High Country Hearts. Glynna Kaye

happened? Did you hit him?”

      What kind of assumption was that? “No, but it looks like someone did.”

      With gentle fingers, Rob inspected the pup, cupping its head and lifting it slightly as he bent to get a better look at the damage. “He’s got quite a cut here. Look at the dried blood. And it’s still oozing.”

      “Is he going to be okay?” She gave Elmo’s flank a reassuring pat.

      With a yelp, the pup’s head jerked toward her, eyes filled with pain. She yanked her hand back, but the good-natured dog didn’t snap at her.

      “Looks like that cut isn’t his sole problem. We need to get him to a vet.” He glanced at her as his bloodied hands stroked the little lab. “I hate to move him, but he’s lost considerable blood. Could you run back in there and grab a sheet? There’s an old one in the pile on the middle of the floor.”

      She nodded and staggered to her feet. Inside she found the wadded-up fabric and pulled it free. Raced back to Rob’s side.

      “Spread it out next to him. Then fold it in half. I’ll see if I can lift him onto it without hurting him too much.”

      She did as she was told. Still on his knees, Rob carefully gathered the whimpering pup into his arms and lowered him onto the cotton cloth.

      “You’re getting blood all over you.”

      Rob swiped at the front of his now-stained T-shirt, then brushed his hair back with a forearm, leaving a crimson streak across his forehead.

      “Let’s get this wrapped around him. Then I’ll carry him to the Jeep. I’ll drive. You hold him.”

      She nodded, watching in apprehension as he swaddled Elmo in the sheet and lifted him into his arms. The pup didn’t struggle, but she wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or bad.

      At the open-topped Jeep Wrangler, Rob nodded toward the passenger side of the vehicle. “Hop on in and buckle up.”

      She obeyed, then he gently lowered the pup onto her lap. Its pitiful little face turned to keep a watchful eye on Rob.

      “Got him? He’s an armful.”

      “He’s really shaking, isn’t he?”

      “Probably in shock.” Rob took her hand and laid it against the pup’s sheet-swathed shoulder. “If you can press firmly right about here, maybe that will slow the blood flow.”

      Then he gently pushed her knee out of harm’s way and slammed the door. Loped to the other side and climbed into the driver’s seat. His countenance creased as he glanced at her. “You okay?”

      “Yeah.”

      He nodded in apparent approval as he started the engine, then backed the Jeep enough to swing it around and head for the rock-and-dirt road that wound through the Singing Rock property. Acutely aware of gravel crunching under the tires and the sun dappling through the pines overhead, she adjusted her hold on Elmo as his warm body continued to shiver in her arms. “I wonder what happened to him?”

      “No tellin’.” Rob eased the vehicle around a sharp corner. “Maybe something fell on him. He’s rather accident-prone.”

      “Is he?” She glanced down at Elmo and gave him a gentle squeeze, praying he’d be okay. “Poor little guy.”

      The pup lifted his nose and swiped a tongue across her chin. She glanced up in time to see a smile tug at Rob’s lips. Where was her camera when she needed it? Record that one for posterity.

      He nodded toward the pup. “Looks as if he thinks he’s found a friend.”

      “For life,” she said, bracing her feet as they jolted along the rutted, winding road. Passing by another of the property’s cabins, its guests relaxing on the porch, she marveled at the day’s turn of events. When she’d awakened that morning, never in her wildest dreams would she have imagined she’d be on a rescue mission with an injured dog that wasn’t hers. Or with Rob McGuire, for that matter.

      He wasn’t hers, either.

      Yet.

      She directed her smile at Elmo. “Hang in there, Rob’s going to save you.”

      Halfway across a creek that snaked through Singing Rock’s acreage, the Jeep jerked to a halt on the weathered bridge. Rob stuck his arm out the window, motioning to a muscular, Western-hatted man picking his way along the edge of the water, a fishing pole and tackle box in hand.

      “Brett!”

      The man, dressed in jeans and a collarless blue knit shirt, waved back with a broad smile. But when Rob crept the Jeep to the other side, it must have registered that the tone and gestures weren’t of a happy nature. The man swiftly hopped across the rocks, then scrambled up the embankment, apprehension evident in his features.

      “Your mutt got into something again,” Rob explained as the man came up to his door. “We’re taking him to a vet. You comin’?”

      The man’s questioning gaze swept to Elmo. Then to her.

       Say no. Please, please, please?

      She wanted to ride to town with Rob.

      Alone.