Snow Angels with Bear

Snow Angels

with Bear

Bonnie Dee

SMASHWORDS EDITION

Copyright © 2017 by Bonnie Dee

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

Smashwords License Notes

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

Chapter One

Something gray flashed in the headlights of the Wrangler. An animal. A wolf! No, a dog, of course, August realized as he braked. The jeep began to slide, then he heard the sickening thud of contact and felt a slight shudder in the frame of the vehicle. Damn! He’d hit the poor thing. As the jeep spun around, he tapped the brake and guided the vehicle into a snowdrift rather than a tree. It hit the drift hard and stopped on the opposite side of the road.

August took a moment to calm his racing pulse, check for traffic—there was none on this country road—before getting out. The engine purred as if nothing had happened, while the headlights lit a dark shape on the road.

He approached the dog, a German shepherd mix, and noted it was still breathing, the dark gray fur rising and falling. August crouched down, careful to keep some distance in case the animal snapped at him. Its eyes gleamed in the headlights and one tall ear twitched, but it didn’t whimper, whine, or growl, merely lay there staring at him. Fix this.

A déjà vu feeling flashed. He’d done this before. Except it wasn’t déjà vu. He shut down the memory with a bang and turned his attention to checking the dog’s injuries.

Hey, fella. It’s all right. I’m going to touch you now. August held his palms up to show he meant no harm, then gingerly reached to feel over its body.

If there was a gash or broken bone, he couldn’t find it. Maybe on the other side, but he’d have to move him to find out. Perhaps the dog had sustained a lethal internal injury. If so, he could sit with the animal until it expired. Too bad he didn’t have his service revolver with him. He could end its misery.

But his dire assessment changed when the dog struggled to rise and failed. Something was wrong with its pelvis or hind legs.

Shh. Lie still. He pressed the dog back to the ground and glanced at the Wrangler, figuring out where he could place the animal. He could wrap it in the light jacket he’d tossed in the back seat after realizing the thing was useless in this harsh northern climate. Upper Michigan might as well have been the Alaskan tundra to this Georgia boy’s bones.

Don’t try to get up, he warned the dog, and ran to the jeep. He made space behind the driver’s seat—barely enough for the large dog he was beginning to think was more Great Dane than shepherd—snatched up his jacket, and hurried back.

I’m going to lift you now, and it’s going to hurt. You’re gonna want to bite me. Don’t.

August wrapped the jacket around the beast as best he could and noticed it wore no collar. He slid his arms underneath and braced his legs, grunting as he lifted. During active duty, he’d lifted heavier packs and carried them for miles. But it was awkward to go from a crouch to standing with the dog sprawling in his arms.

August trudged toward the jeep. He’d left the door open so all he had to do was maneuver the beast into the back and set him down as gently as possible. A growl reverberated through the big body.

None of that now, August warned. I’m trying to help you.

He’d forgotten how slippery the road was and almost fell before he made it into the driver’s seat. Putting the jeep in gear, he rocked his way out of the drift. A few false starts while the tires sought tread in the snow and then he was on his way to Hopewell Springs, the improbably named village near his temporary home. He wondered if they had a vet or if he would have to drive several hours to the nearest city.

He could hardly search his phone for a clinic while driving, so he stopped at the police station on Main Street next to the post office. Inside, he was enveloped in steamy greenhouse heat and the scent of coffee and wet boots.

A gray-haired woman sitting behind the counter and reading a book looked up. Can I help you?

I’ve been in an accident. Hit a dog. Is there a vet nearby?

That’d be Eric Grover. He lives above his clinic on Elm Street. She picked up her cell phone. Head on over. I’ll call and tell him to expect you.

Thanks. Do you have an address?

Can’t miss it. Elm is only a few blocks long. She peered at him from behind large glasses so outdated, they’d become hip again. "Was there anyone else involved in the accident? Are you injured?"

August shook his head. I’m fine.

Always fine. He was the lucky penny that flipped heads up no matter what happened to those around him.

Outside, the wind scoured his face with hard pellets as he returned to the jeep. He hadn’t realized there would be so many types of snow up here and wished he were burrowed under a pile of covers in his drafty rental house right now. But a whimper from his passenger reminded him how much worse things could’ve gone. He might’ve hit a tree and been stranded, unconscious and slowly freezing to death.

Almost there, pal, he promised as he cruised down Elm toward the only house on the block with lights on. An illuminated sign in the front yard read: Dr. Eric Grover, DVM. Large and small animals. Underneath that were the silhouettes of a cat, dog, and horse.

He pulled up and was just struggling to get the dog out of the back when a voice came from behind him. Let me help.

A large body nudged him out of the way as the vet took over. Grover murmured comforting words to his patient while lifting the dog out of the jeep and onto a wheeled stretcher as if the animal weighed no more than a kitten. No wonder. The veterinarian was linebacker large.

August stood back and let him take over, then followed him up the sidewalk and a side ramp leading into the clinic. He was surprised zoning allowed for a business in a residential neighborhood, but things were done differently here than in the Atlanta suburb where August had grown up.

Inside, Grover acknowledged him with a curt You can wait in there, while nodding toward a few seats in the foyer. For a second, vibrant blue eyes drilled August before the vet turned to wheel the dog into a treatment room. August caught his breath at their brilliance before heading into the waiting area.

There was, of course, no hot cup of coffee available, nor even a well-thumbed magazine to look through, nothing to distract him from the chill in his bones or the teeth-chattering aftermath of a crisis. August dropped into a chair, took off his leaky boots, and rubbed his cold, damp feet to pins and needles. Then he leaned back, hands crossed over his stomach, and closed his eyes while he waited for the doctor’s verdict.

Sometime later, a hand shook his shoulder. He jolted awake. In the military, he’d learned to catch naps wherever he could and to become fully conscious in a moment. He was settling too easily into civilian life, falling into such a deep sleep that he had to be shaken awake.

The veterinarian leaned over him, frowning. Are you all right? He grasped August’s face and peered into his eyes, combed fingers through his hair searching, presumably, for a head wound. Were you injured in the accident?

August pulled