“Is the hip broken?” Luke asked.
“Not that I can tell. But there may be internal injuries. I’ve no way of knowing for sure.”
Luke swallowed. “Bleeding inside, you mean?”
The doctor nodded. “If so, he’s a goner. There’s nothing I can do.”
“How about the leg? How bad is it?”
“Bad,” Mosley replied. “That’s the least of my worries, though. I think I can set it. I cannot, however, promise that the dog won’t be lame. If he lives, and I stress the ‘if.’” He hesitated a moment, as if to let that sink in. “I’m sorry, Mr. Taggart, but it’s my recommendation that we put the animal down. I can do it painlessly. A bit too much ether, for a prolonged period of time. He’ll just go to sleep and never wake up.”
Luke stared down at Lycodomes’s chest, noting the dog’s rapid breathing, a sure sign of pain. Less than an hour ago, Luke had been making arrangements to get rid of the dog. Now, he would have given almost anything to save him. He closed his eyes for a moment, imagining the shattered look on Cassandra’s face when he told her the news.
“I’ve seen lots of lame dogs,” Luke said gruffly. “Most of them seem to get around all right. Even three-legged ones.”
“True enough. It’s your call. Just understand that if he’s bleeding internally, there’s not a damned thing I can do.”
Luke opened the surgery door and stepped through. Cassandra had leaped up from the chair when she heard the creak of the hinges. Surprised to see that the miner had already left, Luke motioned her into the surgery. The instant she entered the room, she ran directly to the table to hug her pet.
As gently as possible, Luke laid out the facts to her. “It’s up to you, honey. I’ll leave the decision to you.”
Cassandra straightened and pressed a hand over her mouth, her aching gaze fixed on Lycodomes, who lay there panting and whining, clearly asking her, in the only way he could, to do something to help him. Finally, she looked up at Luke again. Two gigantic tears hovered on her lower lashes, then spilled onto her cheeks, trailing like liquid diamonds to her quivering chin.
“You decide, Luke. I’m afraid I’ll make a selfish choice.” Her mouth twisted in a tremulous spasm.
“Sweetheart, I can’t make this decision for you.”
“Please? You’ll do what’s best for Lycodomes, and I’m afraid I won’t. I love him so much.”
Luke felt as if he’d just been sucker punched. She stood there, looking at him with her heart in her eyes. She actually meant it. If he voted to destroy the dog, she would abide by his decision, no questions asked.
He turned his attention back to Lycodomes, not entirely sure he wanted this kind of responsibility. He didn’t deserve her trust, dammit. He was a rotten, lying, conniving bastard. Everyone else in town realized that, so why didn’t she? Only she didn’t…and he was beginning to feel like a spider trapped in its own web.
Looking at the doctor, Luke asked, “Can you ease his pain?”
Mosley ran a hand over his bald pate. “I can try. Just as long as you bear in mind that I’m shooting in the dark. Even too much of the right thing could kill him.”
Luke heaved a sigh. Finally, he said, “Then I think we should do what we can for him.” He met Cassandra’s gaze. “As you said, we can’t just give up without a fight. This way, at least he’s got a chance.”
“How much will it cost?” she asked, turning to the doctor. “Will it be frightfully expensive? I have wages coming at the end of the month, but right now, I haven’t much money. Do you mind waiting for payment?”
Luke didn’t want her to know that her entire first month’s wages wouldn’t cover what he’d offered the doctor. “Money isn’t the issue.” He turned to Mosley. “Go to work,” he said softly. “If you can save him, the price we agreed on is yours. If he dies, I’ll pay your regular fee and not a cent more.”
The insult, though not spoken in so many words, was blatant. Mosley’s mouth hardened. “You can’t blackmail me, Taggart. If I take on a patient, human or canine, I put forth my best effort, whether there’s payment involved or not. Take your money and get out of here.”
For an awful moment, Luke thought the doctor meant he should take the dog away as well. But then the older man stepped to the surgery table, his expression intent. “Go on,” he said vaguely, his complete attention already focused on Lycodomes. “Wait outside. I don’t work well with people standing over me, gawking.”
