Only By Your Touch (5 page)

“Oh, God.” Chloe spun to look up the road. Every awful thing that Lucy Gant had said yesterday about Ben Longtree came back to haunt her. “Oh,
God
.”

Tracy made a mewling sound. “I really was keeping tabs on him, Chloe. I swear I was. You said it was okay for him to go play wherever he wanted in the general neighborhood, that I didn’t have to have my eye on him every second.”

Chloe tamped down her worry to give the girl a quick hug. In a rural area like this, it was safe for a child to run and play without constant supervision. That was one of the reasons she’d moved here, to give Jeremy that freedom. “Of course you were keeping tabs on him, Tracy. I’m not blaming you.” A picture of the wolf flashed through Chloe’s mind. If Longtree allowed the creature to run loose in a parking lot, he
definitely wouldn’t bother to restrain it at home. On a bike, Jeremy would be defenseless against an attack. “Do you know how to get to Longtree’s house?”

The girl nodded. “He lives up on Cinnamon Ridge.” She flung her arm again. “It’s not far from here, a mile, maybe two, to his main gate. You just drive to the end of Ponderosa Lane and turn left on what looks like an old logging road. About a quarter mile farther, you’ll see a big log arch on your right. That’s the road going up to the house.”

Chloe was already racing to her car.

“S
o you divorced your dad, did you?” Ben mused aloud as he led the way through the laundry room to the hallway that ran the entire length of the house.

The child’s sneakers made squeaky sounds on the terra-cotta tile as he scampered behind Ben. “Me and my mom—her name’s Chloe—had to get a ’vorce. Then we had to move far away ’cause my dad wouldn’t leave us alone.”

“Ah.” There was a story there, and Ben wanted to hear it. Unfortunately, he valued his own privacy too much not to appreciate the sanctity of someone else’s. “So how do you like Jack Pine now that you’re here?”

“Real good. We’re gonna stay here for always, and when my pappy ’tires, he and my nana are gonna move here, too. I’ll be real glad, ’cause I miss ’em lots, and so does my mom.”

While passing his mother’s bedroom door, Ben touched a finger to his lips. Nan Longtree lay down for a midmorning nap at about this time, and the closed door told Ben she was asleep.

“Wow!” Jeremy exclaimed when they reached the front of the house.

Ben wanted to believe the kid was impressed by
the layout of his home, which he’d designed himself. Unfortunately, he doubted a boy Jeremy’s age would appreciate the open floor plan or the wealth of skylights and windows.

“Where’d you get ’em all?” Jeremy asked as they reached the kitchen.

Ben guessed the child was referring to the caged animals that had become an integral part of the kitchen decor. Nerves formed a knot just behind his solar plexus. Until now, no one from town had ever been inside his home and seen all his patients.

Not wishing to consider the possible consequences, Ben barely spared the cages a glance as he skirted the end of the kitchen desk, which housed a computer workstation and was backed by a six-foot-high bookshelf. The U-shaped kitchen, bordered on three sides by cabinetry, included a state-of-the-art work island and a rectangular oak dining table where Ben performed emergency surgery. The wall of windows in the sunroom beyond offered a panoramic view of Newton Crater, showcasing Shoshone Peak and Cinder Butte.

Ben laid the puppy on the table. “How strong is your stomach, Jeremy?”

The boy placed a hand over his tummy and kneaded with his fingers. “I dunno. I don’t have very many muscles yet.”

The child had a way of making Ben want to laugh when he least expected it. “Does it bother you to see people get shots?”

Jeremy shrugged. “I don’t like it when I get one.”

“Well, I have to put a needle in Rowdy’s leg.”

“What kind of shot do you gotta give him?”

Urgent as the situation was, Ben could see the fright in Jeremy’s eyes. After grabbing some needed utensils from a nearby drawer, Ben began a preliminary examination of the dog as he explained, “Actually, it’s not
really a shot. It’s a long, tall glass of water, only we have to put it in Rowdy’s vein.”

“How come?”

“By giving him fluids in his vein, we can bypass his upset tummy.” Ben checked the pup’s gum color. “Dogs are just like us. Without water, they die. Right now, everything Rowdy drinks is coming back up—or out his opposite end. His little body is screaming for fluids.”

Jeremy nodded. “He did the diarrhea all over our bathroom floor.”

“Uh-oh.” Grasping the pup’s head, Ben flashed a light in his glazed eyes. “Your mom can’t have been very happy about that.”

