Chapter
Eight
The waning moon was veiled with a dark wisp of
cloud as the old man shuffled slowly through the overgrown yard.
Bernie needed to be outside where he could breathe the scents on
the wind. The open expanse of sky was vivid with stars, as wild
streamers of cloud tumbled and twisted past them. A coyote yipped
in the distant forest and was forcefully answered by a pair of
wolves. Our land. Ours.
Depression threatened to crush him,
exacerbated by the tall bottle of Black Velvet he’d been nursing
most of the day. Bernie hadn’t been able to Change, not since
Macleod had injected him with the only poison that could affect
him: silver. It wasn’t supposed to have happened, he had taken
steps to make sure it didn’t happen. There shouldn’t have been
anything but water in the bottle. Shoulda done it
myself, shoulda taken care of it myself.
What if there had been a tiny amount of
actual nitrate left in the small bottle before Macleod filled it?
The syringe had been huge, taking in the entire contents of the
bottle and delivering them into Bernie’s veins. At full-strength,
it would have been a massive dose. But what if it didn’t really
take that much to do the job? What if just a drop or two of silver
nitrate mixed with water was enough?
Bernard Gervais had run wild and free
for several human lifetimes. He was strong and powerful, answering
to no one, not even to Jessie, the Pack Leader. Hell, he was a lot
older than all of them. He should be leading the Pack, not that
smart-mouthed woman. She couldn’t tell him what to do and neither
could that young pup, Connor. Damn them both, damn
all of them!
He knew it was futile after his first
few attempts at Changing, but he couldn’t seem to stop trying. He
sank down in the tall grass, exhausted. By day he drank heavily,
raging at Connor, hating him. By night he grieved and hated his
life, hated himself and what he’d become. Human. Stupid, weak,
sniveling human.
Bernie stretched out full length on the
ground, seeking some shred of comfort from the earth. He was cold,
something he had seldom been before. It can’t be
gone, it can’t be over. Surely his gift could not have left
him completely after so many, many years. It was all the more
frustrating now that he’d found an incredible source of energy, a
human with a powerful bloodline, blood that could make him all but
invincible. And now the Macleods would have it all to themselves,
would once again have the power that should be his.
Drawing a shuddering breath, he closed
his eyes and willed once more—and for the first time he felt an
answering shift in his body. He could hardly believe it, sitting up
in his excitement, inhaling in short sharp gasps. He willed again,
and again he could feel a response. It wasn’t his imagination. A
low gurgling laugh emerged from his lips, a frightening blend of
growl and hysteria. You’re going to pay, Macleod.
And so is that red-haired bitch. She’s going to pay for what she
did to my face. Right after she gives me what I
want.
A wicked smile drew his lips back
unnaturally, exposing both upper and lower teeth, causing most of
the cuts on his face to crack and bleed again. The blood oozed
black in the moonlight. A few moments later, the smile was replaced
by the grinning jaws of a wolf.
God, the bed felt like heaven. Connor
was glad he’d gone to Bill and Jessie’s home. The company was good,
of course. His brothers, Culley and Devlin, always kept the
conversation lively. He’d lost track of how many helpings of the
venison stew and fresh bread he’d had, but it was the first time in
a long time he felt like he’d gotten enough to eat. The Change
burned up a hell of a lot of calories. So did working like a man
possessed. Culley and Birkie, Jessie and Bill, all of them had been
right: He needed to take action on hiring another vet.
First thing in the morning, he
murmured. Tomorrow.
Banners of moonlight moored windows to
floor, the silvery streamers making the shadows of his room darker,
deeper. Connor’s eyes closed blissfully. His breathing slowed, his
large frame sprawled and relaxed. He had just achieved the nirvana
state of full sleep when the phone on the night table
rang.
Miles away, Zoey thrashed in the grip
of a nightmare. She was running through the darkened streets of
Dunvegan, pursued by the grizzled gray wolf. Every now and then
she’d risk a glance behind her and see the glowing eyes, the
snarling, snapping jaws. She climbed fences, ran through buildings,
even drove her car for a while, but still the monstrous creature
followed her. It was like the lupine version of The
Terminator. She could neither hide from it nor outrun it,
and it was coming closer and closer. Gurgling snarls filled her
ears, and she could feel its hot breath on the backs of her legs.
Any second it was going to bite her, take her down like a deer and
kill her. . . . She wanted to scream but no sound would come
out.
Suddenly another wolf, larger, darker,
appeared on the sidewalk directly in front of her. Zoey dove off to
one side to avoid it and fell onto the grass. She expected to feel
her pursuer’s teeth, expected the newcomer to attack her as well.
Instead, the gray wolf launched itself at the bigger wolf’s throat
and a furious battle ensued. She wanted to run, wanted to get away
while the animals fought, but she found herself unable to move. She
was frozen, paralyzed. Helpless.
