The Lighthouse. Mary Schramski

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      Sam slammed down the phone and looked at Pookie, who sat watching him, her head cocked to one side, an imploring look in her eyes.

      Hell, he couldn’t have anymore sent her to the pound than he could have sent his own mother.

      He called Skye Walker’s clinic in Wimberley and made an appointment for Saturday, then he went to the building supply store and bought the stuff to make a doggy door.

      WHEN SAM GOT TO WIMBERLEY and stopped at the gate, he wasn’t sure he had the right place. Why in the world was there a manned guardhouse? He first thought it might be the entrance to a park or something.

      Sam rolled down his window. “I’m looking for the veterinary clinic.”

      “And your name is?”

      “Sam Outlaw. I have an appointment.”

      The man checked a list. “Yes, sir. I have you here. Go straight down the road and take a right at the Y. You’ll run into the clinic.” He punched a button and the metal barrier opened.

      Must be an upscale place, Sam thought as he drove through. He’d heard of gated communities, but he’d never been to a gated vet’s office. He parked in the lot in front of a white Austin stone building with a red tile roof, retrieved Pookie and attached a leash to her collar. When he got to the front door, he was even more mystified. The door was locked. What the devil? Had they closed already?

      He rang the doorbell, then knocked.

      He waited. And waited. The door opened a crack. “Mr. Outlaw?” a woman asked.

      He started to say, “Joe sent me,” but, instead of smarting off, he answered with a simple, “That’s me.”

      The door opened wider. “Please come in and have a seat. Dr. Walker will be with you in a moment.”

      Pookie balked at the threshold, and Sam had to pick her up and carry her inside. She was shaking again.

      “It’s okay, girl,” he said, stroking her. “Dr. Skye’s one of the good guys. She won’t hurt you.” How was it that animals always knew when they were going to the vet? He’d had to drag Pookie from under the bed this morning when he was ready to leave.

      He heard voices at an interior door, then it opened and the mayor walked out with his Doberman. Wouldn’t you know? The dude glanced at Pookie and smiled. “Cute dog.”

      “My neighbor’s.”

      “I see,” the mayor said. “Sam, isn’t it?” He held out his hand.

      “Yes.” Sam stood and shook hands with him.

      A guy roughly the size of a tank followed the mayor out of the interior. He checked the peephole in the front door, then flipped a switch on the wall, unlocked and opened the door for the mayor.

      “Good to see you again,” the mayor said.

      John? Jim? Sam couldn’t remember. He only remembered that he didn’t much care for his toothy smile.

      As soon as the lock clicked into place and the switch was flipped back up, the tank turned to Sam. “I’m Napoleon, Dr. Walker’s assistant. Come with me, please.”

      Sam didn’t argue. He was meaner looking than any man he’d ever seen on death row, and, although Sam didn’t often meet anyone who made him nervous, the tank put him on guard. This guy didn’t look like he’d go down unless you shot him—a bunch of times.

      He was led into a room where Skye waited. Gus lay quietly in a corner. Gus raised his head and glared at Sam—or did something that passed for a dog-glare. His lips twitched back over his teeth.

      Dressed in a blue smock, Skye stood by a tall examining table, scanned a chart. She glanced up when he entered and smiled. “Well, hello, Sam. What brings you here?”

      He held out the dog. “Pookie.”

      Skye took her, and the dog almost went into ecstasy, wiggling and licking Skye. “Hello, sweetie. How are you?”

      Pookie arfed. Twice.

      Skye cuddled her close. “Somehow I never figured you for the type who’d choose a Lhasa apso named Pookie.”

      Sam rolled his eyes. “Me, neither.” He told her the story of how he came to be her new owner. “I don’t know anything about her. I didn’t even know what kind of dog she was until you said. She just looks like a dust mop to me. I don’t know about her health or if she’s had her shots. She hides under the bed a lot.”

      Skye checked a tag on her collar. “Here’s the number of her vet in San Antonio. Why didn’t you call the office and ask?”

      Feeling a little dumb, Sam managed to grin. “Never thought of it. Guess I was looking for an excuse to drop over and ask you to lunch.”

      She laughed, took a cell phone from her pocket and punched in a number. She identified herself and asked for information on Pookie. After a few moments, she hung up and told Sam, “All her shots are in order, and she’s a bit overweight but basically healthy. Let me examine her to be sure.”

      Skye set the dog on her examining table, whispered something to her, and Pookie’s wiggling stopped. She stood statue-still while Skye looked her over.

      After a few minutes, Skye said, “She’s fine, just a little sad about the loss of her mistress. It’s to be expected. She likes you.”

      “I feed her hamburgers and steak.”

      “Leave off the hamburgers and steak, or she’ll be a real roly-poly.”

      She named a dry food that she recommended for small dogs. “She can have a treat occasionally.” She ruffled Pookie’s coat. “Show dogs of this breed really do look like dust mops, and they have to be carefully and frequently groomed. Her coat has been kept clipped, and I’d recommend continuing that for her comfort and your convenience. She needs a haircut and grooming now before she starts getting painful mats.”

      “Where do I get that done?”

      Skye glanced at Napoleon. He nodded. “Napoleon will get her fixed up. Every few weeks you can take her to any good groomer near you.”

      Skye handed Pookie to Napoleon, and the dog went into her wiggling and licking routine again for him. She didn’t seem to mind his looks. The man spoke to her softly as they left the room.

      “Sam, I think it’s very sweet of you to take in Pookie.”

      He shrugged. “I didn’t want to take her to the pound. Do you know of anybody who might like to have her?”

      Skye looked concerned. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to traumatize her further. She’s probably best off with you.”

      Sam nodded. Looked like he now had a dog. “How about joining me for lunch?”

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