Home on the Ranch: Colorado Cowboy
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Patricia Potter
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17,5K
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15
HarlequinChapter 1
The lump on the side of the road was out of place.
Despite his speed on the nearly empty two-lane road that connected nowhere with nowhere, Ross Taylor noticed everything on and around whatever path, trail or road he traveled. It was instinctual after years in the Middle East, where carelessness often meant death.
He slowed his Harley as he neared the lump. He was familiar with lumps, bumps, anything out of place. He treated them with respect. And caution. Even in the States.
He was almost even with the lump when he recognized the object as a dog. It lifted its head at the noise and then tried to move. Dammit. From the way it tried to drag itself, he knew the animal was in pain. And terrified. He knew the signs only too well. The dog was probably dumped by some jerk that had to know that few—if any—people used the road.
He should have known this trip was a bad idea. He hadn’t wanted to go back to ranch country. Too many memories haunted him to this day. But the request came from the one man he couldn’t refuse.
Dammit. He was already late for his appointments in Covenant Falls. A day late, in fact, and he didn’t like being late. Ever. It had been drilled into him in the army. Equally as important, the sooner he finished the job, the sooner he could leave.
Still, he couldn’t leave a living thing in pain. Swearing softly about people who abandoned dogs, he dismounted from his bike and approached the animal. It tried desperately to move away but was obviously hobbled by its injured leg.
As he knelt beside the dog, it shivered with fear and pain. Probably hunger and thirst, as well. It moved, or tried to move, and a soft moan came from its throat.
It was a nondescript dog on the smaller side of medium. It was so dirty he couldn’t determine the color or breed but its large sorrowful brown eyes reflected fear and pain. Blood had stiffened the fur on its left leg. The fur was matted and full of burrs. Its scrawny body told him it hadn’t had a meal in a long time. Probably dehydrated, as well.
“Hey, little guy,” Ross said as he knelt down next to the animal and put a hand on its head. “Let’s see what I can do for you.”
The dog growled, obviously unsure of his intentions. Ross went to his bike’s saddlebag and grabbed one of two squashed sandwiches he’d bought at the same gas station where he’d heard about the road and been given directions. He also dug out his canteen.
He sat down next to the animal, filled the top of the canteen with a little water and held it out to the dog, which drank it frantically. When it was gone, Ross tore a small piece off the sandwich and placed it in front of the dog before inching back. He watched as the animal sniffed the offering and then gulped it down. It looked at him more hopefully.
“Recognize a friend now, huh, or is it desperation? I understand desperation.” He kept his voice low and his hand gentle as he explored the dog’s body. The animal yelped as he touched his rear left leg. His experience as a medic told him it looked as if he’d been hit by a bullet. The wound was in and out and looked as if was healing but there could be bone damage. He tried to soothe the dog, talking to him in a low calm voice as he finished his examination. Thank God, the abdomen appeared intact. The dog had probably been dumped and then someone else came along and used him for target practice or, worse, it had been the dumper.
“Stay here,” he ordered although he knew the words were nonsense to the dog. He gave the dog a few more swallows of water. He wanted to give him more food, but he feared too much on an empty stomach would make him sick.
What in the hell was he going to do now? He couldn’t leave him here. He checked his cell phone. No signal.
According to his map the next town on his route was probably about fifty miles away. And it was small. Unlikely to have a veterinarian or an animal rescue facility.
But the dog was looking at him with what Ross thought must be hope. He tried to get up on three legs, stumbled and landed back in a heap.
Ross couldn’t leave him here. The dog needed more medical care than he could provide. He needed a vet as soon as possible.
Ross was already late, delayed by his most recent client, who’d called at the last moment. He was in pain after a long session with Ross the day earlier. It had taken Ross half a day to convince the man it was common after the hard regimen the actor had insisted upon.
He’d been patient because Nick Mason recommended him to friends who had to be in top shape for their action films. They provided Ross the financial freedom to take the jobs he wanted to take. That included the pro bono work that had led him to today’s destination.
He looked back at the dog. It trembled even as it stared up at him with both hope and fear.
“I won’t abandon you,” he said.
But how to manage this rescue? He was heading toward a town named Covenant Falls, where he’d been volunteered to help grow a Horses for Heroes program for troubled veterans. It wasn’t his idea. He hadn’t been on or near a ranch since he was ten years old. He was still haunted by memories of the night that changed his life, but he was indebted to the man who had volunteered him.