Waiting…pacing…waiting. From the chairs to the bookcase, Luke wore a path in the waiting-room floor, hands clasped behind his back. Every minute seemed to last an hour, each hour a lifetime. Luke’s thoughts were never far from the dog, the only exception being when he contemplated the girl who sat huddled on the chair, head bent, shoulders sagging. If Lycodomes died, Luke knew a part of Cassandra would die with him. A precious part of her…and Luke was going to mourn the loss.
Doctor Mosley had been closeted in the surgery with Lycodomes for approximately two hours when a tap on the waiting-room window brought Luke reeling to a stop. He glanced through the dusty blind to see Donald Brummel standing outside on the sidewalk, a newspaper held in one hand to shield his head from the afternoon rain, which came almost daily in the Rockies. With his free hand, Brummel motioned for Luke to step outside.
“I heard about the dog getting run over,” he said when Luke joined him on the sidewalk.
Raindrops pelted Luke’s face. The pinpricks of cold wetness on his skin felt good, and he hauled in a deep breath of the fresh air, flexing the stiffness from his shoulders. “We’re still not sure if the doctor can save him.”
Donald smiled slightly. “I thought you wanted to get rid of him.”
“Keep your voice down, goddammit. She may hear you through the glass.”
Donald lowered the newspaper, tapping its damp folds lightly against his tweed trouser leg. Within seconds, his honey-brown hair glistened with raindrops. “Shall I take this to mean I should forget your orders to make arrangements for the dog’s disappearance?” he asked with a quizzical gleam in his eye.
There was no mistaking the man’s amusement, and Luke had an unholy urge to plant a fist squarely in his mouth. “I underestimated Cassandra’s affection for the animal,” he said softly. “She’s devastated. If the dog lives, and I hope to God he does, he will remain in Black Jack.”
“So, it’s finally happened.”
Luke lifted an eyebrow. “What’s finally happened?”
“The indomitable Luke Taggart, brought to his knees by a pretty little swatch of calico. I never thought I’d live to see it.”
“I hardly think my concern for the girl’s feelings equates to being brought to my knees,” Luke ground out.
“Not an easy thing to admit, is it?” He shook his head. “I still deny it after fifteen years of marriage.” He shrugged. “No need to look so stricken, Luke. It happens to the best of us, and in the long run, it really doesn’t change anything. I still rule my household with an iron hand.” His mouth quirked at the edges. “And I have my wife’s permission to say so.”
He turned and walked away. Luke fixed a glare on the man’s back. Brought to his knees? Not likely.
Still disgruntled, Luke reentered the doctor’s office to find Cassandra gazing morosely at the floor, her small face pale, the skin drawn tightly over her cheekbones. Luke sighed and sat down beside her to take her hand. “Sweetheart, he’s going to be okay,” he said with far more confidence than he felt.
She forced a smile—a ghost of a smile, compared to the radiant ones she usually bestowed on him. Luke missed the shimmer that was often in her eyes, the glow that always seemed to emanate from her.
“Even when he was just a pup, Lye-Lye always protected me,” she said, barely above a whisper. “And all the people I love as well. Every day, he walked Khristos to school, and sometimes he’d lie outside in the rain and snow, waiting to walk him home. I never worried, not for a second, that any harm might befall my brother, not whe
n Lycodomes was with him.”
Luke recalled the first time he’d encountered Lycodomes, how the dog had sensed a threat and snarled a warning.
“He always protected me. Oh God, Luke, why couldn’t I protect him?”
“Oh, honey.” Luke hooked a hand around her nape and drew her face to his shoulder. “Don’t,” he said softly. “It was an accident. Lycodomes knows that.”
She made tight fists on the front of his expensive silk shirt—a shirt that was smeared with blood and covered with dog hair. Strangely, Luke didn’t care. All he could think about was her pain and how helpless he was to ease it.
The door to the surgery opened, and Doctor Mosley stepped out. His eyes twinkled with a smile that didn’t quite reach his mouth. “I don’t believe he has any internal bleeding,” he said briskly. “That’s a good sign.”
Luke sprang to his feet, his heart kicking against his ribs. “And the leg?”
Cassandra remained seated, her arms hugging her waist. “Could you fix it?” she asked in a thin voice.