And when the gray wolf lay in a
bloodied heap on the ground, she could only wait for the victor to
look in her direction, wait for its strange gray eyes to fasten on
her. Wait for it to spring with bared and bloody teeth. . .
.
Her own scream awakened her. Zoey
practically leapt out of her bed, turning on every light she could
find, and rubbing her hands up and down her arms to stave off the
chill effects of the nightmare. “Voices,” she said. “I need
voices.” She bundled herself in an afghan on the couch and reached
for the remote, hoping a little television would anchor her in some
sort of reality.
A few minutes later she was rolling her
eyes. She should have known that television in the wee hours of
morning was the wrong place to turn to for reality. After flipping
through a variety of scary movies, including one about werewolves
no less, she turned off the set and threw the remote onto another
chair in disgust. It was going to be a long, long night. . .
.
She nearly jumped out of her skin when
the phone rang beside her. At this time of night the only reason to
call a small-town newspaper editor was fire.
Any other disasters would wait until morning. Alert and all
business, she grabbed the receiver but didn’t get a chance to say a
word.
“Thank God you’re there! Look, I’m
sorry to ask, but I really need your hands.”
“Connor?”
“Yeah, it’s me. You’re not squeamish,
are you?”
“No—hey, are you okay?”
“I’m at the clinic, about to be up to
my ass in puppies. I swear I’ll buy you the most exotic coffee on
the planet—hell, I’ll buy you a whole coffee plantation, if you’ll just come help.”
“I don’t have any experience, but I’ll
come.”
“You have two hands, that’s all I
need.”
“I—” The phone went dead and she stared
at the receiver for a long moment, then hurried to her room to get
dressed. She wasn’t certain how much help she could be, but hanging
out with a hot veterinarian sure beat sitting up all night afraid
to go to sleep.
The clinic doors were open. Only the
night-lights were on in the reception area, and Zoey was grateful
she’d been there earlier. At least she had some idea where things
were. She passed the examination rooms, the lab, the lunchroom,
heading down the hallway to where bright light spilled out of a
doorway. She looked inside and caught only a fleeting glimpse of
Connor before he grabbed her by the shoulders and kissed her
forehead loudly.
“Thanks for coming. I got this
emergency call an hour ago.” He took her hand and led her to a
stainless steel table where a large reddish-gold dog lay panting
heavily. Her shaved belly was the size and color of a prize-winning
pumpkin. “This is Millie. She’s got enough puppies in there for a
football team but the poor gal’s not making any progress. I’m going
to do a C-section but I have to have someone to watch her vitals
and to take the puppies as I hand them off.” He looked at Zoey
then, measuring her. “You sure you’re up to this? Because once we
get started, it’s going to go fast. There’s no time to get sick or
faint.”
“Hey, city reporter here. I’ve covered
the crime beat,” she protested. “You just tell me what to
do.”
He grinned and patted her shoulder.
“Okay, tough gal, here we go.”
It did go fast. One moment Connor was
showing her how to check the dog’s pulse, and the next, he was
making the first incision. Somewhere between those tasks, he’d
managed to start an IV, feed a tube down Millie’s windpipe, start
the anesthetic and reposition the now-sleeping dog on the table,
all the while giving Zoey instructions on what to do with the
puppies when they arrived. She held a towel in her hands, nervous
but ready, checking the dog’s pulse frequently. Millie’s heart was
strong and steady. Like Connor, she thought. She watched him work,
admiring the efficiency and artistry that went into the
surgery.
Suddenly he handed her something that
looked like a slimy gray jelly bean—if jelly beans were the size of
Idaho potatoes. It squirmed a little in her towel and she realized
with a start that it was a puppy, totally encased in an amniotic
sac. Omigod. She peeled the sac away to
reveal the wet blond puppy underneath and rubbed it vigorously with
the towel. It began squeaking and she watched, fascinated, as it
blindly waved its little blunt nose around. It sounded almost
indignant. A rush of warmth shot through her and she had to blink
hard to clear her eyes of unexpected moisture. She looked up to
find Connor grinning at her.
“Congratulations. You’ve just witnessed
the start of a brand-new life.”
“Is it like this for you
too?”
“Every single time. It never gets old.
It does get rushed though. Put that one under the heat lamp. His
brothers and sisters are ready to come out and play.”
He wasn’t kidding. Zoey would no sooner
get a puppy rubbed down than Connor was handing her another. And
another. At one point she was rubbing two at a time. “Holy cow, how
many are there?”
“At least a dozen. Retrievers usually
have big litters, but Millie’s outdone herself. Check her pulse for
me, will you?”
