Page 9 of Destined for the Cowboy

Chapter Five

Tris stood silentlybefore the monument, looking not at the statue of the handler in the center, but the four dogs in front of him, the breeds that made up most of the Military Working Dog force. From the Doberman on her left to the German shepherd, the Labrador, and what Logan laughingly called a “maligator,” meaning a Belgian Malinois, the four-footed service members—for in her view they were nothing less—made her ache a little inside.

“What they do for us,” she whispered in wonder.

“Yes. That’s why Chance Rafferty does what he does. Why he startedThey Also Serve, because his K9 partner didn’t come home.”

She’d read about the organization that was based on the Rafferty ranch, taking in the repatriated dogs the military had deemed unsalvageable, but she hadn’t realized the personal aspect for the man who ran it.

“That’s a wonderful thing. I’ve been meaning to find out more about it.”

“I’ve done some work for him, customizing a couple of dog runs, and some fencing.”

She tilted her head, curious. “So you don’t just shoe—and magically cajole—horses?”

He shrugged off her teasing compliment. “I started out as a farrier—horseshoeing only—but started playing with other stuff when I had time, so now I do the occasional specialized job. Keeps it interesting.”

She had the feeling some people would be a little surprised at the agile brain behind the working-man exterior. Including herself, she had to embarrassedly admit.

She started to walk toward one corner of the monument space, where there was another sculpture. It was of a dog handler sitting cross-legged, pouring water from his canteen into his helmet, for the loyal dog beside him, whose paw rested on the man’s leg, a silent declaration of the bond between them. She got close enough to read the inscription on the base, and her throat tightened impossibly.

“Not Forgotten Fountain”

“In everlasting memory of all the heroic war dogs who served, died, and were left behind in the VietnamWar.”

She glanced back at the main monument. “That one makes me proud,” she said, barely able to get the words out, “but this one makes me cry.”

“Not one of our better moments,” Logan agreed. “Leaving them behind like they were just old equipment we didn’t need anymore.”

“We betrayed them. I’m just thankful we stopped that hideous practice.”

“Sometimes we’re slow to learn, but we do learn.” Logan bent and swirled his fingers through the water in the base of the fountain. “And now we’ve got a place for any dog to drink from when they visit.”

“Thank you, Mr. Burnam,” she said softly, using the name on the base and knowing John Burnam, a former dog handler himself in that awful war, was the moving force behind all of this.

She wiped at her eyes as she stood silently looking at the fountain, at the trust implied in that simple gesture, the pawupon the leg. And then she looked up, to see Logan watching her with an expression she couldn’t name, except that it warmed her, even on this sunny April day.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to get all weepy on you.”

“Don’t. Do not apologize for being able to feel so deeply about something like this. It’s admirable. It’s…beautiful. You’re—”

He cut himself off sharply. Her brain wanted to finish his sentence for him, wanted to finish it as “You’re beautiful.”

She felt suddenly off-balance, in a way she couldn’t blame entirely on her emotional reaction to this tribute. So off-balance that she wished she’d driven over here herself, instead of now having to ride back to her car with him. He was acting as if he felt the same way, remaining silent until they reached where she was parked. She wanted to make some light, cheerful remark, maybe a joke about where they might collide next, but she couldn’t seem to do it. When he dropped her off, even though he politely waited until she was in her car and had it started, he said only, “Drive safe.”

She sat there, hands on the wheel, but unable to quite move her hand to put it in gear. And she tried not to think that that could be the description of her entire life, since David had died.

*

Logan watched theroad as he drove back to Last Stand, but part of his mind was on something else, the time that rocket attack had hit the forward-operating base he was stationed at. He’d heard the first hit, instantly ordered his crew to dive for shelter. Bare seconds later the hangar they’d been working in had been rubble. After the shock of the near miss, he’d gone a little weak in the knees, feeling hot and cold at the same time.

He felt that way now. Like he’d had a near miss. Like he’d barely escaped disaster.

It was her reaction to theNot Forgotten Fountainthat had made him nearly slip the leash. He nearly groaned aloud at the aptness of the dog metaphor.

With a conscious effort, he managed not to spend half his time looking for her car in the rearview mirror. She’d gotten here fine, she could certainly cover the seventy or so miles back to Last Stand without him dogging her.

Yet another dog metaphor.

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