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September knuckled her eyes with one hand, driving as fast as she dared with the other. Hard-to-miss potholes turned the car into a bronco ride. Shadow bounced once too often and yelped when his nose banged the bars separating him from the front seats.
"Sorry. I'll slow down." She stuck her hand between the seats, and he nosed and licked her palm. The contact helped, as always.
The lump in her throat wouldn't go away, though, and she hiccupped a muted sob. Poor BeeBo. She didn't know which hurt worse: his senseless death, or Combs’s investigation putting BeeBo in harm’s way. She blinked hard when Shadow again licked her hand.
She'd planned to thank him for sending the private investigator, and let him know about Damenia’s reappearance without betraying her promise to Claire. But BeeBo's murder left her reeling.
September knew cops made tough choices. That didn’t make it any easier to accept. During her short marriage to Detective Chris Day, she'd seen him agonize over cases. He'd always protected her and refused to discuss details. Chris rescued her, kept her safe, and introduced her to the joy of tracking dogs. After Chris's murder, she'd run home to barricaded herself behind dozens of deadbolts, and kept everyone at a distance, even her family. Shadow broke through, insisted they belonged together and convinced her that chosen family was every bit as important as birthright. September dared to hope she’d have a future, maybe even with Combs.
"Stupid, stupid, stupid." She pounded the steering wheel in rhythm with her words. She hadn’t considered if she could live with the tough, unsavory choices of a detective. What did it say about him? She’d never thought much about it with Chris, but at that point, in her life, she’d been in hibernation mode.
She wanted the dogfight ring shut down, too. Combs wouldn’t confirm it, but he didn’t deny BeeBo’s involvement, either. There had to be a better way, without risking innocent lives.
Maybe Mom was right after all. She kept trying to set September up with men that were more “appropriate.” Wouldn't that be a laugh? She pressed hard on the muddy gas pedal, icy sock feet as bruised as her heart.
"Who needs him, right Shadow? You're my best boy anyway." She checked the mirror, and smiled when the black dog laid his ears back. She could hear his tail thwacking against the seat cushion. "Want to go see Doc Eugene?" He barked, and wagged faster, and that tickled her.
Doc Eugene had treated Shadow for several injuries, yet instead of associating the clinic with scary pain, Shadow adored the veterinarian and his staff. Most of them, anyway.
Pulling into the parking lot, September noticed the new office manager's car parked in the only handicapped spot right next to the front door. Typical. Robin Gillette probably didn't want to get her hair wet in this rainy weather. While efficient and thorough, something bothered Shadow about the woman and as a result, September treated Robin with respectful caution.
"You didn't like Sunny Babcock, either." Shepherds typically acted reticent around strangers, and September worked hard to counter Shadow's natural suspicion. As a service dog, he needed to be calm and nonthreatening in public, as much to counter her own PTSD as to be welcome wherever she might go. He acted more comfortable around kids, probably because of his training with Steven.
Dog savvy folks like Doc Eugene usually turned Shadow into a fuzzy puddle of wags, so September wondered why he'd taken such an instant dislike to Babcock. The woman had worked on the same reality TV show with BeeBo, and had her own brace of hog hunting dogs. But people sometimes took an instant hate-at-first-sight dislike toward each other. So could dogs.
She plugged her cell phone in the charger and left it in the car. Shadow jigged and whined in the back seat when September grabbed the cat carrier and juggled it out of the car before releasing him. He immediately scoped out the best places to baptize with a blissful expression as he sniffed up all the juicy Pee-mail messages left by clinic visitors.
Her sock feet squished despite avoiding puddles. September scrubbed her face with the cuff of both sleeves. She'd only recently begun wearing a bit of makeup again. What a waste. Now, tears had turned her into a clown. She could blame it on the pouring rain. She stopped for the moment to stare at the glowering sky. Grabbing the armful of dry clothes and boots from the back of the SUV, she balanced them atop the carrier and slammed the hatchback shut.
"Shadow, let's go. Take your leash." He bounded to her, took the leash in his mouth, and she followed him to the clinic doorway. After elbowing open the lever handle she pushed the door closed, and left a dirty sock print on the kick plate. September made a mental note to clean it off before Robin noticed and complained.
Shadow paw danced around the empty waiting room, claws ticking like tap shoes on the tile. He ran to the front counter, jumped up to peer over the edge, ears forward and tail waving. His ears fell and he hopped down and dropped his leash when Robin stood up and glowered.
"I told you before, he should be on a leash. Carrying it doesn't count." Her disapproval extended to the muddy footprints, both dog and human.
September didn't bother to acknowledge the old argument. "Is Doc Eugene around? Need to talk with him about this kitten." She set the carrier on the counter and the baby stuck a paw through the grill. "And I need to change clothes."
"Another charity case, I bet." Robin said something under her breath and started to take the carrier. "All these freebies cost the clinic money. The Good Samaritan Fund is nearly depleted."
“It's a rescue, yes, but a special case." September shifted the carrier out of reach. She gave in to temptation. "Please tell your boss I'm here. I'll wait."
