gone.
Is that what he wanted?
Before he could answer his own question he heard a cell phone ring. This late at night it had to be an emergency. He checked his phone. Not his.
The ringing stopped, but immediately started up again. He cocked his head and listened. The sound seemed to be coming from the overstuffed chair. Bending low, he saw a glint of shiny metal and reached for it.
Tracy's?
He pressed the call button and placed the phone to his ear.
"Tracy?” a masculine voice asked. Immediately Dolan felt his gut tighten.
"No,” Dolan snapped.
"Who is this?” the man on the other end demanded. “Where's Tracy?"
"Dolan Crane.” He wasn't giving any information out until the caller identified himself. “Who is this?"
"Crane. Thank God. This is Carl Epps. I'm looking for my niece.” There was a moment of silence. “Why the hell do you have her telephone?"
"Didn't know it was hers. Guess she misplaced it.” Dolan was used to irate fathers. Now he could add uncles to the list of individuals worried about his soiled reputation.
"Where is she?"
A lie was probably better than the truth that he and Rowdy had just spent several hours wrapped in his niece's arms. “Don't know. Is something wrong?"
"Yes. It's Ice Princess. She hasn't eaten since I picked her up three days ago. First thought she just needed time to adjust. But—not now. She seems lethargic and wandering around in circles. I came out to check on her and she acts like her legs are weak.” Frustration and desperation heightened Carl's voice. “Damn the girl. Where is she when I need her?"
"Tell me where she lives. I'll fetch her and we'll head over to your place.” Dolan listened as Epps told him she had purchased the old Cartwright homestead. He knew the place well. Trudy Cartwright, the previous owner, was a hoot. “Be there in twenty.” He closed the telephone, pocketed it and headed for the door.
Lights shone in the windows of the small ranch home. Dolan smiled. After Trudy's husband passed in the fall, her spirits had dropped. Lonely, she had called Dolan several times on false pretenses, a limp or sneeze from her last remaining horse, nothing that required a veterinarian.
Hell. He didn't mind.
Truth? She was the closest thing to a mother he knew.
As he maneuvered his truck in front of the house, he saw the weathered siding and remembered the paint he purchased sitting on the floor-bed of the truck. Guess he'd have to return it or maybe Tracy—
Nah. What was he thinking?
Still she was lucky. The house was a homey place. Flowers in window boxes and a porch that surrounded the entire structure. A swing gently swayed in the cool breeze. By his recollections, the inside was just as charming.
Wasting no time, he opened his door and exited. His boots sounded hollow against the stairs as he climbed toward the front door. The doorbell was newly installed and so was the screen door, the last things he had completed before Mrs. Cartwright left. He gave the door a couple whacks.
A dog barked. In mere seconds, light flooded the porch. Dressed in an overnight shirt that barely covered her, Tracy stood before him with a gallon of Rocky Road ice cream in one hand, a spoon in the other and an expression of surprise on her face. The smudge of chocolate on her upper lip caught his attention immediately. What he would give to lick away the ice cream and maybe just make her dessert.
He wedged open the screen door. “Midnight snack?” A little ratty-looking dog darted out, yipping as he ran around Dolan's feet. He couldn't stand staring at the dab of ice cream on her lip. Ignoring the ankle biter, he reached out and wiped the chocolate from her mouth with his thumb.
Her tongue followed the path of his finger. “Uh.” She blinked and looked down. “Foxy. Get back in here.” The terrier-mix was quick in minding. She bounded through the doorway and sat quietly at Tracy's feet. Glancing over his shoulder once more, she asked, “You alone?"
He
Is that what he wanted?
Before he could answer his own question he heard a cell phone ring. This late at night it had to be an emergency. He checked his phone. Not his.
The ringing stopped, but immediately started up again. He cocked his head and listened. The sound seemed to be coming from the overstuffed chair. Bending low, he saw a glint of shiny metal and reached for it.
Tracy's?
He pressed the call button and placed the phone to his ear.
"Tracy?” a masculine voice asked. Immediately Dolan felt his gut tighten.
"No,” Dolan snapped.
"Who is this?” the man on the other end demanded. “Where's Tracy?"
"Dolan Crane.” He wasn't giving any information out until the caller identified himself. “Who is this?"
"Crane. Thank God. This is Carl Epps. I'm looking for my niece.” There was a moment of silence. “Why the hell do you have her telephone?"
"Didn't know it was hers. Guess she misplaced it.” Dolan was used to irate fathers. Now he could add uncles to the list of individuals worried about his soiled reputation.
"Where is she?"
A lie was probably better than the truth that he and Rowdy had just spent several hours wrapped in his niece's arms. “Don't know. Is something wrong?"
"Yes. It's Ice Princess. She hasn't eaten since I picked her up three days ago. First thought she just needed time to adjust. But—not now. She seems lethargic and wandering around in circles. I came out to check on her and she acts like her legs are weak.” Frustration and desperation heightened Carl's voice. “Damn the girl. Where is she when I need her?"
"Tell me where she lives. I'll fetch her and we'll head over to your place.” Dolan listened as Epps told him she had purchased the old Cartwright homestead. He knew the place well. Trudy Cartwright, the previous owner, was a hoot. “Be there in twenty.” He closed the telephone, pocketed it and headed for the door.
Lights shone in the windows of the small ranch home. Dolan smiled. After Trudy's husband passed in the fall, her spirits had dropped. Lonely, she had called Dolan several times on false pretenses, a limp or sneeze from her last remaining horse, nothing that required a veterinarian.
Hell. He didn't mind.
Truth? She was the closest thing to a mother he knew.
As he maneuvered his truck in front of the house, he saw the weathered siding and remembered the paint he purchased sitting on the floor-bed of the truck. Guess he'd have to return it or maybe Tracy—
Nah. What was he thinking?
Still she was lucky. The house was a homey place. Flowers in window boxes and a porch that surrounded the entire structure. A swing gently swayed in the cool breeze. By his recollections, the inside was just as charming.
Wasting no time, he opened his door and exited. His boots sounded hollow against the stairs as he climbed toward the front door. The doorbell was newly installed and so was the screen door, the last things he had completed before Mrs. Cartwright left. He gave the door a couple whacks.
A dog barked. In mere seconds, light flooded the porch. Dressed in an overnight shirt that barely covered her, Tracy stood before him with a gallon of Rocky Road ice cream in one hand, a spoon in the other and an expression of surprise on her face. The smudge of chocolate on her upper lip caught his attention immediately. What he would give to lick away the ice cream and maybe just make her dessert.
He wedged open the screen door. “Midnight snack?” A little ratty-looking dog darted out, yipping as he ran around Dolan's feet. He couldn't stand staring at the dab of ice cream on her lip. Ignoring the ankle biter, he reached out and wiped the chocolate from her mouth with his thumb.
Her tongue followed the path of his finger. “Uh.” She blinked and looked down. “Foxy. Get back in here.” The terrier-mix was quick in minding. She bounded through the doorway and sat quietly at Tracy's feet. Glancing over his shoulder once more, she asked, “You alone?"
He
Similar Books