Zoey hurried to do so, but the mother
dog was fine. The next puppy wasn’t, however. It looked different
from its siblings, smaller and unmoving. “Connor, I can’t get this
one to breathe.”
“Use the bulb syringe, suction the
fluid out of its mouth.”
She did her best but felt clumsy with
the unfamiliar tool. The pup lay limp.
“Shake it very gently, upside down. The
lungs may need to drain a little.”
That was harder. She was fearful of
hurting it, but as the pup continued to be unresponsive, she
jiggled it harder. Nothing. “Connor!”
“Don’t panic yet. The bottle on the
table is a respiratory stimulant. Put a drop on its tongue and then
keep rubbing it with the towel. Keep its head down.”
She had tears in her eyes as she opened
the tiny mouth. Everything was so delicate, so perfect. She applied
the drop and resumed rubbing. “C’mon, c’mon, breathe! You can do
it, little guy, c’mon.”
“I’ve got another puppy that can’t
wait. You’re going to have to juggle them.”
Flustered, she tucked the limp pup
under her sweatshirt to keep it warm, took the new pup, and was
relieved when it squeaked almost immediately. She was just placing
it in the box under the heat lamp with its siblings when a faint
movement next to her skin caught her attention. She reached in and
found the troubled pup squirming feebly. “Oh, look at you! What a
wonderful fellow you are!” She crooned to the puppy as she rubbed
it with the towel. Tears ran down her face when it finally made a
faint squeak.
“Way to go, Dr. Tyler.”
“He’s the one that did it, he kept
trying.”
“So did you. And here’s two more for
you.”
In the end there were fifteen puppies
nestled in a squirming mass under the heat lamp. Connor finished
suturing the mother as he adjusted the gas, explaining that he had
to wean Millie off the anesthetic. “She’s going to wake up pretty
soon and we’ll see if we can talk her into nursing these pups a
little. The first milk produced has all sorts of antibodies and
such that the pups are going to need. But after that, we’re going
to bottle feed them for a meal or two while she rests and recovers.
Bring along a couple of the pups.”
Zoey gathered up the two biggest
puppies and followed as Connor carried Millie into his office and
placed her on an enormous sheepskin pillow on the floor. It was
surrounded by wide planks nailed together to form a box of sorts
and positioned in front of the couch. Connor took the dog’s pulse,
pushed open first one eyelid, then the other and looked in her
eyes. The dog pulled her head back and shook it. “She’s waking up
just fine. Put the pups with her and let’s go get the
rest.”
Zoey nestled them close to the mother,
and was amazed at how they immediately flailed about in search of a
nipple. One fastened on right away. “How do they know what to
do?”
“Instinct. All the instructions are
hardwired into them, so they don’t have to know anything. They just
do.”
It took several trips, but finally, the
pups were arranged two deep along the mother’s belly. Connor turned
the lights off except for a small lamp. Zoey thought they were
leaving but instead, he stretched out on the old couch. “I have to
keep an eye on Millie for a while. She’s an experienced mom but she
might be disoriented,” he explained and extended his arm in
invitation. “Why don’t you scootch right in here and have a nap?
You worked hard tonight.”
She hesitated for a second, then
realized she was far too tired to drive home. Besides, the idea of
cuddling up to the tall vet was a temptation she really didn’t want
to resist.
The battered couch was surprisingly
comfortable. It was long and wide, and although Connor filled the
length of it, when he turned sideways there was just the right
amount of room for her to spoon in front of him. He wrapped a
powerful arm around her waist and pulled her snugly against him.
God, it felt good. Heat seemed to flow from him, working its way
into her tired body as if she had a campfire at her back. She
watched as Millie lifted her head and began nosing her puppies,
tentatively at first then licking them enthusiastically. “Look,
she’s discovering her new family.”
Connor’s voice rumbled pleasantly in
her ear. “This is the best part, after it’s all over and you can
just enjoy watching them bond.”
“You’re really good at what you do. And
you like it a lot, don’t you?”
“Can’t imagine doing anything else. But
you were great tonight yourself.”
“I don’t know about that.”
“I do. You helped a helluva lot. I
might have lost a couple of those pups, trying to do it all myself.
Or I could have been a little too slow and lost Millie. So,
thanks.”
“Thanks for asking me.”
He planted a kiss on her cheek, hugged
her tight. “Go to sleep now.”
She did. She had fully intended to
continue watching the puppies but instead fell headlong into
dreamless slumber, secure in Connor’s arms.
Zoey awakened to the sound of squeaking
puppies. She opened her eyes to find Connor kneeling by the box,
bottlefeeding one of the pups. Millie didn’t appear to mind or
perhaps she was just preoccupied. The mother dog seemed to be
nosing the squirming mass of hungry pups into some sort of
order.
“Morning,” she managed.
He looked up from his task and smiled.
