But no wedding ring.
As she clambers over the fence, she slips a little coming over the other side and my hands go around her waist to steady her automatically. My finger sink into her plush curves.
I make myself let go of her quickly.
“Are we going to get in trouble for trespassing?” she asks.
“Nah. I know the owner.”
I don’t know why I’m being coy about it except that I’m enjoying the fact that she clearly has no idea who I am. In Marble Falls, that means she’s either a tourist or new to town.
Luckily the Wild Rose Ranch entrance gate is about a hundred yards up the road. It takes less than two minutes for me to punch in the entry code and drive back around to where the woman and the dog are waiting.
The pink haired girl is talking softly to the dog, who is gazing up at her pleadingly.
I grab a spare blanket from the bed of my truck, digging past the coil of rope and a first aid kit and half a dozen other things a ranch upbringing teaches you to never leave home without. Then I make a sling for the dog the way I’ve made slings for injured animals a dozen times before. This isn’t the first time I’ve done this kind of work and it shows, I think, because the dog goes quiet and trusting while I position her.
She’s a big dog, at least eighty pounds, and I’m real grateful I’m one month past my shoulder surgery instead of one week.
My shoulder still screams when I lift her anyway.
After depositing the dog in my rear passenger seat, I go to the girl. “I’ll take care of the dog.”
“Thank you. Could you do me just one more favor?”
She could ask for pretty much anything with those prettybrown eyes gazing up at me like that, and I think I’d be compelled to give it to her. “Shoot.”
“Can you let me know how the dog is doing? I’ll give you my business card. My number is on there. I won’t be able to stop thinking about it otherwise.”
“Sure. Of course.”
I help her over the other side of the fence again, trying not to notice how silky her skin is, how touchable.
She opens the car door. Or rather, tries to. A few more tugs, increasingly frantic, and then she puts her nose to the window. “Oh no,” she says. “I locked my keys inside.” She looks at me, stricken. “Do you know a locksmith I can call?”
“I actually do. But listen, I gotta get this dog to the vet. We don’t have time to wait for a locksmith. Could be an hour or more.”
“Oh, that’s all right,” she says. “If you give me his number, I can just wait here for him.”
A beautiful woman, dressed like she is, alone on a country road? With less than an hour of daylight left? No way am I leaving her here like that.
“I can’t leave you alone and stranded. It’s not safe.” I pause. “Hang on. One more idea.”
I pull out my phone, put it on speaker, and dial the non-emergency line for the Rockland County Sheriff’s office.
It rings twice.
“Rockland County Sheriff’s, non-emergency, this is Diane.”
“Hey Diane, it’s Slade Rhodes.”
“Slade! Lord, it’s been a minute. How’s your daddy doing?”
“He’s good. Keeping busy. Listen, I hate to be blunt but I’ve got a situation. I need a favor.”
“Of course, honey, what do you need?”
“I’ve got a stranded vehicle on Route 21. Owner locked herkeys inside. Any units out that could pick her up in the next ten minutes?”