He gently ran his hand across the dog’s back. “Not your problem,” he told the dog. “I’ll see you to a safe place.”
How to do that was the problem. A motorcycle was not the best way to transport an animal, especially a wounded one. He took a quick mental inventory of his possessions. At least the dog didn’t weigh much more than twelve pounds. At full weight he’d probably be another four or five pounds at the minimum.
Ross traveled light. He’d been an army medic before obtaining his physical therapy credentials and was used to traveling with a first aid kit and little else. His bike was his only transportation; he’d rigged a carrier on the luggage rack that held two waterproof canvas containers.
One included the first aid kit along with other items he considered necessary. The second bag contained the few clothes he expected to need, along with a kit for personal items such as razor and toothbrush. A lightweight sleeping bag and raincoat were strapped on top.
He took out the first aid kit and returned to the dog. Ross fed him another small piece of sandwich that now hid half an ibuprofen pill. He then washed the wound with the rest of the water from the canteen.
He found a small branch and used his pocketknife to carve a splint for the dog’s leg, then wrapped it in bandaging from his kit. While the dog watched fearfully, Ross emptied the second canvas bag, stuffing clothes in the first one. He wrapped a long-sleeved denim shirt around his waist and made a nest of two T-shirts at the bottom of the canvas bag.
The problem, he knew, was keeping the dog safe inside the canvas bag until he could get him to a veterinarian. Sighing, he cut holes for air in the top and side of the canvas container he’d designed.
“I’m going to take care of you, buddy,” he said, just as he had to soldiers who’d been wounded. Whether the dog was too exhausted or in too much pain to protest, he simply collapsed after Ross lifted him into the canvas bag. “Be warned, this is temporary only,” Ross added. He needed to call the pup something. Hobo seemed to fit. He was on the side of the road, probably hoping for a ride. As if on cue, Hobo stuck his tongue out and licked his finger.
“Don’t get any ideas,” Ross said as he closed the basket. “This is a temporary situation only.”
Dammit, he needed to get the dog to a vet. He doubted, though, he could find a veterinarian on the way, especially one that was open on late Saturday afternoon.
Although Covenant Falls was small and off the beaten track, it should have one, given the number of ranches he understood were in the area.
He tried to call the inn where he had reservations but there was no cell service. When he’d tried to call and change his booking earlier, the line was busy. He figured there was no problem—there would be plenty of rooms available.
He pondered the next move, but there really was no choice. No way could he leave the wounded mutt.
The dog was a survivor. Like him.
He mounted the Harley and took off. The sound of the engines prevented him from hearing any complaints from his small passenger who was probably terrified.
Susan Hall was uncharacteristically miffed. It was nearly eight o’clock on Saturday night and all but one of the Camel Trail Inn’s guests had arrived. The only empty room belonged to a Ross Taylor who should have arrived yesterday. It looked as if he would be a no-show today, as well.
Ordinarily it wouldn’t have bothered her. The inn usually had plenty of vacancies. In truth, too many. Tonight was different. It was the last weekend of the Covenant Falls historical pageant and it had drawn visitors from throughout the state. The inn was full with the exception of Room 20. She’d turned down paying guests last night and again tonight, including a very nice elderly couple who came for the pageant and didn’t want to make a long drive at night.
She’d poured her heart and soul into making the inn self-sustaining. The two owners had given her an opportunity she never thought she would have after a very painful marriage and divorce. The inn became her refuge and future. She often worked twelve, fifteen hours a day, doing everything from taking reservations and helping in the kitchen to marketing and financials.
She didn’t know how the inn would have survived without the pageant, which—during the summer—drew visitors to a town that was virtually unknown to the general public. The publicity about the pageant had grown, and visitors came from longer distances and were in need of lodging.
She glanced at her watch. She’d been here since six in the morning and sent her assistant, Judy, home an hour ago. Most of the guests were settled for the night and the young night manager could handle any guest requests.
She checked in the kitchen. Ethel Jones, a lifetime resident of Covenant Falls, had started as a part-time cook for the inn and now oversaw a small staff.
“Everything good?” she asked Ethel. The woman was supervising two more cooks and five very busy servers who were finishing with the early dinner service for those not attending the pageant. There was a second sitting at nine for those attending the event.
“Better than good,” Ethel said. “Everything’s going to schedule, thanks to our staff.”
