Kurt started examining the puppies one by one. “So the fact that Frannie Turner in Wichita Falls knows that we have a golden retriever named Duchess is great. The fact she has no proof of ownership-no papers, or pictures of this dog-gives rise to a lot of question. She says it’s because Duchess isn’t hers, and she was just doing a favor. And that the dog got out of her house accidentally and ran away.”
Ally pressed her lips together, clearly skeptical. “We’re two hundred miles from Wichita Falls, guys. That’s an awfully long way.”
Hank draped a consoling arm across Ally’s shoulders. “Duchess was pregnant, about to deliver. She could have been trying to make her way home to San Angelo to deliver her puppies, and ended up here.”
Her expression thoughtful, Ally turned into Hank’s embrace. He squeezed her, then let her go.
“You hear about that sometimes,” Ally murmured. “Dogs surmounting impossible odds-and doing whatever they have to do to get home.”
More than one movie had been made about this kind of true life event, Hank knew.
“And it could have happened in this case,” Kurt said as he checked Duchess. Finding everything in order, he put his stethoscope back in his bag. “Pregnant dogs have a desire to nest, and a lot of them instinctively go off in private to deliver. But it’s also possible Frannie Turner could have gotten the information elsewhere. Everyone in the community is talking about it. And they’re all telling their friends and family. So it’s possible this woman is trying to pull a scam on us.”
Ally’s brow furrowed with emotion. “So now what?”
Kurt sighed. “Apparently, Frannie didn’t tell her sister-in-law the dog was missing, because she had enough to deal with and Frannie didn’t want her to get upset with her. The sister-in-law is a very serious professional dog breeder, she claims. Now that Frannie knows we found the dog and that the puppies are all okay, she’s not afraid to tell Talia Brannamore.” He locked eyes with Hank and then Ally. “So Frannie told me she would call Talia in Nashville, and see if she can’t get us some sort of proof.”
“How long is that going to take?” Hank asked, impatient to get this resolved before he or Ally became any more emotionally involved with Duchess and the pups.
Kurt stood. “She’s already done it. I spoke to the breeder right before I got here. Talia Brannamore reiterated everything Frannie already told me, but said she doesn’t have any proof with her. It’s all at her house in San Angelo. And she won’t be back there until December 23. Talia offered to drive through Laramie on her way home, since she’ll pass right by here, and see Duchess. If her story is true, and Duchess is hers, then the retriever should immediately recognize her. If not, and we think a fraud is being perpetrated…well, I’ve already talked to my brother Kyle, and we’ll have someone from the sheriff’s department ready and waiting.”
“But you think it might be true, don’t you?” Ally asked, clearly upset.
Kurt shrugged. “All I can tell you is that the woman from San Angelo was really concerned about her pregnant dog being lost and not knowing anything about it. She is exceedingly grateful to you and Ally and the vet clinic, and prepared to compensate us all for our troubles.”
Which went to confirm the value of golden retrievers, Hank thought.
He cast a sideways look at Ally. Her face had a crushed expression that mirrored his own feelings and tore at his heart.
He watched her kneel down and pick up Gracie, cradle her tenderly. He knew he’d do anything to make Ally happy. “What about the pups?” he asked.
Kurt knew where this was going. He shook his head. “They’re all spoken for, every last one.”
Hank swore silently to himself. “Including the runt of the litter?” He had to make sure.
Kurt nodded and confirmed grimly, “Gracie, too.”
ALLY SAT IN THE KITCHEN, devastated, while Hank walked his cousin out. She had known this could happen. She had just been hoping that it wouldn’t…
Hank strode back in, an old-fashioned hatbox, emblazoned with his name, clasped in his hands. Wordlessly, he set it on the table and came around to where she was sitting. He knelt in front of her, like a knight before a queen, and covered her hands with his warm ones.
Ally lifted her head. How easy it would be to depend on him this way. And how foolish. Since she wasn’t staying, and he wasn’t about to leave, and the sale of the ranch still stood between them…
Hank searched her face. “Are you okay?”
Embarrassment heated her cheeks. “Why wouldn’t I be?” she countered grumpily.
“You’ve gotten attached to Gracie.”
Against all common sense, she reminded herself unhappily. “And you’re attached to Duchess. And we always knew this would happen.” She drew a deep breath, then added honestly, “I wished it wouldn’t. I just hoped I’d be able to find a way to keep the littlest one. But that’s not going to happen,” she said, the bitterness of old coming back to haunt her. Like every other situation at Mesquite Ridge, this event had a bad ending. For her, anyway…
Hank looked into her eyes as if he shared her heartache. “You can get another puppy,” he murmured softly, as if there was no place on earth he would rather be.
She gripped his hands, drawing on his strength despite herself, and blinked back tears. “I know,” she said thickly.
But it wouldn’t be the same, Ally knew. Just like making love with another man won’t be the same. Not after you.
With effort, Ally pushed her melancholy thoughts away. Hank was right-she could get another puppy. Someday. In the meantime, she had four days left in Laramie. She wasn’t going to let the bleakness of her future life ruin what she had today. She was going to do what she’d never been wise enough to do before. Enjoy the here and now, and forget about whatever tomorrow might bring.
Swallowing, Ally nodded at the box in Hank’s hands, determined to try to get back in the holiday spirit and be cheerful if it killed her. “What’s that?”
“My mom sent it over. Kurt almost forgot to give it to me.”
Okay, that told her absolutely nothing, except that his mother apparently liked fancy hatboxes, and this one looked as if it had been around for a while. In fact, there was even a little dust on it. “Aren’t you going to open it?” Ally prodded.
Hank shrugged, as maddeningly determined as she was impatient to learn more. “Sure. If you want.” He flashed her a grin that upped her anticipation even further. “That is-” he leaned forward intimately, more than ready to lend a little sensual distraction “-if you’re ready to do your usual thing and get your bah, humbug on.”
Hilarious. “Can’t wait, cowboy.” Ally dared him with a glance. “Do your best to get me in the spirit.”
Hank chuckled as if it were already a fait accompli. He took the lid off the hatbox. It was filled with a breathtaking array of amazing and unique ornaments. Some wrapped in tissue, some not. He picked up a ceramic Western-boot-wearing Santa Claus driving a sleigh filled with presents. “I got this one when I was five.”
Ally could imagine him hanging it on the tree, as an adorable little boy. “Cute,” she murmured, intrigued by this glimpse into his holidays past.
Hank fingered a Nutcracker soldier and reflected fondly, “This came from Dallas the year I turned eight. Mom and Dad took the whole family to see the ballet at Christmastime.”
The wooden figure was exquisite, even without the beautiful memories. “So everything in here has special meaning.”
He nodded, then gathered the box in one arm, took her by the hand with the other and led her into the living room.
Belatedly, Ally realized there were electric lights on the tree. Hank had to have put them up. When, she wasn’t sure.