Even the Nights are Better. Margot Dalton

she found it so puzzling, this whole business of Beverly and her volunteer work with the children at the hospital. Carolyn wanted very much to believe that Beverly’s motives were sincere, that in those sick little kids at the Crystal Creek Community Hospital the restless beautiful girl had finally found something to hold her interest and release her from her intense preoccupation with herself.

      Still Carolyn couldn’t help being a little skeptical, wondering if the kids were just a new audience Beverly was playing to, a whole new group to dazzle with her gorgeous looks and that beauty-queen smile of hers.

      Carolyn’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of another vehicle in the driveway, then the slamming of a door and brisk footsteps.

      Dr. Manuel Hernandez, the local veterinarian, appeared in the doorway, white teeth flashing in his dark handsome face.

      “Good mornin’, Carolyn,” he drawled cheerfully. “What’s this big urgent problem of yours?”

      Carolyn eyed the young man thoughtfully. “You’re awful perky this morning, Manny,” she observed. “Seems like every single soul in Crystal Creek got up with the chickens this morning.”

      “Not me. I was up all night,” he said, leaning against one of the box stalls, relaxed and casual in blue jeans and a soft plaid shirt. “Just over at the Double C, in fact. One of J.T.’s mares had trouble foaling, and J.T. and Ken and I worked on her for hours.”

      “Oh, no. Is she all right?” Carolyn asked with quick concern.

      “Mother and baby doing just fine,” Manny told her with a smile. “It was that new dark sorrel three-year-old, the one Lynn calls Cherokee. Finally dropped a real nice little bay filly, just a half hour ago.”

      “Well, that’s good,” Carolyn said with relief.

      “But I’m sure one tired cowboy,” Manny said, stretching his lean muscular body and rubbing wearily at his eyes. “I hope y’all don’t have a couple of heifers calving, or something. I want to go home and grab a few hours’ sleep.”

      Carolyn gazed critically at the dark-haired young man, shaking her head. “Just look at you,” she commented. “About three times handsomer than any man has a right to be, and you spend all your nights working. It’s time you started thinking about getting married and settling down, Manny.”

      “Oh, I think about it, Carolyn,” he said. “I think about it a lot, actually. You just find me the right woman and I’ll be ready in a minute.”

      Carolyn grinned. “From what I hear, Manuel Hernandez, you’ve got no problem finding women.”

      “That’s true,” he agreed cheerfully. “It’s finding the right one that’s always the problem.”

      Carolyn laughed, leading him across the barn to where the terrier lay.

      As soon as he saw the dog, Manny’s teasing and laughter vanished and he was all business, examining the little animal with long sensitive fingers.

      Finally he straightened and turned to Carolyn, his face grave. “Most of the injuries are quite superficial, really,” he said. “I could put a cast on the leg and stitch up this cut in just a few minutes, but that’s not the main problem, Carolyn. I think you’d better let me put him down.”

      “Put him down?” she echoed, staring wide-eyed at the young veterinarian. “Why would you do that, Manny, if his injuries are superficial? I’m willing to pay for the treatment, and I’ll give him whatever care he needs afterward.”

      “I said most of the injuries weren’t serious,” Manny said patiently. “The problem, Carolyn, is that his jaw is shattered. Now, this little guy is just a stray from God knows where. I’m sure you don’t want to pay for the kind of delicate and extensive surgery that would be necessary to repair his jaw. I doubt that any of my clients would, no matter how crazy they were about their dogs.”

      Carolyn hesitated. She was flooded all at once with deep sorrow, an anguish so hot and intense that she was afraid to analyze it. “Isn’t there any alternative?” she asked in a low strained voice. “Anything else we could do?”

      Manny shrugged. “The only alternative,” he said, “is to strap the jaw into position and then feed him liquids by hand until it knits together, if it’s ever going to. Otherwise the rest of his injuries will heal, but he’ll gradually starve to death. He sure can’t chew and swallow, not like this.”

      “What kind of liquids?”

      “Carolyn,” Manny said gently, “it’s a big job to take on, you know. It would take hours of patience every day to get enough nourishment into him.”

      Carolyn knew Manny was probably right. She was being stubborn and unreasonable over this whole thing, but she couldn’t help herself.

      “What kind of liquids?” she repeated.

      Manny shrugged. “Just about anything that’s protein rich and easy to digest,” he said. “Bread soaked in milk, soft dog food mixed up in a blender with beef stock or soup, that kind of thing. Whatever you’d normally feed him, only liquefied, trickled down his throat one spoonful at a time.”

      “Okay,” Carolyn said in a barely audible voice, avoiding the younger man’s eyes. “Maybe I’ll… I’ll give it a try for a while. If you’d just patch him up, Manny, I’ll take it from here.”

      The veterinarian nodded, started toward the door and then paused, giving Carolyn a keen thoughtful glance. He seemed about to say something further but apparently thought better of it, turning away and striding out to his van to get his equipment.

      CHAPTER TWO

      “WHAT KIND OF DOG is he exactly, Manny? Besides being a floor mop, I mean.”

      Manny Hernandez stretched his body wearily and turned to Carolyn, who was leaning in the doorway of the barn watching as he packed his equipment away.

      “Well, Carolyn, what he looks like to me is a very expensive little mistake. I’d say he’s a cross between a couple of small terriers, a cross that never should have happened. Probably Yorkshire and Sealyham, by the looks of him.”

      “I don’t know much about lapdogs,” Carolyn said. “Those are both furry little mop types, right?”

      “More or less. Especially the Yorkie. But I think this fella’s got a lot of Sealyham mixed in there, too, and that’s where he gets that silky crinkly texture to his coat. Nice little dog,” he added. “Probably perky and loyal and intelligent, too, but not worth a hell of a lot.”

      “You mean because he’s a crossbred?”

      “Sure,” Manny said, pausing by the open door of his van. “I’d guess that it was an accidental mating, and it produced a litter of hybrids that aren’t worth much except as house pets, which is why this little guy ended up where he did, I expect.”

      “You mean,” Carolyn said quietly, “they figured they might as well just dump him if they didn’t want him anymore because he isn’t worth enough to bother selling him?”

      Manny shrugged. “Sometimes their intentions aren’t all that bad, Carolyn, the people who do this. They’ve got a pet they can’t look after for some reason, and they genuinely believe that the ranches out here are just spacious limitless places that can give a happy home to any stray animal.”

      Carolyn nodded. “That was my very first impression when Vern brought him in,” she said. “That he was likely an abandoned pet, I mean, who’d been deliberately dumped off out here. But I wonder…”

      She paused, moving the toe of her boot with apparent aimlessness in the soft damp dirt of the driveway while Manny waited for her to finish her sentence.

      “What if he really is somebody’s pet, Manny?” she forced herself to ask, looking up at the young veterinarian. “Some local kid’s dog that everybody’s