a rush. “You know...’viting kids to be in the wild p-pony race. Did you s-s-sign me up, Mom?”
Pursing her lips, Angie turned at the sound of the oven timer and bent to retrieve two more sheets of cookies. “That’s not why Deputy Adams is here. I haven’t committed to letting you be in that race, Lucas. Besides, it takes three to make up a team.”
“You should sign him up,” Duke said, smiling at the boy he felt sympathy for. Duke knew what stuttering was like. He’d been plagued by the problem himself as a youngster, and it still hurt to think about the humiliation of it.
“The Wild Pony Race is good, all-around fun,” he said, addressing Angie. “For the past three years the sheriff’s office has sponsored the race, which is why I distributed entry packets to various kid groups.”
Angie eyed her son with a heavy heart. He had started stuttering last year in first grade. The truth was he got teased a lot, and he hadn’t made friends as she had hoped. “We don’t have close neighbors,” she said for Duke’s benefit. “During the school year I clerk in the elementary-school office. Between that, the escalating horse-cookie business and my rescues, I don’t have a lot of time for Luke to make playdates. You may recall that my grandfather was ill for some time. His care, the shelter and raising Lucas added up to more than a full-time job.” She fussed at the counter full of cookies. Moving the bowl of those still unmade, she said a bit stiffly to her visitor, “Thank you for the community update.” Her gaze cut again to her son.
Duke could see she didn’t want to worry the boy by mentioning the break-ins. “Uh, I never got around to telling you exactly why I’m here,” he said after clearing his throat. “Today a neighbor reported seeing a black horse in one of your fields. If you don’t mind, I’ll take a look around, since the horse fits the description of the stallion missing from Thunder Ranch.”
“You think I...?” She broke off to brace her hands on her hips. “Listen, Deputy Adams, if that stallion is in one of my fields, he got there without my knowledge. The only black horse I have is an old gelding Carl Peterson found wandering along the road outside his fence line. Obviously the horse got too old to serve any purpose to his former owner, except to cost him for feed. So they turned him out to fend for himself. That’s happening more and more in these down economic times.”
Duke frowned. “That’s terrible.” He realized Angie hadn’t said someone left the horse to die, but that’s what she meant. “I can’t believe the insensitivity of some animal owners. Those kinds of fools shouldn’t be allowed to own a horse,” he ended emphatically.
“I’m glad you feel that way,” Angie said. She reached over and shut off her oven, then put the uncooked dough in a walk-in pantry. “I’ll finish baking after I give you the grand tour of Barrington Rescue Ranch, Deputy.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” Duke held open the screen and stepped back to let Angie and her son pass. “Call me Dylan, or Duke,” he said. “We do see each other at church and around town.”
“It’s a deal, if you stop calling me ma’am. Angie will do.”
“I l-like Luke, better than Lucas,” the boy said, bouncing along. “Your d-dog sni-niffed my hand,” he stuttered. “Wh-what’s his name?”
“Zorro. Have you seen the movie? Zorro wore a black mask, and my German shepherd has the same look about him.”
“Yep,” the boy said, squinting up at the tall man. “Hey, w-we rhyme, Duke and Luke. Isn’t that c-cool, Mom?” Luke said, giving a little hop.
She darted a sidelong glance at the man walking next to her, and found it charming how he grinned and tousled her son’s impossible cowlick. Her grandfather had been the only man in Luke’s life from the day he was born. Gramps doted on Luke until the old man took sick. His passing had been a blow to her and Luke—quite possibly harder on him. Still, Angie didn’t want to make too much of Dylan Adams’s show of kindness toward her fatherless child, even though his whole demeanor sparked a warm spot in the center of her chest. A man like that was worth a lot.
Chapter Two
Duke slowed his steps and smiled as he watched Luke playing tag with Zorro. “My dog loves all the attention,” he said, waiting while Angie checked the enclosure and the feed trough of a potbellied pig.
“This is Layman. I’m trying to find him a home. There was a time potbellied pigs were considered ideal pets. Once the novelty wore off, and people discovered they really were pigs with just a bit better disposition, a new animal fad replaced them, and they get discarded like old tennis shoes.”
“That sucks,” Duke grumbled, bending to scratch the fat white pig behind his ears. “Pets are part of the family.”
Angie had cut a shock of fresh lettuce from her garden as they walked past. She scattered the leaves in Layman’s trough. “Sadly, not everyone believes that,” she said, growing serious all of a sudden. “My grandparents ran this animal rescue ranch, but it’s grown since I took over. And costs keep rising.”
“Ace mentioned he treats your animals.”
“I hate calling him, because half the time he doesn’t charge me. And bless your aunt for spending time showering love on some of my neediest pets.” They walked on to a pen full of goats. “The family who raised these goats had to move when the husband found work in the city. The babies are so cute I can’t bear to part with them. I’ll probably wish I had when they grow bigger and start being pesky.”
“You have an odd assortment,” Duke remarked, when a very pregnant donkey lumbered up to the fence. “I would have sworn this was primarily cattle and horse country. Where do these all come from?”
“Oh, people drive out from surrounding towns and dump some off in the middle of the night,” Angie said. “Some bring abandoned animals that wander onto their land. I have three sheep from a family whose daughter raised them in 4-H. She went off to college. Her dad is a long-haul trucker, and his wife wanted to go on the road with him. They planned to sell the sheep, but the daughter couldn’t bear the thought of sending them off to be lamb chops.”
Duke laughed. “You’re as soft a touch as Ace, I can tell,” he said as Luke ran up followed by Zorro. The boy stuttered his way through telling his mom he wished their two dogs were this much fun.
“Honey, you know the dogs we currently have were mistreated. They’re afraid of people. We need to be patient.”
“I—I know,” the boy said, as he went to his knees and flung both arms around Duke’s big dog.
“There’s a tennis ball in the backseat of my truck,” Duke said. “If it’s okay with your mom, Zorro loves to play fetch.”
“C-c-can I?” His hazel eyes lit. Duke figured the boy’s father must have had brown eyes, because Angie’s eyes were almost a silvery-blue.
“You may,” she stressed, taking time to point out the difference between can and may.
The adults stood in silence as boy and dog tore back down the path. Duke broke the silence first. “If the only reason you haven’t signed him up for the Wild Pony Race is a lack of teammates, I can ask around and see if anyone in his age group is in need of a third person.”
Angie clamped her teeth over her bottom lip. “I guess you noticed my reluctance