Susan left, her thoughts still on the last guest to arrive. Josh must want him here badly if he gave away one of the best rooms for two weeks. To cool off from the warmth of the kitchen, Susan walked outside and viewed the evening sky. The weather couldn’t be better. Colorado often had early winters, but tonight’s temperature was mild with a refreshing breeze and a clear sky. Perfect for the pageant.
She was sorry to see it end this year. Now that summer was over, occupancy at the inn would decline drastically. It was especially important now to bring in as many paying guests as possible. A two-night stay paid for a week’s salary for an employee.
She returned to the inn to discover that Mark, the night manager, had arrived.
“You’re early,” Susan said.
“Judy told me you’ve been here all day,” he replied. I thought you might want a meal in peace and some sleep.”
“Good thought. Especially the sleep part.”
“Any problems?” Mark asked.
“Mr. Taylor is a no-show again. A perfectly delightful older couple really needed a room but...”
As if on cue, the same couple, the Turners, entered the inn and headed toward the desk. Susan went over to them. “Hello again.” She smiled. “I thought you were leaving after the pageant.”
“We heard about the restaurant,” the woman said. “Some people at the pageant said the food here was really good. We rushed over ahead of the crowd in hopes you could squeeze us in. We’ll try to find a motel on the way home.”
“I think I can manage an extra table,” Susan said. “And I might be able to get you a room. A guest who had the reservation hasn’t checked in yet and didn’t arrive last night. If he doesn’t appear by 10:00 p.m., you can have it.”
It was a few minutes before nine now. The couple looked at each other with hope. “Thank you,” the woman said. “It’s our anniversary.”
“I hope we can make it special.”
Susan took the couple over to Mark and explained the plan to him and then left the couple with him while she returned to the kitchen. “Can you fit another table in?” she asked Ethel. “It’s an older couple who are celebrating an anniversary. They’re from out of town.”
“Sure can,” Ethel said. “It’ll be tight but I can arrange it.”
“I’ll send Mark to help.”
“Okay to treat them to dessert?”
“Definitely,” Susan said.
She returned to the desk, where Mark was still talking to the couple. “We’re all set for dinner,” she told them. “The dining room will open in a few minutes. Just check with Mark after dinner about the room.”
She looked at the clock. Now that the pageant was over, they would be deluged with diners.
“Thank you so much,” Margaret Turner said. “We’ll be sure to tell everyone about the inn. I just love the name, Camel Trail Inn. I read in the program that camels really roamed this area. We want to come back and explore.”
“We would love to have you,” Susan replied sincerely. “There’s a lot of history here. I hope the room works out.” She would bet anything that Mrs. Turner was the type to spread the word about Covenant Falls. Her interest—and her husband’s—was obvious.
She gave them directions to the small inn library where they could wait until the dining room opened, then turned back to Mark. “I think I’ll take your suggestion and go home,” she said. “Poor Vagabond is probably starving.”
“What about you?”
She usually stayed late the last night of the pageant to hear the entertainment but the last few days had been frantic and she was exhausted. A glass of wine and a hot bath were critically needed and the inn was in good hands with Mark.
She walked the half mile to her small bungalow. Vagabond, a stray cat that took up residence outside her house until Susan finally surrendered and admitted the cat inside, was probably wondering who was going to fill her bowl tonight. Because she had a tendency to overeat, Susan rationed each meal.
She’d never been a cat person, but a dog wasn’t practical with her schedule and, well, the darn cat had adopted her, not the other way around.
Vagabond greeted her with her usual indignant “Are you trying to starve me?” meow. Susan quickly filled her dish with cat food, then poured a glass of wine and investigated the contents of Ethel’s care package. It was one of her favorites, a salad packed with different greens, pieces of steak and blue cheese crumbles.
After eating, she poured a second glass of wine for herself, found the book she’d been reading for what seemed like forever and slipped into a hot bubbly tub. Finding she was too tired to read, she put it down, sipped the wine and thought about the day.
The inn had reached the point of breaking even a year ago and was inching up in the profit column. She was happy with her job and even happier for Josh and Nate, the two owners who had taken a huge risk in building the inn and hiring her to run it.
She worried, though, about the no-show today. What if he did show up and they had to turn that couple away?
All she knew about Ross Taylor was he was connected in some way to Josh and Jubal’s Horses for Heroes program. But he was obviously thoughtless. Rude. Unreliable.
She drained the glass of wine.
