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“Barely alive! Get out of the way.” Dragging Denver, the paramedics headed for the ambulance. “Hold it, Sam!”
Colton started to follow, but the chief reached him again. “There’s no room in there!”
Wrenching his arm free, Colton whirled on the older man. His teeth bared, his fists clenched, he growled, “That’s my brother, goddamn it, and I don’t know how long he’s gonna live! Get outta my way!”
“Watch that one—maybe shock,” one fireman said to another. “He shouldn’t be driving—”
“Frank, Tom, bring that hose over here. . . .”
The chief turned his attention for a second, and Colton jumped into the cab of Uncle John’s flatbed, twisted the key and tore out after the ambulance.
“Please, God,” Colton whispered in the only prayer he’d ever uttered. “Let him live!”
* * *
Miraculously Denver had survived. After several days in a nearby hospital, Denver had been flown to L.A. to face more than one painful session of plastic surgery. And Colton had taken off. His parents were dead; his brother, emotionally crippled, had gone. There was no reason to stay.
Except for Cassie, he thought now as he glowered at the gleaming new stables. In his grief he’d nearly called her. She’d written a note of sympathy, and he, upon reading her kind words, had torn the note into tiny pieces, only to regret it later. He’d reached for the phone, but knew that he was turning to her in grief, not love.
His heart stone-cold, he’d forced himself to push any loving thoughts of her aside. Though a small part of him still cared, he knew that loving Cassie Aldridge was futile.
Without ever looking back, he had packed his bags and taken off.
And now here he was, he thought grimly. And Cassie was becoming as much of an addiction as she’d been all those years before when he’d met her on the sly, lying to his parents and hers just to have a few stolen moments with her.
“Once a fool, always a fool,” he muttered, slamming his hand against the fence. Pain shot through his shoulder, and he winced. As soon as Denver and Tessa returned, he was out of here. This ranch meant nothing to him. Nothing but the smoldering ashes of a past based on lies and sorrow.
* * *
Cassie grinned as Beth Lassiter Simpson, nearly seven months pregnant, carried a squirming cocker spaniel puppy into the examination room. Beth’s face was framed in soft brown curls. She’d been Cassie’s best friend since high school.
“So this is Webster?” Cassie asked, glancing at the pup’s chart.
“In the flesh.”
“Okay, let’s see how he’s doing.” Cassie took the blond bundle of energy from Beth’s hands and settled him onto the stainless steel scales.
Beth’s four-year-old daughter, Amy, slid into the room. Her hair was a mass of fiery red curls, the skin over her nose sprinkled with tiny freckles. Amy’s huge brown eyes rounded as she stared at Cassie. “You gonna give him a shot?” she asked anxiously.
“A vaccination,” Cassie replied with a grin as she took the dog’s temperature. “He won’t even feel it.”
Amy’s lower lip protruded. “I hate shots.”
“So do I,” Cassie said, recording the pup’s weight and temperature before slipping her stethoscope into her ears. The poor animal was shaking, his heart pounding like a jackhammer.
Throughout the examination Amy watched Cassie suspiciously. When Cassie pulled the flap of skin behind Webster’s neck and slipped the needle beneath the pup’s fur, the little dog didn’t so much as whimper.
But Amy gasped, her chubby hands flying to her eyes. “I can’t look,” she whispered to her mother.
“That’s it!” Cassie tossed the disposable needle into the trash. “He looks great!” She held the puppy out to Amy, who opened one untrusting eye.
“For real?”
“For real! Take him into the reception area. Sandy, the girl behind the desk, might just have a dog biscuit for Webster and a sucker for you.”
“What kind?” Amy asked, already heading for the door.
“Any kind you want.”
