“I don’t know what else could be injured,” I say. “I haven’t had time to look.”
“She’s breathing,” he says. “We just need to keep her that way while we get her back to town.”
“Should we do that? Should we have called April out? Maybe we shouldn’t move—”
“I’m here,” a voice says through panting breaths.
My sister appears, still wearing a nightshirt and sweats. Andshe’s not alone. Kenny is right behind her, with the cane he uses when he doesn’t have his braces on, and he’s still wearing sweats and a jersey pulled on backward, and there’s a moment where my brain pauses to process that. Then I remember April saying last night that she wouldn’t be able to watch Rory early this morning because she had an appointment.
No, apparently she had an overnight guest.
I should be cheering with joy, and instead, my heart plummets, this thing I wanted so much for her coming at the same time as this.
I vault to my feet and run to April, and then stop short before I hug her, knowing that isn’t her thing. But she gives me a quick embrace.
“Thank you,” I say, tears filling my eyes. “For coming.”
“Of course.”
That’s all she says, along with a pat on my back, as if I’m a child needing reassurance. Then she’s striding to Storm.
I start telling her what’s wrong, but she lifts a hand to stop me. She’ll make her own judgments. So I just say that the grizzly fell on her, and we had to pry her out.
“Punctured lung,” she says, running her hands over Storm’s chest. “Possibly the other part of that broken rib. No, two broken ribs. The rest seem intact.”
She checks Storm’s eyes, which are flagging but the dog isn’t fully asleep.
“I gave her a bit of sedative,” I say. “To keep her still.”
“Good.”
She continues her examination and pulls out a stethoscope for the breathing and heart rate. As she checks, she murmurs, “Good, good,” and I finally start to relax. If there is one person in this world who will never give me false reassurances, it’s my sister.
“We’ll take her to the clinic,” April says. “She’s stable, and her vital signs are fine. There could be internal injuries besides that lung, but nothing that will get worse for transporting her. Now, let’s get her into the ATV.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Anders, April, and I head back to town with Storm. Dalton and Kenny stay behind with Gretchen. I have no idea how Dalton intends to handle her, and I don’t really care.
We get Storm to the clinic, and April sets to work, with both Anders and me assisting when we can and standing ready the rest of the time. While April has worked on Storm and Raoul before, she’s obviously not a veterinarian, and when she snaps more than usual, I know that’s anxiety. Fortunately, what she’s seeing isn’t much different than what she’d see in a human, the procedures the same.
The punctured lung isn’t as grave as it seems. It just requires immediate attention, and after some examination, April declares that the attention it requires is surgery, because the rib is still poking into the lung. It’s a relatively minor operation. The whole rib hasn’t gone through. It’s not even completely fractured. It’s a splinter that’s gone in, and once that’s removed, April tests to see whether the lung will remain inflated on its own. It mostly will, which means a small repair, and the rest left to the body’s ability to heal.
April uses ultrasound to check for internal bleeding. There is some, but Storm’s blood pressure is strong enough that April will only continue to monitor it. An X-ray shows those two broken ribs, and nothing else. Her spine doesn’t seem damaged, which is a huge relief. Now we just need to wait for her to wake up from surgery.
I don’t leave Storm’s side. Dana brings Rory for me, and I sit with her in April’s exam room, where Storm sleeps with her heart rate and breathing monitored. I know things must be happening with Gretchen, and any other time, I’d be fretting about that, but I don’t care. Dalton can handle this. He can always handle it. Anders goes to help him, and I stay with Storm.
It’s a little over an hour before Storm starts to rouse. Rory is sleeping in her portable crib, and I’m right there at Storm’s side, petting her and whispering to her and reassuring her.
I call Dalton to let him know she’s awake. While I’ve been ignoring the situation with Gretchen, I have not been ignoring my husband. Technically Storm is my dog. He got her for me, as a gift. But any couple who have a dog know actual “ownership” is an absurd concept and insulting to the pet. This is our dog. Our pet. Our companion.
He’s stepped away during this crisis only because one of us has to look after Gretchen, and he’s acknowledging Storm’s original “ownership” in that. It doesn’t mean he won’t be anxiously waiting to hear from me. Ten minutes after I call, he’s at the back door, out of breath, coming to see her.
As she rouses, we continue petting and reassuring her. She’s groggy and confused, but she’s a patient and trusting dog whoaccepts that if she’s waking up on a table feeling strange, we know what we’re doing and everything’s okay.
Once she’s ready, we take her down so she can try standing. That’s what I’m waiting for—making sure she can stand and move and seems aware, if woozy and disoriented. When she stands up, a little shaky, and licks my face, I burst into tears and Dalton’s arms go around both of us, hugging us close.
Storm is sleeping again. We’ve brought her bed to the clinic. Any other time, April would grumble about a dog—with endlessly shedding fur—in her exam room, but now she’s the one who insists we leave Storm there. Today’s patients will need to accept a large dog sleeping—and snoring—during their appointments.