Robin stepped away, her back stiff. "I just mopped the floor, you know, and appointments could come in at any time. Why don't you wait in the dog room—number three—and stop dripping all over." She flipped her hair as she whirled, and this time September caught the muttered, "Cheapskate."
Shadow leaned against September's thigh and whined, so she stroked his ears. "Don't let her get to you. She wants to be in charge, and gets pissed when reminded she's not." Robin knew about her lottery winnings and thought, like much of Heartland, that September had money to burn. She didn't know and probably wouldn't care that most of the money was gone. Robin would be equally surprised to learn September funded the Good Sam program that paid fifty percent of care costs for un-owned critters, if the rescuer agreed to pay the other half.
September heard arguing voices. Crap. Robin probably redirected her aggravation toward someone else. People did that with spouses and kids after a bad day at work where they couldn't talk back to the boss. Even pets did it, lashing out against other pets or owners when they couldn't reach the preferred target.
Reading her disquiet, Shadow nudged her and picked up his leash. He tried to push it into her hands, implication clear.
She laughed. "We'll go soon." She gathered the carrier and clothes, and led the way down the narrow hallway to the examining room Robin indicated. If the woman hadn't acted like a jerk, she'd have mopped up the mess herself.
The kitten stuck paws out of the carrier front once more. "Poor baby, this has been quite an ordeal for you." She crooned and touched the little paw, encouraged when it didn't withdraw. The kitten flinched and yowled when she touched the other bloody paw. "What a brave little cat." It clearly had suckered BeeBo, a confirmed dog guy, into championing its cause. She wondered where he'd found the tiny thing.
A soft knock on the connecting door made Shadow alert. He cocked his head as the door opened and a young girl peeked around. "September? Hi Shadow." Nikki fell to her knees and opened her arms, and Shadow turned into a blithering idiot dog. He fell on his back, legs splayed and tail waving, making blissful noises in his throat as Nikki rubbed his chest. "Robin said to tell you Doc Eugene's busy, and that I should help. And she said to blame you that I get to mop again." Nikki smoothed her white-blond hair behind each ear, and giggled. "I'd rather mop than muck out the kennels any old day."
September grinned. "When you work with animals, crappiocca happens." She motioned to her clothes. "I'd give you a hug, but you'd get soaked, too. Can you babysit Shadow and the kitten for me while I get changed?"
Nikki nodded, and at mention of the cat, left Shadow waving his paws in the air to peer in the carrier. "Aw, what a cutie."
"That's Fuzzit. Don't let him out, and don't touch him, not until I talk to Doc Eugene, okay? It's sort of a quarantine situation."
"It's sick?" Nikki peered closer. "He's got a torn claw. Poor baby."
September gathered up the clothes. "Shadow, wait. Be right back, I'll bring some treats." He stood and shook himself, and whined a soft protest, but didn't argue.
She rushed to the small bathroom in the rear of the clinic, in a hurry to get inside before Robin interrupted again. Quickly she shucked out of her outerwear, and peeled off wet socks. The dry jeans and old but clean sweatshirt warmed her chilled skin, and a paper towel dried her feet. The work boots would fit loose and probably rub on bare feet but she didn't have a dry pair of socks. She wouldn't have to wear them for long, though, and could change once she got home. September checked the mirror. That explained Robin’s expression when she'd showed up. She washed away streaked makeup. She couldn’t do much with her rat’s nest hair, though.
She bundled the wet clothes and carried them back to the exam room, surprised to see Nikki playing the show-me game with Shadow.
Nikki held a cat magazine in one hand and the leash in the other. "This is magazine." She held it out. "This is leash." Shadow cocked his head, and panted happily as she held each an equal distance from her body. "Shadow, show-me LEASH."
He leaped forward, and nose-poked the leash.
"Good-boy." Nikki preened. "He did it for me, too."
"Yes, he's a good boy. By the way, he knows the word book for magazines, books, anything like that, so it's less confusing. Short names work best." She stroked his head. "He's smart, but we have to give him a little help."
"Can we teach him new words?" Nikki searched the exam room for something else to name.
"His head will explode soon, he knows so much." The game taught Shadow names of objects. September used show-me more as a way to practice their communication and keep his attention sharp. But people delighted in seeing the trick demonstrated. In practical terms, a service dog learned the names of many objects in order to partner with the human. Although she'd never planned it, more than once the lessons learned in the show-me game had saved her life.
"I tried to play with my cat Hope, but she won't pay attention long enough. Unless there's food involved."
September dumped the clothes on a nearby wooden chair. "I've not taught the game to Macy. Cats have shorter attention spans than dogs, and different motivations. And not every dog has the focus or interest, either. All pets are individuals, Nikki."
"That's for sure." Nikki crossed to the cabinet and pulled open drawers for a likely pair of objects. "Maybe he already knows everything."
"He likes to play the game anyway. We can use things he already knows." September rummaged in her damp clothes and found the car keys, and drew the dog's attention to her. "Shadow, this is light." She thumbed on the laser light that Macy adored chasing. "And this is sock." She dangled one of the wet socks she'd shed. "Show-me SOCK."
Shadow pounced forward, and grabbed the soaked material, and then shook it and tossed it in the air. It landed with a soft "splat" on the tile, and Nikki giggled again.