“It was broken in three places,” Mosley replied. “But I set the fractures and splinted the limb. The rest is up to God and Mother Nature. It’ll either knit nicely, or it won’t.” He held up his hands. “All you can do now is take him home and wait. If he makes it through the next twenty-four hours, he should live. We’ll be able to rule out internal injuries, at any rate. Whether or not he’ll be lame is a question we can’t answer until the splint comes off in approximately six weeks.”
“So he still isn’t out of the woods?” Luke pressed.
“Not by a long shot. He’s lost a lot of blood, and infection could set in. Any number of things could go wrong.” Doctor Mosley looked at Cassandra. “I did my best. I’m not a veterinarian, you understand. A dog’s leg is made differently than a human’s. There are bone angles and tendons I’m not familiar with. All I could do was make my best guess and try to put him back together.”
“Thank you, Doctor Mosley,” Cassandra said. “Even if he dies, I’ll never forget your having tried to save him.”
Luke rubbed a hand over his face, exhausted now that some of the danger had passed. “You wait here,” he told Cassandra. “I’ll go to the house and get the carriage. The less we jostle him around getting him home, the better.”
At the door, Luke stopped and spun back. “Your money,” he said to the doctor. “I haven’t paid you.”
Mosley smiled. “Keep the money.” He winked at Cassandra. “Consider it my gift to the young lady.”
Back braced against the wall, one leg extended, Luke sat on the kitchen floor with one arm curled loosely around Cassandra, his other arm resting on his upraised knee. Limp with weariness and fast asleep, she lay against his chest, her head cradled on his shoulder, her face tipped up so her every breath caressed the underside of his jaw. The single lamp burning on the wall above them cast a nimbus of light all around them, a soft, hazy orb of amber.
Though it was well after two in the morning and everyone else, including Khristos, had long since gone to bed, Luke didn’t feel the least bit sleepy. After sitting in the same position for nearly three hours, his body was starting to cramp, but he wouldn’t have moved for anything. He was afraid he might wake Cassandra, and he wanted to continue holding her.
Feeling her slightness within the circle of his arm, her softness pressed so innocently against him, having the scent of her all around him—it was as close to heaven as he ever hoped to get.
Heaven…three days ago, Luke would have scoffed at the very notion that such a place existed. Now, resting his gaze on Lycodomes, who lay on a pallet of blankets near the stove, he could almost believe. The dog had skated very close to death this afternoon and was still on thin ice. Yet Luke was beginning to hope he had a chance. A good chance. The dog’s chest no longer rose and fell quite so rapidly, and he seemed to be resting peacefully. That had to be a good sign.
It was almost as if some invisible power had worked a miracle, Luke thought as he regarded the dog. To that end, Cassandra had certainly said enough Hail Marys—so many, in fact, that Luke nearly had the prayer memorized himself. A slight smile touched his mouth. Maybe he wasn’t the only one who couldn’t bear to see Cassandra cry.
A funny, shivery sensation crawled over Luke’s skin, and he drew his gaze from the dog to glance uneasily about the room. Could it be that there really were divine forces at work all around them? Luke had lived his whole life convinced otherwise. If some divine being had been following him all these years, looking over his shoulder and keeping a tally of all his bad deeds, he was in deep shit.
He shook the thought away. If there were a God, then where the hell had He been when Luke was a kid?
Luke pressed his lips against Cassandra’s dark, silken hair and hauled in a deep breath. Pale lavender blossoms, sunlight filtering through green leaves, birds trilling—those were the things that came to his mind. Clean, sweet things. He could never settle for black lace again, not after having her in his arms.
She stirred slightly. Luke dipped his chin, watching her dark lashes flutter against her ivory cheeks. “How is he?” she asked groggily.
Luke glanced at Lycodomes. “I think he’s better,” he told her softly. “Maybe your prayers helped, hmm?”
The husky tenderness in Luke’s voice made Cassandra’s heart catch. Tipping her head back, she gazed up at his burnished features. His whiskey-colored hair lay in loose waves over his high forehead, lending him a tousled, little-boy appeal. As she met his gaze, she remembered how she’d once compared his golden-brown eyes to those of a tiger. The thought amused her now, for tigers were fierce, dangerous creatures, and Luke was one of the most gentle men she’d ever met.
