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September stumbled and caught herself on a tree but Shadow bulldozed on, towing her in his wake. Head down and nose tasting the ground, the German Shepherd acted impervious to the brambles that hobbled her own progress. September frowned when she recognized the ring tone—Combs phone. Melinda again. She started to thumb it off before answering, then quickly answered without breaking stride.
"Have you found him? Where are you?" Panic in Comb's voice sounded barely under control. "Melinda says you've been gone nearly forty minutes."
She stiffened. He must have rushed home to retrieve his phone. "No sign yet, but Shadow picked up a scent that could be Kinsler."
"Forget the damn dog. Find my son." His cop's cool cracked along with his voice.
She kept her own temper. "Shadow tracks pets, you know that. If they're still together, tracking Kinsler is the best bet." The black dog flicked his ears at the sound of his name, impatient to continue the trail. "Shadow's hot after something, and I don't want to discourage him."
Combs took a steadying breath, but his clipped tone remained frosty. She could hear a weird staccato clattering in the background. "Weather guys upgraded the tornado watch to a warning. I've got pea-size hail. Where are you?"
She peered at the dark sky. Wind blew a nose-wrinkling smell of ozone, and lightening carved zigzags across the clouds but the rain had taken an intermission. "We're off FM 680 heading northwest. On foot with Shadow about midway across the field. Rain will muddy the trail, literally, but we can't stop until we find Willie or the trail goes stale."
The hail sound grew louder over the phone. "You're in the path. It's traveling about 30 miles per hour so it'll hit you in less than twenty minutes, maybe sooner. I'm on my way." His voice cracked again, clearly struggling with mixed emotions. "You need to find Willie quick, and take cover. I don't want to think about him out in this weather." He paused. "Or you."
The afterthought hurt, and shame followed. Willie was his son. She was merely some woman he'd known for a few months. "I know about tornadoes, remember, I grew up here. Even Chicago and South Bend had their share of bad weather." She brushed hair out of her eyes, and wished she had tied it back. "We've got no hail, not even rain at the moment but the window's fast closing. Got to run."
"You are the most stubborn, infuriating woman."
She said nothing. This wasn't the time or place. With tornadoes added to the mix, a little boy's life was at stake.
His tone softened. "Don't want to be scraping you off the pavement, either." The noise increased. "Dammit, the hail is getting bigger. I'll be there soon as I can. September, I don't want to lose either of you."
He disconnected before she could say anything, thank goodness. She wiped her wet face. Rain, only rain, she told herself, but her throat ached. Better to make a clean break now than hang on and hope the situation would change. People couldn't hide their true selves forever. They could lie to others, or even themselves . . . She needed to decide who she was, and what she wanted. "Dogs never lie, right Shadow?"
He cocked his head, questioning.
"Never mind. We've more important stuff, right?" She squared her shoulders. "Seek, Shadow, seek."
He wagged again, and yelped before turning to sniff at the beckoning trail. Shadow knew what to do. This time, it wasn't about a wildlife die-off spilling into the pet population.
Melinda said her brother saw someone snatch Kinsler. Why steal a dog, when the city shelter offered near give-away adoptable animals? Kinsler was priceless to Willie, but the dognapping made no sense. Unless it had been about luring the boy away, and hurting Combs. As a detective, he certainly had enemies.
For now, the reason didn't matter, only finding the boy. September pushed with renewed determination through brambles that clawed her passing. Gloves offered protection more from the stickers and branches than the cold. Shadow ducked beneath branches and weaved through clotted overgrowth. She clutched the tracking line in one fist, keeping it taut without dragging too much on Shadow’s harness, and used the other to push aside errant branches that threatened to whip back and slash her face.
The sun played hide and seek with billowing clouds, snarling September's coffee-colored mane until it appeared spun from the storm. It had already rained more—snowed more, too—this past winter than she could remember. The area's flash flood warning worried her more than the threat of distant hail or potential tornado. Thankfully, the scent trail followed higher ground. So far, anyway.
September studied the clouds with worry. If the sky broke with another downpour, rain would dilute or erase the trail. Shadow was good, but he wasn’t a Bloodhound.