"Wait, I know." Nikki pulled out a small tablet. "How about this?"
September took the device, frowning, and tried to think how it appeared to Shadow, and what other objects he already knew might correspond. "Hand me that, too." She pointed, and Nikki passed her the coffee mug from the sink with lettering that spelled, "Real Doctor." She'd bet it had been a joke-gift from the veterinarian's late wife.
Shadow watched with interest. He already knew that she called all drink containers "cup" so that made it simple. "Shadow, this is cup." She held out the mug and he sniffed it. "This is...tablet." September held the objects, one in each hand, out to her sides. "Show-me CUP." He nose poked the mug, and she didn't move either object. "Good boy. Now, show-me TABLET." He happily touched the tablet, and tried to take it from her.
"Ew, dog drool." Nikki, delighted, took back her tablet and wiped the surface with her sleeve. She scrounged for something else, opened another drawer, and pulled out a pair of shiny bandage scissors and held them up with a question in her eyes.
September pointed to a jar of treats on the counter. After all, she'd promised him treats. This would be a real test for him, something new compared to something he wanted. Shadow licked his lips when the treat jar lid clinked, but sat patiently.
"Shadow. This is treat." September held one in the palm of her right hand. She took the scissors from Nikki in her other hand, and held it carefully, pointed away from the dog. She hesitated, and decided on a name. "This is knife." He glanced quickly at it, and then back to the treat hand. "Shadow, show-me KNIFE."
He bounced forward, and nose-bumped the scissors and then scooped the treat out of her other hand. Nikki gasped as the scissors took flight and rebounded against the opening door.
Doc Eugene entered. "Sounds like a party in here." He bent and picked up the scissors.
"Show-me game." September shrugged an apology.
"You mean, the show-off game, right, big fellow?" Shadow slicked his ears down and rubbed against the big man, happy with the attention. "Nikki, could you put these away, please? Oh, and these, too." He handed her the bandage scissors along with a pair of bolt cutters. "Thanks, dear. I'll call you if I need you." He watched as the girl scurried out the room. "I should have so much energy."
"You use bolt cutters in a cardiac practice?" Doc Eugene served as both a general practitioner for dogs and cats, and a veterinary heart specialist. He'd diagnosed Macy's hypertrophic cardiomyopathy.
"Yep. And sadly, not the first time I've needed to use them." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Newly adopted dog came in, only been with the owners a week or so, and he suddenly turned vicious. Snapped at their kids. They were heartbroken, but wanted him euthanized, said they couldn't risk giving him to somebody else."
September's heart constricted. "Extra furry, right?”
Voice grim, he added, "We sedated him, and shaved his neck. Found exactly what you'd expect. A puppy size chain collar digging into his skin. Somebody put it on him months ago and didn't bother to remove it when he got big. Had to use bolt cutters to get it off. We cleaned him up, and physically he'll recover. He even wagged his tail, licked my hand after it came off." He pulled off his glasses, polished them. "Amazing the resiliency of pets."
"So the owners? . . ."
"They're willing to try. My bet is on the dog. Sweet little guy." He cleared his throat, and adjusted his glasses. "Now, Robin said you have another charity case." His smiled at her expression. "Don't let her get to you. She's trying to show me how to turn more of a profit. Is this the kitty? What's the problem?"
Quickly she told him, and watched his expression darken. "BeeBo was a good man. Who has his dogs?"
"Animal Control was on the way. I left before they arrived."
"So the police need a safe place for this kitten until they can collect any evidence?" He frowned. "The isolation room is empty; we can quarantine there."
"I was told it wouldn't be more than a day, two at the most. Tell Robin the city will pay. And if it's longer, I'll take care of it." September knew BeeBo would have done the same for her.
"Never mind about the payment." Doc Eugene's expression changed. "Are you all right?"
At the kind words, her eyes filled with no warning. "No. I am not all right." She grabbed a tissue from the nearby dispenser, and blew her nose. "I found a man dead."
He patted her shoulder. "Of course you're upset. Don't worry about the kitten. You take Shadow home and play some Frisbee, why don't you?"
At the F-word, Shadow tipped his head, and woofed as if in agreement.
September collected her clothing, Shadow's leash and the car keys, and returned to her car. Her feet slid up and down in the boots. But before she could start the car, her phone rang.
She saw two missed calls and a text, all from Mom. None were from Combs, and she choked back disappointment. She told herself she didn't want to talk to him anyway. Besides, he had his hands full with the dogfight ring.
"Yes Mom, sorry I missed your calls."
"Where are you? The curtain goes up in twenty minutes. I told the director how professional you are, and now you've embarrassed me, and—"
"Wait? There's a performance today? You said rehearsal."
"They changed it from a brush up to a performance after the run sold out. The entire cast, orchestra, and crew, not to mention the theater board of directors, are all here. You know how important this is for Steven, too, and for me. I'm the hostess for the after party." Her voice went up a notch. "If I tell them, they can hold curtain for maybe ten minutes. Are you coming or not?"
Crap. She'd let her family down too many times already. Besides, she didn't have anything better to do. Not like she had a date or anything. "I'll be there."