“Sorry if I woke you. I tried not to make noise, but this crew was
ready to riot. There’s fresh coffee and cinnamon buns in the
lunchroom if you want.”
“Holy cow, you baked?”
“Nope, Dell Mackie brought them by. I
offered to marry her again but she turned me down as
usual.”
“I see. You must be heartbroken,” she
ventured.
“Devastated. She’s eighty-nine, but
nobody makes cinnamon buns like she does.”
Zoey laughed and tried to sit up, but
discovered she was buried in quilts. She struggled out from under
them, sat up, and ran her hands through her hair. “God, I must look
a sight.”
“A sight for sore eyes, and one I’d
like to see more of.”
“But I don’t know how to make cinnamon
buns.”
“Every relationship has its
challenges.”
She chuckled as she knelt by the box.
“Where’s the littlest guy, the one I had trouble with last
night?”
“Left hand side, bottom row, with the
rest of Millie’s little black sheep.” Connor nodded in the general
direction, his attention taken up with feeding a second pup in his
hands.
“Her what?”
“Look closer at the pups. Notice
anything unusual?”
Their fuzzy puppy coats were dry now
and Zoey thought the variety of colors made quite a picture. Eight
were reddish gold like their mother. Three were blond. They were
plump, their rounded features similar. She frowned as she realized
the remaining four were different. Even though their newborn
features were blunt and undeveloped, it was obvious that their
shape, their build, was nothing like the others. Leaner. Shorter
coat. And the color—three were chestnut with white markings, white
feet. The smallest pup, the one that had been tucked in Zoey’s
shirt, was a mix of white and brindle. “Why are they so
different?”
“Different father I imagine. The owners
will be furious. Millie’s a purebred with a ritzy pedigree and this
will call the breeding into question.”
Zoey stared at him. “Different fathers?
In one batch?”
“It happens with dogs and cats. The
owners had Millie bred to a champion stud. But it looks like
another dog got to her afterward while she was still in estrus. My
money’s on old Bruce Granger’s boxer.” Connor shook his head.
“Millie’s owners will want the whole litter put down.”
“What?”
“A lot of folks breed dogs as a
business. For some, it’s only a business. If the pups have no
future in the show ring, if they can’t command top price, then
they’re disposed of.”
Disposed. Zoey
was horrified. She’d helped them take their first breaths. For a
fleeting and foolish moment she thought about adopting them all,
then realized the impossibility of it. “Why can’t they just find
homes for them?”
“Most breeders would do that. They keep
their potential champions and they sell their pet quality animals.
But these folks are more hard-headed than most. They think it
devalues their stock to put pets on the market.” He snorted at
that. “As if the average family was able to buy one of their
five-thousand-dollar bluebloods.”
“I’m keeping this one.” Zoey reached
into the box and picked up the small brindle and white pup and held
it to her cheek. “I don’t care what the owners say or what they
want for it, I’m keeping him. He’s not
disposable.”
Connor looked stricken. “God, I didn’t
mean—I should have thought before I spoke. You don’t have to worry
about these puppies, Zoey. I’m not going to let anything happen to
them.”
“Honest?”
“Cross my heart.”
“But the owners—”
“Knowing the owners as I do, I think
it’s best that they never know about these four little door prizes.
Millie had eleven pups.
Capiche?”
“My lips are sealed. But I still want
this puppy.” And she did. Zoey had never had a dog of her own. She
definitely didn’t want one like the massive black pony that had
been in Connor’s office, but she had to admit she liked the
enthusiastic affection.
“He’ll be ready for you to take home in
about six weeks. If I can’t find a surrogate mom for these four,
I’ll get someone to hand-raise them for me.”
It wouldn’t be the first time he’d done
this, Zoey realized. “Do you try to save everything?”
He laughed a little. “My hired man, Jim
Neely, asks me that every time I bring home another orphan. He
complains that I’m turning the farm into a petting zoo, but then he
always finds a place for the animal. More than a few have been
rehabilitated thanks to him. My sibs help too.”
“So a love for animals runs in the
family?”
“I guess you could say that. Maybe it’s
more a respect for nature. But don’t put me on too high of a
pedestal. This is a veterinary practice, and I have to put down
animals as well. I get my share of cases where there’s no other
option. Luckily this isn’t one of them.”
The puppy in her arms squeaked and
nuzzled blindly. “I think he’s hungry.”
“Then it’s his turn.” Connor held out
the bottle to her.
“I don’t know how to do
this!”
“Sure you do. Hold him like this”—he
rearranged her arms a little—“and introduce him to the
bottle.”
She didn’t have to do anything more.
The little creature attacked the rubber nipple with a will and
began drinking greedily. She shifted a little, trying to get
comfortable, and found herself leaning against Connor. It felt just
right.