Shadow increased his speed, tail waving with excitement and breath huffing as the scent became fresher, drawing him ever faster along the invisible path only a tracking dog could detect. His eagerness made her hopes soar. He rarely got this excited anymore. Finding remains (or nothing at all) depressed Shadow as much as her.
Dogs needed success and hope, and finding the living rewarded Shadow as much as the relieved pet owner. They'd followed the highway in the direction of the brown truck, and then Shadow veered from the road. She didn't want to give Combs false hope, but if Willie remained with his dog, the fresh trail increased the chance of a happy reunion.
Her jeans caught and hung on a fallen branch and she had to stop to untangle the fabric. Shadow pulled and hesitated when she didn't immediately follow. He huffed impatiently.
"Give me a minute. Close, are you?" He woofed as she straightened. "Okay, baby-dog, I'm ready." He still hesitated, so she repeated the command. "Shadow, seek."
He whirled, and eagerly ran into the thickest overgrowth. That would be the trail a squirrel would take, and tease Kinsler to follow. She shielded her face, turned sideways and scrambled through the stand of scrubby saplings. Some of them had already begun to bud in response to the unseasonal warming trend. Ducking under a massive branch, she stepped onto pavement, one of the many farm-to-market roads that crisscrossed the rural regions of North Texas. September sighed, her shoulders sagging. She expected Shadow to cast back and forth and lose the trail, as he had so many times in the recent past. She guessed the missing dog got loaded into a vehicle and whisked away.
But Shadow kept tugging. If anything, his urgency increased until she had to trot to keep up with him. They ran, following the highway. Maybe the dog gave up on the critter chase and headed back toward home. Wouldn't that be wonderful, to find Kinsler and Willie hiking back to Heartland?
Veering across the pavement to the other side of the road, Shadow dove off the embankment, dashing her hopes. Please, don’t let him be hit by a car—either one of them. Shadow slid on his haunches and finally put on the furry brakes at the bottom where more of the scrubby undergrowth sprouted.
"Shadow, wait." She didn't need him yanking her headfirst into a tree. While he impatiently watched, September carefully climbed down, one gloved hand grasping thick hanks of Johnson grass to brace her descent and avoid turning an ankle or worse.
When she joined Shadow, September smoothed his brow while she took in the plowed, open field. Black waves of sludge resembled cold grease on a griddle, left behind after flood waters receded. It smelled spoiled, like rotting road kill, and made her wonder what sort of wildlife drowned in the deluge.
Water carved a trench down the middle of the field where a narrow bright ribbon of water still ran. Sooty banks of mud flanked each side, the smooth surface marred here and there by detritus washed up and left stranded. The glassy flats invited the unwary to tread the surface, but she knew better.
Shadow learned the hard way. He sprinted toward a dark object situated perhaps ten feet off the road. Almost immediately, he recoiled and tried to backpedal but his front legs sank into black muck nearly to his shoulders.
He yelped and strained backwards, churning the mud. September made an effort to speak with calm authority. "Steady, baby-dog. Wait. Wait, good-dog." He settled, but she could see his chest heave and the whites of his eyes roll. "I'll get you out, you're fine." The black mud was more annoying than dangerous, but Shadow didn't know that. He could hurt himself trying to clamber out.
September grasped the tracking line with both gloved hands, and pulled with steady pressure against the harness. "Okay, Shadow, let's go. C'mon, baby-dog. Back, back." He strained his haunches again, and with a sucking sound, the mud let go. Shadow scrambled backwards, lifting each paw in turn with a nearly comical expression of distaste. The black clay-filled soil coated each foreleg, and she knew the clammy sensation wouldn't be pleasant. "You need a bath." He found a somewhat level spot on the embankment and shook himself, hard, and September laughed when mud spattered her face. "Yeah, guess I deserved that."
He sniffed one paw and then lifted his head, tasting the wind. Shadow's tail stirred the air and he woofed low in his throat and then barked again, louder. He took a step toward the dark figure, but immediately retreated when one paw again encountered the mud. Shadow made eye contact with September, barked and deliberately lay down.
