Turn and Burn (Blacktop Cowboys 5)

Fletch squeezed her hand as they pulled up to the house. He grabbed a large black satchel and they exited the truck.

He knocked once and walked in.

Tilda sat on the floor next to an enormous black dog. She glanced up at Fletch and offered a wan smile. “Thanks for coming, Doc.”

“You’re welcome. How’s he doin’?”

“No different.”

He knelt on the blanket and slipped on a pair of surgical gloves. “Let’s do a few basic checks.”

Tanna took a chair in the living room and watched Fletch work. Taking in his gentle hands, his soothing demeanor with both animal and owner. He asked question after question while performing his exam, taking out his stethoscope, penlight, without stopping to dig through his bag.

The dog’s breathing was thready, his eyes were closed. Ripper allowed Fletch to arrange his limbs and palpate his abdomen. After taking the dog’s temperature, Fletch patted the furry rump.

“So, is there anything you can do?”

Fletch shook his head. “I’m sorry. The old boy is just plain worn out. How old is he?”

“Twelve years.”

He whistled. “Dogs this big don’t usually live that long. It’s testament to your love and care that Ripper’s had such a good, long life.”

Tilda’s chin dropped to her chest. “I got him the year after Robert died. He was such a cute little puppy and I was so lonely.”

Tears prickled in Tanna’s eyes.

“How long does he have?” Tilda asked softly.

“A couple of hours. Maybe a day.”

“He whimpered a lot this morning. But as the day wore on, he stopped.”

“I think . . . even making noise became too much effort for him.” He ran his hand down the dog’s side. “Tilda, darlin’, he’s in a lot of pain.”

“I know.” She dabbed her eyes with a lace handkerchief. “I hate that.” She glanced up at Fletch. “Can you . . . make it easier for him?”

“Yes.” Fletch kept stroking Ripper’s fur. “Is that what you want?”

Tilda nodded. “I can be with him until . . . ?”

“Of course. You sure this is what you want?” he repeated.

She nodded again. “Yes, it’d be for the best for him.”

“I’ll be right back.” Fletch went out to his truck.

Tanna remained in the easy chair, her heart aching as Tilda petted Ripper’s head in her lap. The dog’s tail no longer thumped. Still, Tilda kept murmuring and petting.

Fletch returned holding a syringe. He spoke softly to Tilda and her beloved dog.

Tanna couldn’t see where he inserted the needle. Ripper didn’t even flinch. Then Fletch patted the dog and returned outside. She wanted to run after him, but she stayed in place and turned away, giving Tilda privacy.

She knew the drug was quick acting, but she wasn’t sure how much time had passed as she’d sat in silence. When she closed her eyes, it wasn’t the horrifying images of Jezebel running away that flashed through her mind, but the good times with the horse who’d been close to her best friend. They’d been partners and teammates for years. For the first time in months she welcomed the flood of memories. The hours they’d spent training and traveling together. Their victories in the arena. Their hard-fought struggles when stubborn rider met stubborn horse. She’d never forget the huffy way Jezebel acted if Tanna somehow changed the status quo in her perfect little horsey world. Or how Jezebel would prance so prettily and then buck so damn hard when she wanted to remind Tanna of her place in the equine world. She thought back to the horrible time after her mother died, and the hours she’d spent with her face buried in Jezebel’s neck, the horse’s soft hide absorbing her tears and her grief.

Grief. God. Had she even grieved for the horse she’d loved and lost?

No.

Maybe her inability to be near a horse after the accident hadn’t been only about fear, but the sorrow that any horse she got on wouldn’t be Jezebel.

A noise permeated the flashbacks and Tanna opened her eyes to see Tilda’s shoulders shaking and that Ripper’s too-still form wasn’t moving.

Fletch came back inside and paused in the doorway, his face heavy with sorrow. His eyes met Tanna’s and he motioned her closer. Then he dropped to his knees beside Tilda and put his arm around her. “I’m sorry.”

“Thank you. For everything you did.”

“You’re welcome. Do you need more time with him?”

She shook her head.

“You took great care of him, sweetheart. Will you let me take care of him now for you?”

Tilda released a small sob. “I didn’t even think about that . . .”

“I know,” Fletch said softly. “That’s why I did. Is there some special place to lay him to rest?”

Tanna was crouched beside them and watched Tilda firm her trembling chin, which only caused Tanna’s tears to fall faster.

“The flower garden. On the north corner by the birdbath.” Tilda’s small hand ruffled the fur behind Ripper’s ears as she’d probably done a thousand times. “This big guy could sit there for hours watching birds. He loved to chase butterflies. He’d never hurt them and they liked to tease my gentle giant.”

“Sounds like the perfect place for him.” Fletch looked at Tanna. “Would you fix Tilda a cup of tea?”

“Sure.”