all dogs go to heaven?
Don’t be flip. This time the voice sounded a lot like Caroline’s and Erin actually flinched.
Caroline loved that dog. And Erin owed Caroline at least that much for all the times she stood by her, protected her, treated her like the daughter she never had the opportunity to have.
Once again her eyes strayed to the folder lying on her desk and she realized if she could manage it emotionally, this was an opportunity to hand Harvey his precious Hometown America wrapped with a gingham-print ribbon. But could she handle it?
She’d have to.
“Fine.” Erin closed her eyes and heard herself say the words that she never imagined herself uttering in this lifetime. “I’ll take the next flight out. I should be in Michigan by tomorrow afternoon.”
CHAPTER THREE
COLIN BARRETT’S SUV lumbered through puddles of slushy mud as he made his way carefully to Caroline Walker’s house. It was near nightfall and the rain had quickly turned to sleet with the promise of a full-blown, nasty snowstorm on the wind, but his wipers were doing a valiant job trying to keep his windshield clear and as long as he could still see, he wasn’t turning back.
A woman was coming all the way from San Francisco for this dog; the least he could do was make sure it hadn’t caught pneumonia by the time she got here.
He pulled onto the long, dirt driveway, his tires slipping a little in the mud, and turned the spotlight on. The dog, eyes reflecting the light, rose painfully to her feet from her place on the porch but managed to wag her tail in welcome.
“Poor thing,” he murmured, knowing from the dog’s stiff gait it wasn’t accustomed to staying outside for long periods of time. Caroline had probably let the dog out while she went with Charlie, figuring she’d only be gone for about an hour.
Colin pulled his slicker over his head and climbed out of the vehicle, narrowly missing a puddle that looked as if the Loch Ness monster could easily take a few laps in, and reached behind his seat for the control pole he’d borrowed from the animal control officer.
He walked slowly, offering soothing words of welcome until the old girl sniffed his hand and then gave him a warm lick with her tongue. Smoothing her damp fur, he started to slip the nylon loop around her neck but thought better of it. This dog was no Cujo, that was for sure.
“We don’t need this, do we, girl?”
She licked her chops and stared up at him expectantly. She was probably wondering where her master was, and if her dinner was coming, Colin realized.
“She’s on her way,” he said, feeling only slightly ridiculous for trying to make a dog feel better.
Suddenly his radio crackled to life.
“SR4, ten-nineteen.”
Return to station?
“This is SR4, ten-four.” Holstering his radio, he made quick work of getting the dog settled in the vehicle and jumped in himself.
Once inside, he switched to his Nextel for privacy.
“Hey, Joe, this is Colin. What’s going on?” he asked the dispatcher.
“Sorry, Colin, but Danni was hauled in while you were heading out to the Walker place. Thought you’d want to know right away.”
As soon as he heard his daughter’s name he felt a flush travel up his neck that was surely a result of his blood pressure hitting the ceiling. He bit back an oath, needing a moment before he was able to speak again without clenching his teeth. “I’m on my way.”
Twenty minutes later he was sliding his ID card into the back door of the police station, silently fuming. It had taken every ounce of training he possessed not to speed down the snow-covered streets of the quiet town as he drove to pick up his only child. This was becoming an all-too frequent occurrence and he didn’t know what to do about it.
“Hey, Col.” Joe Boland waved and gestured toward the holding cell. But before he could enter, Joe stopped him, his face grave. “They had to book her this time. I’m sorry.”
Colin pressed his lips together but nodded in understanding. “With what?”
“Possession,” he answered. When Colin swore and shook his head, Joe tried lessening the blow. “It was just a bit of weed—a misdemeanor—but she’s going to have to go to court. I think Marty’s already processed the citation, you can probably take her home.”
Colin thanked Joe for his help. This wasn’t the first time Danni had been caught hanging with a group of kids with a shady reputation, but the officers had let her off with a warning. This time, Colin knew, she’d gone too far. He couldn’t expect his buddies to keep covering for her. It wasn’t right. The law was the law.
A sense of loss filled him as he pushed open the holding cell door. Where was his little girl? And was she ever coming back?
Colin’s heart contracted at the sight of Danni slumped in the metal-backed chair, chewing at the cuticle on her index finger as she stared glumly at the dull metal table. She looked up as he entered the room, her expression changing quickly to the picture of defiance but not before he saw the relief in her eyes. Colin ignored the pain that lanced through him and made a curt gesture for them to leave. “Let’s go. You’re supposed to be at your Aunt Sara’s. She’s probably worried sick.”
“Yeah, right.” Danni shoved away from the table, the legs scraping against the old tile floor, as she shouldered her backpack and stalked past Colin with more attitude than an MTV diva on concert night.
“An attitude like that won’t land you anywhere but more trouble, young lady,” he said to her back as they walked out of the station and into the biting cold. He hit the automatic door lock on his key ring and both locks popped up in unison. “You’re in enough trouble as it is. Do you have any idea what could have happened to you out there? The weather alone made it dangerous, never mind the company you’ve recently taken up with. And what about your homework? Or the fact that you have school tomorrow?”
“Whatever.” Danni jerked the door open and slid in, noticing after she took her seat that there was a dog in the back. Startled, she dropped her scowl long enough to give him a questioning look. “What’s with the dog?”
“The shelter’s closed and, as you can tell, there’s a bad storm. I didn’t want her to freeze to death,” he answered, amazed he was able to keep from yelling. He was so mad he was shaking.
“How sweet,” she said, reverting back to the sour-faced teen that he’d found sitting at the station. She gave the dog a long look then wrinkled her nose. “It smells like wet dog in here.”
“And you smell like cigarettes and stale beer,” he returned. “Frankly, I think I prefer the smell of the dog.”
The black look he received was completely out of place on the face of his thirteen-year-old daughter and made him wish that he could turn back time—to change what had gone so horribly wrong between them.
But he couldn’t and because of that he could feel her slipping further and further away from him with each sullen glare, each angry exchange. Lately, she seemed