“Nope. She was real sad. She wrapped Rowdy in a towel and hurried real fast to the vet.”

While examining the pup’s ears, Ben murmured a distracted “Ah.”

“They were almost ready to close. My mom grabbed Rowdy and stuck her foot in the way before the lady could lock the door. At first they said we’d have to come back later, but my mom wouldn’t leave.”

Ben glanced up. “Your mom sounds like quite a lady.”

“Yep. She doesn’t have long fingernails, though.”

Ben wondered how in blue blazes that related. Then he thought of the clawlike acrylic nails that so many women wore and almost grinned again. “It doesn’t take long fingernails to make a lady.”

“Nope. My mom says they’re germ clackers.”

Ben mentally circled that. “Collectors, you mean?”

Jeremy nodded.

“She’s probably right about that.” Jeremy’s chatter was distracting, but Ben enjoyed it. His mother hadn’t been long on conversation since the onset of her illness, and sometimes the only human voice Ben heard
for days at a time was a disc jockey’s when he played the radio. “As fancy as long fingernails look, they’re bound to collect dirt.”

“She grew some long ones once, but then she decided they were a big waste of time and cut ’em all off.” A frown pleated Jeremy’s brow. “We bought a thing to cut Rowdy’s. But now he might never get to grow any.”

Ben concentrated on his patient, checking gum color, reflexes, pupils, and pulse rate. It was quiet in the kitchen for a few seconds. Ben said, “I’m going to get the fluid pack now.” He patted the table. “Can you stand right here and watch Rowdy while I go get the stuff I need?”

“What’s a fluid pack?”

“A very special kind of water for sick puppies. It has really good stuff in it to make him feel better.”

Ben went to the pantry off the hall, where he kept a freezer and an extra fridge for medicine. He quickly gathered a sack of saline solution, an IV pack, a drip stand, and a vial of hard-hitting antibiotic.

Veterinary medicine, by the seat of the pants. Ben had no lab, X-ray machine, or proper surgery. He had to go on gut instinct. On the other hand, he never had to ask himself if he was performing surgery merely to make a buck. Money had been removed from the equation.

Jeremy was stroking his puppy and looking glum when Ben returned to the kitchen. “Here it is,” he said. “A long, tall glass of water.”

Jeremy gave him a hopeful look. “Will giving him a drink make him well?”

Ben avoided the child’s gaze as he positioned the drip stand. What was it about this kid that made him want to promise the impossible? He guessed the
answer to that was simple enough. There was no love quite so innocent, no devotion quite so absolute as that of a boy for his dog. Jeremy would grieve terribly if the puppy died, but there was only so much he could do. The rest, he’d learned long ago, was best left up to God.

“I can’t promise he’ll get well, Jeremy.” Ben bent back over the puppy. “All I can do is my best.”

The child hung his head, his expression bereft.

“How old are you, son?”

“Six.”

Ben set to work shaving Rowdy’s leg. He’d been seven when he lost his grandfather. Even now, all these years later, Ben grieved for him. Isaiah Longtree had been one of a kind, a full-blooded Shoshone with a song in his heart. He’d seen beauty in things that others overlooked and shared that gift with those around him, making even a raindrop seem like a miracle. Ben had adored him. He would have given a great deal for some of his grandfather’s wisdom right then.

“Rowdy’s young,” he offered. “At least he has that going for him.”

In truth, Ben thought the puppy had been weak and unhealthy before contracting the virus. His ribs were visible. If no one had bothered to feed the poor little guy, it was unlikely that he had been wormed or inoculated against disease.

“Where’d you get Rowdy?”

“At the animal shelter.” The child lightly stroked the puppy’s fur. “My mom tried to get me to pick another dog, but Rowdy was the one I wanted.”

Ben nodded. “He’s a cute little guy,” he settled for saying. “I can see why you chose him.”

Ben had a soft spot for runts himself. There was nothing that tugged on the heartstrings like a
sad-faced, skinny puppy—unless it was a sad-faced, skinny little boy with freckles and a curly cowlick poking up like a corkscrew from the crown of his head.

“The lady said she’d give my mom her money back if he got sick. They gave him puppy shots and stuff, but I guess not in time.”

“Parvo’s sneaky,” Ben said, cleaning away the fur shavings. “The virus lingers in the soil under the snow. Come spring melt, the conditions are perfect for infectious contact. If a puppy isn’t kept inside until he’s been inoculated and had time to build up antibodies, he runs a risk of infection. Most people don’t know it takes time for the shots to work. Puppies can get sick just by sniffing someone’s shoes.”

