Tempted by the Soldier Page 9

  A monument was located at the entrance to the park. He rose to inspect it. A bronze soldier holding a World War II–era rifle stood above a metal scroll listing the town’s fallen soldiers from the Civil War through the country’s current engagement in Afghanistan. The total was a sizable number for a small town.

  “You must be the veteran who just moved into Josh’s cabin.”

  Clint spun around. He’d been so wrapped up in his own memories he hadn’t noticed someone approaching him.

  An older man in jeans and a blue shirt thrust out his hand. “I’m Bill Evans. I’m one of the councilmen, and I used to run the general store. I’m retired now, but I volunteer at the community center.” He smiled. “Welcome to Covenant Falls.”

  “Thanks.” Behind him, Braveheart whined softly.

  “Sorry you had an unfortunate start here.”

  “You heard about the cow?” Of course he had. Everyone had. At least he didn’t ask about the dog with him. Yet.

  “Are you going to stay with us a while?”

  “I’m not sure how long.”

  “I see you have Eve’s pit bull.”

  “Just for a couple of days.”

  “Well, come over to the center Monday night. There’s a room there reserved for our vets. I’m one. Vietnam. We play a little poker, drink a little beer. Some of the wives send snacks. There’s a pool table that was donated and a television for when there’s a game on.”

  “Is all that legal?”

  “Hell, the ex-police chief, the current police chief, and the mayor’s husband attend. Just penny-ante poker. No wives or husbands. Just vets. Chance to talk if you want to. Or not. If you just want to play poker, bring some change.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “You need anything, just let me know.”

  Clint watched him leave. How many times had that been said in this town?

  “Come on, Braveheart,” he said. “Let’s go back and get something to eat. I have more work to do.”

  * * *

  STEPHANIE WATCHED AS five dogs and their handlers/trainees stood together Saturday morning, each handler with a different piece of clothing belonging to a volunteer “lost person.”

  At Stephanie’s signal, they would give their dog the clothing to sniff, then send them in search of the owner of said clothes. Thank God for the volunteers who were “lost.” They often spent hours waiting to be located. She always suggested they take a good book with them and, in cool weather, wear layers of clothing. They had left an hour earlier after being told to make it difficult. Go through a stream and don’t leave anything on the trail.

  Each “victim” was accompanied or followed part way by another volunteer who would then split off. The dog had to decide which person to follow.

  At her signal, the five trainees allowed their dogs several minutes to sniff the clothing, then said, “Find.” The dogs headed out, each owner trailing at the end of their lead. Like the “lost” volunteers, they had GPS units with them; Stephanie didn’t want to lose either group.

  This was Phase Five in certifying handler-and-dog teams. They had previously passed shorter tests. First a short distance, then progressively longer ones. Now they had a two-mile search over rough terrain.

  There were several breeds this time: two golden retrievers, a German shepherd, a giant schnauzer and a Labrador. When the last team was out of sight, Stephanie returned to where the other evaluators gathered. The day was an unusually fine one with clear skies and moderate temperatures. She would have preferred a rainy one for the test. It would have been more difficult. But it wasn’t the end of training for these candidates. There was never an end to training. There were other evaluations in bad weather, courses in first aid, in canine first aid, area search, trailing, First Response Disaster, avalanche rescue, map reading, compass use, radio communication and more. Much more.

  The problem now was the wait. Too much time to think. She had brought Sherry, who was sitting nicely with other evaluators, but she’d left Stryker, who wasn’t sufficiently trained yet, with Eve.

  Stephanie wasn’t good at small talk, even if the conversation was about dogs. She was often too blunt. She didn’t mean to be, but she always said what she thought, which was not always diplomatic. Case in point: Clint Morgan. She’d bristled with him from the first moment they met. She’d been rude, sarcastic and unsympathetic. But then he was a grown man. He didn’t need sympathy.

  Josh certainly hadn’t. And neither, it seemed, did the newest resident in town.

  She banished thoughts of Clint. She was tired. The clinic had been crammed with patients yesterday until 7:00 p.m., then she’d collapsed in bed. She hadn’t been able to sleep and, even though she had known it wouldn’t help her relax, she had watched several inane television shows before finally nodding off. She had awakened at 5:00 a.m. and driven three hours to the testing site. Dr. Langford would cover for her if there were any emergencies.

  After this search was finished, there would be others for less-experienced handlers. Tonight she was holding a session on canine first aid. On Sunday, a physician was holding an all-day session on CPR and human first aid. She planned to stay for that, then drive home around dinnertime Sunday. It was a busy weekend, but she was doing something she loved.

  But now Clint Morgan intruded on her thoughts. Especially that kiss at the corral. It had burned her to the core. Even now, frissons of heat ran down her spine as she replayed it. A sweet gentleness spiked with a sensuality that still made her ache. She’d never tasted them together. Did it have the same impact on him? Probably not.

  What was he doing today? And dammit, why did she care? She didn’t. He was just the newest puzzle in Covenant Falls. Why try to solve it when he didn’t plan to stay? An hour passed. Then thirty more minutes. The first call came in.

