When Summer Comes (Whiskey Creek #3)(5)
Author: Brenda Novak

Worry tightened her voice. “How many times were you bitten?”

“Several.” Closing his eyes, he rested his head against the wall. “I’ve never seen animals so intent on tearing someone to pieces.” He winced at the memory. He’d been chased by a few dogs since returning from Afghanistan. Being out on the streets left him vulnerable. But he’d never been attacked. He’d made it through six years in the military, fighting in some of the worst hot spots in the Middle East without taking a bullet, only to be mangled by dogs in his own country.

“My arms took the brunt of it,” he explained. “They wanted the front of my…neck, my jugular, but I kept blocking them. I would’ve been…better off with my leather jacket on. But I’d worked up a sweat pushing my bike and…had taken it off. Bad luck.” He chuckled, but the thought of his bike, his jacket and his pack brought back the concern he’d been feeling earlier. He had to retrieve his belongings before someone stole them or the police came by. He’d had to leave his motorcycle right there on the side of the road, couldn’t continue to push it after the attack. It was too damn heavy.

“Okay, well, at least sit down. You’ll only hurt yourself more if you don’t.”

“I’ve gotta go.” He tried to step out of the tub, nearly toppled over and had to let her help him down onto his ass. Muttering something he couldn’t quite make out, she rolled up a towel she got from a cupboard and put it behind his head. Then she brought in a heavy blanket and covered him, right there in the tub. “Stay put,” she ordered as she tucked it tightly around him. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

The decisiveness in her voice made him lift his head. “Where are you going?”

“To get the first-aid kit, since that’s all you’ll accept.”

Relieved, he let his head fall back. If she was going to call the police again, she wouldn’t have braved coming in. Surely that meant he’d soon be bandaged up and on his way. He’d walk his bike to the small gold-rush town a few miles back where he’d had dinner and find the necessary parts and tools to make the repairs. Maybe he could offer his services to an auto shop for a few days in trade for what he’d need. He’d done that before. He could fix any kind of engine, had been in charge of the heavy equipment for his platoon in Afghanistan.

Trying to keep his mind off the pain, Levi concentrated on the gas station with the repair bays he’d noticed in town before settling on a café. But he must’ve drifted off despite his efforts to remain lucid, because when he opened his eyes there was another man in the room. He was easily in his seventies, his hair completely gray, and he had a hook nose, full beard and paunch that hung over his belt. He’d removed the blanket that had kept Levi warm, which was what had disturbed him.

The woman who’d covered him was now wearing a bra under her shirt. She wrung her hands as she peered over the old man’s shoulder. “Is he going to be okay?”

Levi didn’t give him a chance to respond. “Where’s the first-aid kit?” he asked, calling her on the deception.

She had the grace to look abashed. “I’m sorry. I was afraid you were going into shock. You need a doctor.”

The other man glanced up at her. “I’m not a doctor.”

She sent Levi an apologetic grin. “But he is a veterinarian.”

“Who’s mostly retired,” the guy said with a note of exasperation.

“Still good at his craft.” She patted his shoulder with obvious affection. “This was my grandfather’s friend and next-door neighbor. Now he’s my friend and neighbor. Godfrey Blume, meet Levi McCloud.”

* * *

“So what do you think?” Callie shooed Rifle out of her way so she could pour the coffee she’d put on a few minutes earlier. Levi McCloud was asleep in her bed, but Godfrey was sitting at her kitchen table.

Every time her neighbor yawned she felt bad about waking him in the middle of the night. He was nearing eighty. But she hadn’t expected providing Mr. McCloud with medical attention to take several hours. She’d been so caught up in helping to wash and bandage his wounds, she hadn’t noticed the passage of time until she saw the break of dawn. Now her rooster was out in the yard, crowing for all he was worth.

She couldn’t help smiling when she caught sight of the old bird strutting past her kitchen window. She loved early mornings. They reminded her of summers with her grandparents and awaking to the smell of frying bacon.

“I did what I could,” Godfrey said. “But I wish he would’ve let us take him to the hospital. Or even to a real doctor. I’ve never seen an attack like that.”

And her neighbor had worked with animals his whole life! She frowned as she set the sugar and cream on the table. “We did what we could.”

“Mr. McCloud is a surprisingly stubborn man, given the extent of his injuries.”

Once Godfrey had ascertained the large number of stitches their patient required, they’d both tried, once again, to get him in her car. Godfrey could only offer him a topical analgesic to ease the pain—and Tylenol. But there was nothing they could do to overcome Mr. McCloud’s resistance. He tried to leave on his own power when they insisted, and would’ve done so if they’d pushed it any further. At that point, Godfrey had relented and agreed that some care was better than none.

“We should report the dogs to animal control,” she said. “They need to be restrained before they hurt someone else—a child, for instance.”

“I plan on looking into it.” Her neighbor had been the only veterinarian in town for most of his life. He’d officially retired three years ago, when the newly licensed Harrison Scarborough opened his practice. But some people still brought their animals to Godfrey.

“Do you have any idea whose pets they might be?” she asked while pouring herself some cranberry juice. She was on a strict diet that precluded alcohol, salt and coffee, among other things.

He smoothed his shirt over his belly. “My bet? There’s a couple of pit bulls down the road, around the bend.”

“Really?” Callie had never seen any, but she’d been pretty preoccupied of late. Adjusting to the shock of her diagnosis, especially since she’d never consumed much booze, hadn’t been easy. She’d thought only alcoholics had to worry about cirrhosis. “You think it’s them?”

“I can’t imagine what other dogs it could be. I know all the rest of the animals in the area, and they wouldn’t do something like what we saw.”