September peered toward the object. At first glance, it appeared to be nothing more than a pile of debris, coughed up by the recent rains sluicing down the side of the road embankment. Shadow barked again and a dark figure stirred, and lifted its furry head.
"Good-dog, Shadow. Good find." He'd located the missing Kinsler. Maybe Willie was with him, she had to check. Shadow beat his tail against the ground.
“Willie? Willie Combs, are you there?” No answer, but the boy could be unconscious.
Lightening flashed, and the wind sprayed rain against September's cheeks. The terrier mix barked and began to yodel. He stood, perched precariously on the mounded island he'd found, tail flagged high with excitement but not daring to leave the secure footing. Mud stained his white fur gray, clear up to his neck. A good head shorter than Shadow, Kinsler was lucky he'd found a perch before the mud dried like cement and encased him in a permanent trap.
She searched for something to reach the small dog. A tree branch tossed atop the mud might offer him enough incentive to scramble within reach.
Any loose limbs, though, had already washed along the small tributary in the wrong direction to offer any help. She needed a few two-by-fours or plywood flats that, once tossed across the mud, would support her weight. She had some at home in the garage. That would mean leaving Kinsler, trudging back through the thickets, driving home and coming back, with fingers crossed the dog would wait. Not likely, especially when the storm broke. And she couldn’t risk the wait if Willie was there.
As if to confirm her fears, the little dog leaped from his perch and promptly shrieked and floundered. Within seconds, he'd managed to mire himself up to his chin in the mess. Shadow jumped up and added his own barks to the chorus. "Shadow, wait. Settle, good-dog." She squinted against the rain, and sighed. Wishes got nothing done. She had no choice. Time to get dirty.
September searched one of her coat’s enormous pockets to find Shadow's short six-foot leash and tethered him to a burl oak. "You wait, baby-dog. Wait." The leash served more as a reminder than anything, and she didn't want to worry about him trying to come to her rescue.
She unhooked Shadow's tracking line and looped one end around the base of the same tree. Next, she stripped off her boots, rolled up her jeans, and shucked out of the jacket as well. Good thing she hadn't replaced her socks, they'd simply weigh her down. She'd count on luck that her bare feet would only get dirty, not cut.
Stepping forward, September winced at the icy mud. She'd better do this quickly, or her feet would go numb. Keeping one hand wrapped around the tracking tether, she slowly and methodically worked her way toward Kinsler.
"You're okay, boy, I'm coming." She crooned a singsong chant to the small dog, as much to keep Shadow calm as to halt Kinsler’s struggles. She had to drag each foot high and step forward before repeating with the other foot. Taking too wide a step threatened to make her slip or trip (or both) and topple her into the mess. She moved the wrong way, and her recovering knee protested with a sharp burst of pain.
The closer she came to the dog, the deeper grew the mud until it reached above her knees. The dog had to be perched on something, or would have sunk to his neck or deeper. He wriggled and barked repeatedly at her, his tail stirring the mud, but he'd learned his lesson and refused to move. Cautiously she drew abreast Kinsler, and saw nothing resembling the boy. Crap. She moved slowly, not wanting to bruise her feet on whatever stump or felled tree supported him.
"Good-dog, you're a good boy, here we go now." September dropped the tracking line onto the surface of the mud. She'd use it to pull them back to the road, once she had the dog in her arms.
September grasped Kinsler by his collar and shoved her other arm into the mud beneath his belly, ready to flex her legs to pull against the grip of the sludge. "Poor puppy, I've got you now, going to get you home." Lightning and thunder made her jump. The clouds stopped teasing and rain poured in earnest.
The mud held on for an endless moment, pulling off one of September’s gloves before it let go with a weird lip-smacking sound. The dog squirmed happily in September's arms, reaching up to slurp her face. Her sweatshirt as well as her jeans turned stiff with plastered muck. She stripped off the other ruined glove and dropped it, tucking the dog under one arm and caught up the tracking line with her other hand. She half turned, wrenching free of a tree branch that had temporarily hitched a ride on the dog up out of the muck.
It let go and fell back with a splat, most still sunk beneath the muck but the near end resting on the muddy surface. As September watched, the rain washed it clean revealing not a tree branch after all, but a clenched human hand.