  Dave Elliott and his German shepherd had found their victim. Three others then came in. The fifth handler and her dog, the giant schnauzer, had not reported in yet.

  It was still too early to worry, and the handler, a young graduate student, was one of the best trainees. She had a phone and GPS and her victim might have been more creative than the others.

  Then the call came. Handler and victim were coming in.

  Every team had passed.

  It was a good beginning of the day.

  CHAPTER TEN

  CLINT WOKE UP early Saturday to a loud snoring. For a moment, he almost believed he was back in Afghanistan sharing quarters with other chopper pilots.

  Within seconds, he readjusted his thinking. The room was neatly painted with new blinds and tan curtains. This was not a crowded tent on a base in the middle of Afghanistan.

  The snoring continued. Braveheart was sprawled out next to him. All four legs stretched out in different directions.

  He couldn’t help but smile. The dog had not left his side since Eve had brought him the previous day. Clint put his feet on the floor. Braveheart woke, startled, then gave him an intent stare as if trying to determine his intentions. Catching sight of the scars on the dog’s body, Clint realized Braveheart had plenty of reasons to be fearful. An unfamiliar misting clouded his eyes.

  Guys in his unit often fed stray dogs in Afghanistan, but he had stayed away from them. He feared getting attached, then having to leave it behind. He knew how that felt. He urged the other guys on, though, and often gave them his rations or money to buy food for them.

  He wouldn’t be keeping Braveheart, either. He was Nick’s, and it would be incredibly stupid and destructive to get attached. He had sworn off stupid and destructive.

  Still, he reached out and scratched the dog’s stomach. Braveheart groaned with pleasure and licked his hand. Clint’s heart melted.

  He headed for the bathroom, Braveheart following him. “A little privacy, please,” he told the dog and stepped into
the shower. The plea had no effect, and the pit bull was still waiting when Clint stepped out of the shower.

  “Okay, breakfast.” He must be crazy talking to the dog as if he were a person. Crazy, or lonely as hell without his fellow soldiers. The previous day, he had fed and given the dog water. He had tried playing with him, but Braveheart would have nothing to do with chasing branches or the several dog toys Clint had found neatly placed in a cardboard box in the closet. The dog had just kept staring at him with big, brown eyes. It was unnerving. He had absolutely no idea why the dog seemed attached to him.

  He also had absolutely no idea how he felt about it.

  Clint made coffee and whipped up an omelet. It was one of the very few dishes he did well. He threw in ham, cheese and onions, and gave Braveheart a piece of cheese.

  Or tried to.

  Braveheart just looked at him.

  “Okay,” he said. “Dog food, then.” He poured two cups of the dry food Eve had brought into a big bowl, then mixed the pieces of cheese into it, and set it down.

  Braveheart sat, then sprawled in front of it, eyeing but not eating. It seemed like he was guarding it.

  “You want one of my famous omelets, instead?” Clint asked, flipping it over. He added more cheese, then expertly scooped a quarter of it up and added it to Braveheart’s dog food. “Since you’re only going to be here a few days, I suppose it’s okay. Kinda like me going to a good restaurant once in a while.

  Braveheart sniffed it, then started eating.

  “A dog with a good palate,” Clint observed. “You were holding out for something better, huh.”

  Braveheart waved his stubby tail as he finished the omelet and started on the rest of the food.

  “Or maybe not?” Clint said as the dog food disappeared as rapidly as the omelet had. Apparently, the dog wanted dessert first.

  He must be nuts talking to a dog.

  Clint transferred the rest of the omelet onto his plate and sat at the table. Braveheart stopped eating and looked plaintively up at him.

  “Sorry, this is for me.”

  He poured himself a cup of coffee, ate the omelet, then made a list of things to do. He would phone in the list of dock materials to the hardware store to find out what they had and didn’t have. But first he needed to know more about the lake’s bottom.

  He quickly washed the dishes, dressed in jeans and a pullover shirt. He rolled up the jeans above his knees, then hunted through the house for a long, straight stick. No luck. He went outside, Braveheart trailing behind, and finally found a reasonably straight branch that had broken off a large tree.

  Then he went down to the lake and stepped into the water. Freezing, but he waded up to his knees, pushing the stick down as far as it would go. The lake bottom was sandy and seemed free of rock. The stick went fairly deep so he knew he would need footings. He returned to dry land, where Braveheart waited. “Coward,” he said. The dog wagged his stub of a tail.

  Clint made a mental note to ask the owner of the hardware store what he would recommend for the footings. This afternoon he would go and get prices for everything. He probably needed to cut the grass, too.

  He and Braveheart walked back to the cabin where he washed and dried his mud-clad, chilled legs. However, it was the kind of beautiful morning that made birds sing with more sweetness. A fresh cool breeze swept in from the lake, and the sky was as pure a blue as he’d ever seen. Not a cloud in sight.

  He poured another cup of coffee, grabbed the guitar and ambled onto the porch. He strummed several notes, then played one of his favorite melodies. Braveheart proved to be a noncritical audience.