“Rowdy was ’bandoned in an old barn, and he only got found day before yesterday. Somebody left him and his sisters there to die.”

It was a story Ben wished he’d never hear again. He tied a strip of rubber around Rowdy’s front leg to distend the vein.

Glancing at the cages around the kitchen, Jeremy said, “I never knew anybody with a hospital in their kitchen before.”

Ben sterilized Rowdy’s leg with alcohol. “Before winter hits, I hope to add on to the house. The kitchen works for now. I’ve got drawers for my utensils, good lighting, a table, and water close at hand. It’s kind of handy, being able to stir the stew and keep an eye on my patients at the same time.”

“Do you find all the animals in the woods?”

“Sometimes. Other times they show up in the yard.” He glanced up, uncertain if he should say more. The wondering look in Jeremy’s eyes told him the child was too young to have preconceived notions of what should or shouldn’t be. “It’s always been that way for me with wild things. They just come.”

“It’s probably ’cause they know you won’t hurt them.”

That was as good an explanation as any. It was as much as Jeremy or anyone else could understand anyway. The animals came. They always had, and they always would. As a boy, Ben had prayed for them to leave.
Run,
he’d think.
Go away before my dad sees you
. Sometimes the animals had disappeared. Other times they hadn’t, and Hap Longtree had shot them.

Ben’s father was dead now, and there should be peace on the ridge again. But some trigger-happy jerk from town was invading the woods and using the animals for target practice.

Ben’s only consolation was that no rifle fire greeted the critters at the house when they came to him for help. He also found peace in the fact that he could finally be who he really was, what he had been born to be, a throwback, more Shoshone than white, even though his blood belied the fact. He Who Walks with Mountain Lions, his grandfather had called him. It had been a big name for a little boy, but it had helped Ben feel like less of a freak, making sense of the undeniable, that he was different from other children.

As always, the memories depressed Ben, so he shook them off. The sun had set on those days, and he made the rules here now.

“The animals you see are very sick or badly injured. I have to keep them close at hand so I can watch over them until they get stronger.”

The child studied him curiously. “How come you don’t have a clinic?”

“My mom can’t be left alone. If I had a place in town, I’d be gone all day. I checked into starting a practice up here, but zoning ordinances prohibit it.”

“What are zoning ordances?”

“Rules.”

Ben was quickly coming to realize that Jeremy was full of questions. Never having been around children, he was at once amused and baffled.

“What’s the matter with the owl?”

Ben glanced at the bird. “He has an injured leg.”

“How did it get injured?”

“Someone shot him with a .22 rifle.”

“What’s wrong with the rabbit?”

The rabbit had also been shot, and Ben suspected the bullet had come from the same gun. “He had a spot of bad luck and got his shoulder hurt.”

Rowdy stirred. Ben checked the IV. The pup raised his head. Then his tummy rumbled. Ben guessed what was about to occur, but before he could grab any paper towels, Rowdy’s bowels moved. The resultant mess went everywhere.

Jeremy cried, “Oh, no!”

Racing to the counter, the child grabbed paper towels and tried to mop up,
tried
being the operative word. He was too short, and his scoop-and-wipe technique needed work. Ben almost took over. Then he decided against it. Jeremy was upset, and clearing away the mess might make him feel better.

“I’m sorry. I’ll clean it up, Mr. Longtree. I’m real sorry.”

Ben grabbed a trash bag from under the sink. When he shook it out, the plastic gave a loud snap that made Jeremy jump. Not for the first time over the last hour, Ben burned with anger at the man responsible for the child’s timidity. “Put the soiled ones in here.”

Nose wrinkled with distaste, Jeremy put the towels in the sack, then tore off more to attack the table again. As he worked, he began to wheeze.

Ben grew more concerned by the moment. The breathing problem was a panic reaction of some kind, which explained why the inhalant hadn’t seemed to
help. “Don’t get in a dither. No real harm’s been done, and it’s not the first time there’s been a mess.”

Looking unconvinced, Jeremy continued trying to clean up.

Ben addressed his next reassurances to the puppy. “Don’t worry, little guy,” he said as he administered an injection of antibiotics. “Accidents happen to all of us. We know you didn’t mean to do it.” Ben glanced up. “Maybe you should tell him yourself. Sick as he is, the last thing he needs is to get all upset.”