Soldier's Rescue. Betina Krahn

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      Ben looked up with a frown and then back at the Tyrannosaurus rex he was assembling. Was that look concentration or disappointment?

      “Hey. How did the game go?” He settled on the bed across from Ben, who sat sideways in the chair at his desk, the half-assembled T. rex skeleton on his lap. Doing something with his hands always seemed to calm him; Nick had seen him rebuild that very dinosaur a dozen times.

      “Okay.”

      “Just okay?” Nick groaned. It was going to be one of those talks where every word he got out of Ben would be like pulling a tooth. “So did you play a position?”

      “Yeah.”

      “Which one? Defenseman? Striker? Goalie?”

      “Defense.”

      “Get any good assists in?”

      “No.”

      “Get any good shin bruises?” He looked Ben over with a half grin.

      “No.”

      Silence fell. This was pointless. Nick braced and changed tactics. Best to just come right out with it, a frontal assault of the problem.

      “I’m sorry I didn’t make it, Ben. I had a situation come up, a problem on one of the county roads—” almost as an afterthought he added the rest of it “—with some dogs. I had to take care of—”

      “Dogs?” Ben’s head came up, and he searched his dad’s face with wary interest. “What kind of dogs?”

      “Well, I think they were strays. They were thin and pretty dirty—like they’d been on their own for a while. One got hit by a car and was lying in the middle of the road. I had to stop and pick her up and take her to that new shelter on Curlew Road. It turned out the dog needed a vet.”

      “A hurt dog?”

      “Yeah. She had a broken leg and some bad cuts.”

      “What kind of car hit her?” Ben set the dinosaur back on his desk.

      “I don’t know. I came along later. She was blocking the road, so I had to pick her up and clear the highway. She had lost a lot of blood.”

      “Did you get blood on you?” he asked, scanning Nick’s uniform.

      “I don’t think so.” Nick looked down and then back at Ben, surprised to see new light in his son’s eyes. “I was careful. I covered her with the blanket I carry in the cruiser, and I drove her to the shelter.”

      “’Cause you’re a vet, and you’re supposed to help people and dogs.”

      Nick realized the connection Ben was making and smiled. “I’m a veteran, that’s true. But she needed a veterinarian—an animal doctor.”

      Ben nodded, digesting that and frowning at his mistake. “What color was she?” He transferred to the bed beside Nick. “Was she a big dog, or a little one?”

      “Well, a golden retriever—I think—so, sort of big. The other dog was a German shepherd. He didn’t want anyone to touch his friend, so I had to stare him down to get close enough to help.”

      “Did he try to bite you?” Ben was more fascinated than alarmed.

      “No.” Nick chuckled and ruffled Ben’s hair, surprised by Ben’s desire for every ghoulish detail. There was an eight-year-old boy in there after all. “He and I came to an understanding pretty quick.”

      “So, you took the hurt dog to a hospital? What did they do to her?”

      “Well, it was late and the other doctor wasn’t available, so I helped the vet do some surgery to fix the dog’s leg and hip.”

      “Like a real doctor does? With blood and everything?”

      “Yeah, like real surgery.”

      “So she’s better now, and she’s going to be fine?”

      “The vet was good and she did her best. But the dog has a ways to go before she’s really well.”

      Ben thought about that for a minute.

      “How long before she gets well?”

      “Well, when a soldier breaks a leg, it sometimes takes months for them to heal and get back to walking. It’s a lot the same for dogs, so at least a couple of months.” He avoided the question of how likely it was that a stray would get the weeks of care and attention she needed to fully recover.

      Ben’s eyes widened.

      “Can we go see her?” Ben was on the very edge of the bed now, his face filled with anticipation. “At the hospital?” When Nick began to shake his head, Ben really poured it on. “Pleeeease, Dad, can we go? It’s a hurt dog.” It was a little late to remember that he had been talking a lot about dogs lately and bringing home books about them. “Maybe we can help.”

      “But we’re not sure the dog will—”

      “I’ll do garbage runs every single day and make my bed all the time—honest. Can we go tomorrow, please?”

      “You have school tomorrow.” Nick clasped his son’s shoulder, feeling himself softening. For some reason the idea of going back to the animal clinic made his palms sweat.

      “Then, Saturday. Can we go see the hurt dog Saturday? That’s two days away.” He grabbed Nick’s arm and held on tight, as if his very heart were in Nick’s hands.

      It was probably a mistake to let him get involved with those dogs on any level; there was no guarantee the golden would even survive until Saturday. But Ben didn’t ask for much...whether because he was content with what he had, he didn’t want to be a pest or he feared being disappointed, Nick couldn’t have said. God knew he’d had more than his share of pain and disappointment in his young life. At that moment, as he looked down into his son’s big, hazel eyes, Nick would have agreed to take him to the moon and back.

      “Okay, I guess. If they’re open. Saturday.”

      Whatever happened later, it was worth it just to have his son throw his arms around his waist and hold on for all he was worth.

      He stroked Ben’s head where it lay against him and for the thousandth time questioned if he was doing right by the boy. Would he ever feel up to the job of father and guide for the son he didn’t really understand? Would he ever be able to make up to the boy for his mother’s abandonment? But then, how could he help Ben understand why she’d left them when he didn’t understand it himself?

      Later—after he’d put Ben to bed, had some of his mom’s warmed-over ziti and sunk into a chair in front of Thursday Night Football—he groaned privately at what he’d agreed to do. Saturday. He was going to have to see that vet again, the curvy little blonde with the big blue eyes and strong hands. Sure hands. Gentle hands. The image of her stroking the golden’s head, reassuring the dog, came back to him in a rush, and on its heels came the memory of that first moment in the puppy СКАЧАТЬ