  There was a sense of peace here that encouraged sloth-like behavior. He had always been in a hurry, first to make the grades to get into the army, then to get into the helicopter training program, then to be the best he could be.

  Time to smell the roses.

  Or the scent of pines. He’d never had that time, never wanted to have it. And yet, it was pleasant. For a while.

  A short while.

  He glanced at his watch. Only 1:00 p.m. Might as well trek into town now and talk to the hardware store owner, discuss the list of materials with him.

  “What about you, Braveheart? Do you want to go into town?” Clint was still bewildered at Braveheart’s attachment to him, especially since everyone said the dog rarely responded to anyone other than Nick. But he was appreciative for the company. He was aware of the various programs to match shelter dogs with vets, and now he was beginning to understand why.

  When a person has little or no family, the army becomes family. It had for Clint. Now there was a huge void in his life. It felt like he’d lost his identity. And after nearly two decades of owning that identity, it was difficult to build a new one.

  “Is that your problem, Braveheart? You don’t know where you belong? Damn but that name is too long. I’m going to shorten it to Bart. Just between you and me. Okay?”

  The dog licked Clint’s hand.

  “Tell you what, Bart, I’m going to walk to town, reconnoiter it. Maybe try that diner Josh told me about. Talk to the hardware guy. Look around a bit. Do you want to go?”

  Braveheart, alias Bart, tipped his head as if trying to figure out what Clint said and if he should answer.

  “Okay, we’ll try it. If you get worried, we’ll come back. Is that good for you?”

  Clint slipped into a dry pair of jeans, figuring he would be less conspicuous in jeans rather than slacks. He ran a comb through his hair. He needed a haircut. Maybe next week. No rush. No rush for anything.

  That was damned depressing. He pocketed the small bottle of pills, then picked up the dog leash.

  “Come on, Bart.” The name was close enough to Braveheart that the dog should understand.

  Bart stood and waited patiently while he attached the leash.

  “Off on a mission,” he said.

  Bart seemed amenable.

  Clint took that as approval.

  * * *

  IT WAS AN easy walk for someone army-trained even with his injured foot. Although a chopper pilot, there was always the prospect of being shot down and having to make his way to safety. He’d stayed in shape and could easily walk twenty miles or more, even after five months off duty.

  He was not made for inactivity. The months of his recuperation and stay in the hospital had worn on him and the past few days of staying off his foot had increased his need for exercise.

  His first stop was the hardware store.

  The owner welcomed him with a broad smile. “I’m Calvin Wilson. Great to have you here in Covenant Falls. Josh said you would be coming in about the dock. He’s kept me in business for the last few months.” He grinned.

  Clint nodded. “Clint Morgan. I made a list of what I think is needed for a four-foot wide, twelve-foot-long dock.” He handed the list to Wilson who scanned it.

  “Good stuff,” Calvin said. “I know Josh had been planning to add a dock, but with the wedding and a new family and all, it got relegated to last place. The bottom of the lake is mainly sandy, which is good for a fixed dock. The pilings will need to be about six feet into the sand. I have a water pump and hoses you can borrow to jet water from the holes. But you’ll need help. Can’t do it alone.”

  “When can you have the materials?”

  “You need chemically treated pilings. I don’t have any. It will take several days for delivery. They can be here next Friday if you give me the go-ahead Monday. I can get some guys to help you.” He handed Clint a cost estimate. The prices were more than fair. “Thanks,” he said. “I’ll clear it with Josh on Monday.”

  He wandered down the street. Bart stayed next to him, but hid behind him when anyone stopped to say hello, which almost the entire town did. He was beginning to understand what Stephanie had meant about the town
.

  When he reached Maude’s, a tall, well-fleshed older woman, stepped out. “You must be the fellow staying in Josh’s place. I’m Maude. Come on in and have a piece of cake. We’re famous for our lemon cake.”

  “I have Eve’s dog with me.”

  “One of them, anyway,” she said. “I’m surprised you have Braveheart. He’s usually...timid.”

  “Mrs. Manning asked me to look after him this weekend. Josh and Nick were going camping.”

  “Would say come on in anyway, but I’m nearly full. Stay here, and I’ll bring you several slices of cake to take home.”

  Two minutes later, he was walking back to the cabin with a box clutched in his hands. He would gain twenty pounds if he stayed in this town long. He passed Stephanie’s office. A sign on the door stated “Closed through Sunday. Call Dr. Tom Langford in case of an emergency.” There was a number attached.

  He continued on past a real estate and insurance company, then a grocery store. If Bart wasn’t with him, he would have gone inside, though he still had more food than he needed at the cabin. Eve had done a great job in stocking it.

  Several more people stopped to welcome him. The nurse from the doctor’s office crossed the street. “Looks like you’ve recuperated.”

  “Good as ever,” he replied. “However, I’m staying away from cows.”

  She grinned. “The doctor will be glad to hear it. How do you like Covenant Falls so far?”

  “Haven’t had time to see much.”

  “Seen our falls yet?”

  “No.”

  “Someone should take you there. You should ask Stephanie.”