arm toward Kacey.
“That’s right,” she answered smartly. “And I think you wanted Christmas Cookie Swirl, right?”
“Yeah!”
“Sounds. . interesting,” Trace said.
“Delicious,” Kacey proclaimed. “You just can’t go wrong with Oreo cookies, peppermint flakes, and mint ice cream. Yumm-o!” Her green eyes glinted with humor. “I think I’ll get a double scoop!”
“Me, too!” Eli shimmied from Trace’s arms and raced back to the barrels of ice cream.
“Thirty-nine,” a girl with a deep voice intoned. “Rosenberg party. Thirty-nine.” An athletic-looking teenager pushed away from a table of friends and headed for the pickup area, her long blond ponytail bouncing behind her.
“How about you?” Kacey asked, looking up at him. “Double scoop? Triple?”
“Uh. . maybe I’ll settle for a beer.”
Her smile widened as they reached the counter near the ice cream barrels. “With your cone, right?”
“How ’bout with a Meat Lovers’ Special?” He hitched his chin toward the overhead menu, beneath which a skinny kid with bad skin, a shaved head, and thick glasses waited, ice cream scoop in hand, for them to order as the two girls in skinny jeans drifted off toward a round table.
Trace said, “I’ll buy.”
She was reading the menu. “Or we could order half a Meat Lovers’ Special and half a Veggie Delite and split the bill.”
“Only if you can eat half a pie yourself.”
“Half a pie
He felt one corner of his mouth twitch. “Tell ya what. I’ll arm wrestle ya for the bill.”
“Don’t,” Eli warned her. “My dad’s the strongest ever.”
“Is he now?” She was smiling more broadly now. “Well, I guess we’ll see about that.” To Eli she confided, “I’m pretty strong, too.”
“Nah!” Eli shook his head. “Not like my dad!”
“Uh-huh.” She winked. “Only tougher.”
The kid behind the counter was getting antsy. “Can I get you something?”
“We’ll have two double scoops of Christmas Cookie Swirl in. . waffle cones.” She looked at Eli, who was nodding rapidly.
“And sprinkles!”
Kacey chuckled. “And sprinkles.” She cast a glance at Trace. “And?” Her dark eyebrows arched, and he noticed how thick her eyelashes were, how the green of her eyes shifted in the light. “For you?”
“I’ll stick with pizza.”
He placed their order for pizza, along with two beers and a soda, then, for the better part of the next hour, as the pizzeria became busier still, he sat in an uncomfortable booth, getting to know this woman, a damned doctor, who talked to Eli so easily. She had lied, though, about her appetite, and managed to eat only two slices of the vegetarian side of the pizza, while he and Eli polished off all the meat-covered wedges. Actually, as he thought about it, he’d eaten most of the cheese-and pepperoni-slathered slices himself, as his boy was pretty full after the ice cream. Just what the doctor ordered after the week they’d all had.
“I never asked. What were you doing at the vet’s clinic?” He hitched his chin toward the window and the building on the far side of the snowy street.
“I’m looking for a dog,” she admitted.
“Any kind?”
“The one I hope to adopt is a mutt. Big dog. Boxer and pit bull probably. At least according to the vet.”
“Guard dog?” he asked, remembering the way she glanced over her shoulder as she crossed the street with Eli an hour earlier.
“That’s one criterion.” Her eyes shifted away, toward the area where Eli and a group of kids were crowding around the arcade-type machines. “I, um, live alone.” She picked up her glass. “Could use the company. You know.”
“Yeah.” He nodded, thinking of Sarge and silently praying the dog would pull through.
“So, you grew up around here?” she asked, changing the subject and pushing a bit of uneaten pizza crust to one side of her plate.
“Been here most of my life, except for college and a few years in the army. Inherited the place and decided ranching was a good life. What about you?”
“I was born and raised in Helena, but my grandparents lived here, so I spent my summers at their farm.” She smiled thoughtfully, caught up in the nostalgia of the moment, seeming to study her near-empty glass, though he suspected her mind was miles and years away, conjuring images of her youth. Vaguely, he wondered if she’d known Leanna, who had spent the first years of her vagabond life in Montana’s state capital as well.
“So you decided to settle down here?”
“Eventually.” Her eyes shifted, and she looked up at him again. “I went to college in Missoula, medical school in Seattle, and stayed for a while. I got married, then divorced and, since I’d inherited the farm, decided to move back.”
