Page 7 of Fairest of Heart

Titus’s pulse kicked up when he finally rode beneath the wooden crossbeam that served as the entrance gate for the Diamond D Ranch. The coonhound draped across his lap had grown alarmingly still over the last mile of their ride, and Titus worried they might be too late.

The farmhouse at the center of the yard looked the same as ever, two stories of white clapboard that needed a new coat of paint. A covered porch wrapped around the south and east sides with a line of gingerbread trim on the overhang that seemed far too feminine for a house occupied by a gang of overaged drovers. Seven that he knew of, though that number could have changed since his last visit. Doc collected geriatric cowhands the way a Ranger collected guns. There was always room for one more. Including the scowling fella slowly pushing up out of one of the many rocking chairs scattered around the front porch.

“Well, look what the cat drug in. The high and mighty Ranger Kingsley.” The old grump couldn’t quite hide his wince as he put weight on his right leg and limped over to the railing. “’Bout time ya showed yer face around here, whelp.” He cleared his throat and shot a wad of spittle over the railing.

“Good to see you, too, Jeb.” Titus tipped his hat to his elder like his mama had taught him. The retired bronc buster might dish out more sour than a barrel of pickle brine, but he was loyal to the men at the Diamond D, and that earned him Titus’s respect. “Doc around? I got a patient for him.”

Jeb raised a skeptical brow. “Where?”

As gently as he could manage, Titus hefted the listless dog up onto his right shoulder, then dismounted, using his left hand on the saddle horn to balance his descent.

Jeb’s eyes widened, and his face lost all trace of hostility. “Doc!” He hollered over his shoulder as he worked his way down the porch railing toward the steps. “Better come quick. And bring yer bag!”

A snuffled snort echoed from around the corner, punctuated by the thud of boots hitting the porch floor.

“We under attack?” A heavyset man rounded the corner brandishing a broom like a club, his suspenders stretching over the long johns he wore in lieu of a shirt.

“Go back to sleep, ya old fool,” Jeb groused. “Ain’t no one attackin’ anything.”

Angus lowered the broom, a yawn overtaking him. Once it passed, he scratched a spot on his chest and moseyed forward. “What’s all the hollerin’ about, then?”

“Kid brought us a half-dead dog.”

Titus adjusted his hold on the patient as he moved toward the house, cradling the dog in both arms.

“Looks like he might be all dead,” Angus muttered.

Jeb swatted the big man’s arm. “Bite yer tongue. Doc’ll set him right. You’ll see.”

“Doc knows his business, shore ’nough, but he ain’t the Almighty.” Angus jerked his chin toward Titus. “That critter looks like he’s gonna need more than Doc can give.”

“Well, he’s already got one person praying for him,” Titus said as he climbed the porch steps, the young woman’s promise ringing with church-bell clarity in his memory. “Maybe you can toss a few sticks of your own onto that fire.”

Angus raised a brow, then shrugged and pulled the floppy hat from his head and clutched it to his chest. “Lord, we beseech you on behalf of this here critter. So woebegone and bedraggled—”

“Not out loud, you old windbag.” Jeb swatted him again, earning a scowl from the much larger Angus.

“I’m gonna bag you if you don’t quit thumpin’ my arm.”

A third graybeard wandered out of the nearby garden and approached the railing, a cautious smile on his face. “Fellas, no need to get testy, now.”

Jeb and Angus turned on him and growled in unison. “Butt out, Ike.”

The thin man with the twinkling eyes chuckled. “See? I knew the two of you could come to an agreement.”

By the time Titus laid the dog down on the porch, his head had started to pound from all the chatter swimming around him. “Doc?” he called into the house from his crouched position. “You comin’?”

“Sweet salamanders! No need to shout the house down.” The voice filtered through the open windows a heartbeat before the front door pulled open. “I heard ya the first . . . Titus?”

Doc was the only old-timer at the Diamond D who didn’t wear a beard. Just a mustache and a pair of spectacles, when he could remember where he’d last laid them. The man’s eyes rounded to match his glasses as he threw the door wide.

“Where are you hurt, boy?” He dropped his doctor’s bag and hunkered next to Titus, grabbing hold of his shoulder. “Blade or bullet?” His eyes scoured Titus for evidence of injury.

“Bullet. But not me, Grandpa.” Titus swiveled and laid a light hand on the dog’s ribcage, relieved to feel it still rising and falling. “This is your patient.”

Doc leaned backward and straightened his glasses on his nose. “A dog?” He shook his head, not in a refusing to help sort of way, but as a warning against Titus getting his hopes up. “Canine anatomy is very different from that of humans.”

Titus met his grandfather’s gaze, silently pleading with him the same way he had when he’d been eight and found a bird with a broken wing. “He took some friendly fire during a standoff with a pair of bank robbers in Walnut Springs. I feel responsible for him.”