Oh, he had hard edges. She didn’t fool herself about that. She had seen that side of him more than once when he dealt with other people, and that very morning he’d even been gruff with her. She had no doubt he could be dangerous. When he got angry, a harsh, brutal set came over his features, and a merciless glint entered his eyes. Yet with her, he had been patience itself, his hands always lightly caressing her arm or her hair, his eyes cloudy with tenderness. He hadn’t hesitated to try and save Lycodomes, either, and she knew he’d done it only for her. She wasn’t blind to the looks he sometimes gave the dog, as if he’d like to strangle him.
Cassandra couldn’t understand the feelings she was developing for this man. Sometimes she wanted to draw his head to her shoulder and stroke his hair, to tell him everything would be all right. It was a silly urge, given that he always seemed so strong and in command with everyone else. It was only when he looked at her that he got that uncertain, yearning look—like a lost little boy who was searching for home and had no idea where to turn.
Unable to resist the urge, Cassandra reached up and pressed her palm lightly against his cheek. The whiskery nubs along his darkly tanned jaw pricked her skin. Smiling, she rasped her thumb over the roughness. Not a little boy, she reminded herself, but a very large man whose body was roped with steely muscle. Yet the look in his eyes reminded her of Khristos when he woke from a bad dream.
Turning his head slightly, Luke caught her thumb between his teeth. The wet, silken heat of his mouth made her tummy flutter. It was a startling sensation, yet she liked it very much.
An awful, uncertain feeling went through her. She didn’t know who she was anymore. Being with Luke so much these last few days had changed everything, making her question herself at every turn.
He smiled slightly when she drew her hand back, his eyes gleaming as if her startled reaction amused him. Then, almost imperceptibly, he bent his head. Cassandra’s breath snagged in her throat, for she knew he meant to kiss her. The fluttery feeling in her stomach turned hot and storm tingly, excitement ribboning from its center to make her breasts swell and a shiver run up her spine. She wanted him to kiss her, she realized. She wanted it more than she’d ever wanted anything.
Lycodomes whined suddenly. Luke jerked his head up, and Cassandra sprang aw
ay as if his broad chest had suddenly become a bed of hot coals. Twisting onto her knees, she bent over her dog.
“Lye-Lye?” The dog fastened worshipful brown eyes on her. Blinking away tears, Cassandra smoothed a hand over his head, then toyed gently with his curly ears. “Oh, Luke, I think you’re right. He seems better.”
His pulse slamming and his breath coming quick, Luke pushed to his feet, trying without much success not to resent the dog for choosing that particular moment to wake up. Two more seconds, that was all he’d needed, and he would have been kissing her. Luke straightened his shirt, tucking in the tails with jabbing fingers.
“Do you think maybe he’s hungry?” he asked when the dog continued to whine.
Cassandra bit her full bottom lip—a lip Luke would have given his right arm to be nibbling on himself. “I wonder if it would hurt him to have some milk.”
Milk…Luke glanced blankly around the kitchen, trying to orient himself. As he moved across the room to the icebox, he silently lectured himself on appropriate timing. What had he hoped to do, take her on the kitchen floor? Jesus. He had to maintain some control. He drew the jug of milk off the shelf and slammed the icebox door closed.
“One bowl of milk, coming up,” he said with a light-heartedness he was far from feeling. To his surprise, Lycodomes eagerly lapped up the bowl of milk when he set it on the floor in front of him. “Well, I’ll be damned,” Luke said with a laugh.
“He is better! Oh, Luke, he truly is!”
The light was back in her eyes, Luke thought as he met her gaze. Seeing that was better than getting a kiss, any day. “I’m totally ignorant about dogs,” he told her as he knelt next to the empty bowl, “but I’d say it’s unlikely he has internal injuries. I don’t think he’d drink anything if that were the case.”
Cassandra gave a glad little cry and bent to hug her dog’s neck. Luke felt warm wetness on the back of his hand where it rested on his knee. He glanced down to see that Lycodomes was licking him. When Luke failed to respond, the huge dog nudged his fingers with his wet nose.