Cole followed at a slower pace, wondering what the hell had made Angie so sick. As he waited outside the bathroom door, Jessie came down the stairs carrying a mop and bucket, looking harried and not at all as cool as she had when they’d arrived from Denver.
“Has she been exposed to flu?” Cole asked.
“Not that I know of. I suppose she could have picked up something without my knowing, but this came on all of a sudden.” Jessie paused. “What about food poisoning, Cole?”
He thought back to dinner. “She’s the only one of us that ate chicken. I’d better call Dr. McGinnis and see what we should do. Can you wait here and see if she needs anything?”
“Of course.”
Out in the kitchen, Cole found the list of emergency numbers Olivia had typed up and pinned next to the phone. After dialing, his call was answered on the second ring. He was surprised to hear the doctor’s voice on the line.
“Dr. McGinnis here.”
Cole identified himself and told the doctor why he was calling.
Dr. McGinnis replied, “I’ve lost track of how many calls I’ve had tonight. Don’t tell me. Angela had dinner at Clucken House, right?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“And she ate chicken.”
“Yes.”
“I suspect we’ve had an outbreak of salmonella. There’s not much we can do for her except watch her for dehydration. Give her water or ginger ale or whatever clear fluid she can tolerate. This should pass in four to six hours. If she’s not keeping something down by morning, better give me another call. Call sooner if she appears dehydrated or if her symptoms intensify.”
Hanging up the phone, Cole felt miserable. Poor Angel. She’d probably never want to eat at Clucken House again. Even if she did, he knew he was never going to let her.
And after what happened to Grace, he might not let either of the kids out of the house again anyway.
Chapter 8
Saturday
Mattie danced to the rhythm of a slow country song. Her hips moved in a languid sway, pressed against those of a dark Latino whose face—oddly enough—looked exactly like the vet’s. In one hand she held a cold bottle of Dos Equis with a slice of lime, while her other hand caressed the back of the man’s neck. His dark gaze deepened, and she arched into him, tilting her head back.
Leaving a trail of soft kisses, his lips traveled down her neck. She closed her eyes.
“Who are you?” she whispered.
He licked her arm, one slurp, leaving a wet track on her forearm like the footprint of a garden slug.
Her eyes popped open and met Robo’s, his muzzle inches from her face. He opened his mouth in a gentle pant. A bead of saliva dripped off his black lip.
Mattie groaned. “I can see that you must be hungry.”
Robo started his happy dance, weight shifting back and forth on his front paws, nails clicking on the hardwood floor.
To protect herself from Robo’s wet tongue, Mattie pulled the soft quilt that Mama T had made for her high school graduation up over her head. Soft strains of a country song on the radio faded as the announcer’s voice broke in.
“It’s five minutes after six on a beautiful Saturday morning . . .”
With a start, she raised her head to check the time.
After six? She’d slept through the alarm. No wonder Robo was trying to wake her. She threw back the quilt and sat up on the side of the bed.
“Okay. I’m getting up.”
Mattie leaned forward, propping herself against her knees. It had been a short night. The vet hadn’t come back to the clinic to relieve her until three fifteen in the morning. He’d said his daughter was sick.
Rubbing her eyes, Mattie peeked at Robo from between her fingers. By this time, he was beside himself.
“Go get your leash.”
He darted from the room, returning moments later with the blue nylon strap dangling from both sides of his mouth.
Mattie got up, slipped on black running shorts and a gray tee with “Timber Creek County Sheriff Department” stenciled on the front, and sank back down on the bed to put on socks and running shoes. She was tempted to lie down and pull the quilt back up, but she knew Robo wouldn’t let her. She clipped on his leash, led him through her small living room, and then opened the front door so they could step outside.
Taking in a deep breath of the brisk mountain air helped clear her head, and she thought of Grace. The teen would never enjoy a Colorado morning like this again. The sun had risen to sit above the tops of the eastern peaks, its slanted rays making colors vibrant. The tan clay road out front appeared orange, and the pink plastic geraniums her neighbor had set out in pots turned a deep rose. Saddened, Mattie leaned forward against the rough adobe wall of her house to stretch out her hamstrings.
“Okay, big fella, let’s go.” She took to the road, setting a brisk pace.
Robo ran beside her, his coat deep black in the morning light, his tongue rosy pink against his dark muzzle. He knew their route as well as she did but stayed in heel position rather than surging out front. Though nothing new, his obedience impressed her. The signal was tied to his equipment—everyday collar and leash meant heel, tracking harness meant out in front.
They hit the foothills at the edge of town and started up T-hill on a pathway worn smooth over the years by footsteps of children, hikers, and runners like herself. On the way up, she took turns with Robo, sometimes taking the smooth path while he dodged the rocks beside it and then letting him have the trail while she handled the more challenging footing.
The pathway ended when they reached the T near the top, a letter made from piled-up rocks whitewashed each fall by incoming high school freshmen. She left the trail and struck off for the summit, her body warmed by the effort of running uphill, her breath deep and even.
At the summit, she was surprised to meet another runner coming up the backside. It was the rookie, Ed Johnson. What the hell was he doing out here?
Johnson stopped in the opening between two rocky prominences, blocking the route Mattie intended to take. He looked winded. Bending forward at the waist, he braced himself with hands against thighs and puffed.
“Hey, Johnson,” Mattie said. “What are you up to? Trying to kill yourself?”
He gave her a sheepish grin, freckles standing out against his pale skin. “If I’m going to be your backup, I figure I’d better get in shape.”
His words took her by surprise. “I appreciate that.”
“Besides, I might want some of that action myself someday.”
“What action?”
“Being a K-9 cop.”
Any warmth Mattie might have been feeling toward the kid melted away.
“I was hoping you’d teach me some things,” he continued.
Not in this lifetime. “You have enough to learn with this being your first job. Most handlers spend several years on the force before they work K-9.”
“I figured Timber Creek might be different, it being so small.” He reached to pet Robo’s head.
“Don’t do that,” Mattie snapped.
Johnson jerked back his hand.
“Okay, rookie. Your first lesson is to never touch a police dog without asking the handler’s permission.”
“Sorry.”
Mattie glanced at her watch. “I need to finish my run.” She edged past, keeping herself between him and Robo, and then started running again, down the hill’s backside.