Part 2
Before Owen could step past the fence, the shepherd’s rear foot slid out from under her.
He caught the movement and stopped. Whatever she wanted to do, she would not manage it for long. And the puppies couldn’t stay here without her.
He unfastened the quilted tote from his pack and shook it open beside the shelter. One wool blanket went inside. He removed the emergency sheet from the panel and tucked it around the outside of the tote, leaving the top clear.
The mother came back to the opening when he reached for the first puppy.
Owen held still with his hand beneath the little body. He let her smell his wrist. Then he lowered the puppy into the lined carrier.
The second followed without a sound. The smallest objected, kicking one oversized paw against his glove.
“I heard you,” Owen murmured.
The shepherd leaned in, checked all three, and looked at him again. He folded the top against the wind without closing off the air. Then he offered her Bernard’s cap.
This time she started walking before he had put it away.
He carried the tote close against his side. Beneath the pines, snow stopped striking his face and began dropping down the back of his collar instead. The shepherd moved a short distance, paused, and went on. Sometimes she looked back. More often she simply stood until she could make her legs work again.
Owen shortened his stride to hers.
Near a stump, he saw a strip of brown paper protruding from the snow. He pulled it free. A few pieces of dry dog food rolled into his palm from a folded corner.
The shepherd had stopped farther down the trail.
“So he brought supper.”
He put the torn sack in his pack and followed.
The ground began to fall away. Between the trunks, an open stretch let the wind drive snow low across their path. The dog stumbled, recovered, and took three more steps.
Owen set the carrier down as her hindquarters sank.
She tried to get up before he reached her. He laid his hand on her shoulder, steady rather than forceful.
“That’s your part done.”
She pushed against his palm. A low, unhappy sound came from her throat.
He glanced uphill. Two large rocks formed a pocket sheltered from the wind. He took the puppies there first, then returned for their mother.
She went rigid when he lifted her. He adjusted his arms beneath her chest and hindquarters and carried her without speaking. By the time he lowered her onto the emergency blanket, her body had stopped resisting.
He opened the tote beside her. Three small noses stirred. The dog stretched her neck until she could touch the nearest puppy.
Owen laid Bernard’s cap between her front paws.
She rested her chin on it.
He studied the trees below them, fixing the rock formation and a split pine in his mind. The puppies were out of the wind. Their mother could reach them. He had done what he could here.
“I’m going on,” he told her. “I’ll bring him back.”
Without her choosing the turns, the trail became harder to read. Owen worked slowly at the first fork, looking under branches where the snow was thinner. At the second, he found a repeated scrape running beside a few nearly covered impressions.
A walking stick, perhaps. Something narrow had been pressed down, lifted, and dragged.
Farther on, a broken length of ash lay against a root. The grip had been shaped by hand and polished by use. Fresh pale wood showed at the break.
Owen put it down and looked toward the old rail grade below.
He called Bernard’s name once.
A branch knocked against another. Snow hissed across dead grass.
Then a voice answered from the wrong side of the embankment.
“Down here.”
Owen moved toward it, testing the ground before each step. The rails had been gone for years, but old ties and drainage cuts remained. A section of livestock fence had collapsed into one ditch.
Bernard lay among the broken rails, his right boot pinned at an awkward angle. His coat was powdered white. The hand resting on his chest shook hard enough to rattle its cuff button.
Owen slid down beside him.
Bernard looked over his shoulder, searching.
“Tess?”
“She led me this far. She’s resting with the puppies.” Owen brushed snow from the trapped boot. “Three puppies, all breathing, all together.”
Bernard shut his eyes. His next breath came out unevenly.
Owen touched the exposed skin above the boot and asked him to move his toes. Bernard managed a little motion.
“Good. Leave the rest to me.”
“I’ve been leaving it for several hours.”
“Then you’re experienced.”
Bernard opened his eyes. “You always make house calls this cheerful?”
“Only to customers lying under fences.”
The old man’s mouth twitched.
Owen examined the rails. One pressed across the outside of the boot; another held the ankle against frozen ground. He could probably shift the wood alone, but not while keeping the leg properly supported.
He took out his radio. It required two calls before a voice came through clearly.
Russell Danner was running the volunteer crew that afternoon. Owen recognized the quick, clipped delivery before Russell gave his name.
Owen described the drainage cut, Bernard’s condition, and the route from the north access. He kept one hand against Bernard’s shoulder while he spoke.
“We’re clearing a fallen pine off the county road,” Russell told him. “Once I can get through, we’ll come in from that end. Figure twenty minutes, maybe half an hour.”
“Circulation’s present. He’s alert. We’ll need leverage and somebody to stabilize the leg.”
“On our way as soon as the saw crew gives us room. Insulate him from the ground. And don’t let him get quiet.”
Bernard lifted his head. “I’d like to register a complaint.”
Russell heard him through the open radio. “Save it for me, Bernard. I’ll bring paper.”
Owen spread his folding mat and worked it beneath Bernard’s upper body. He tucked the loose side of the old man’s coat under him and checked the boot again.
Bernard watched the pack.
“Anything in there for a leaking roof?”
“Depends how big the roof is.”
That earned a small laugh, followed by another bout of shivering.
Owen asked about the dog shelter.
“The pen roof went this morning,” Bernard said. “Too much snow. I got them out before the rest fell.”
He paused to wet his lips.
“The blue panel was handy. Used to be a workshop door. Bank breaks some wind, panel breaks the rest. I put down straw and those blankets.”
“And went back for food.”
“Food. More bedding. I thought I’d be quick.” Bernard glanced at his boot. “Stick broke when I slipped. Fence finished the job.”
Owen checked the time without turning his wrist where Bernard could see it.
After a moment, the old man said, “She found me, you know.”
“Tess?”
“Came right down in here. Wouldn’t leave.” His fingers picked at a frayed seam on his coat. “Pups were up there alone. I kept telling her to go back.”
Owen waited.
“I had to shout at her.” Bernard looked away. “Never done that before.”
Snow collected on the broken rail above them. Owen brushed it off before it could fall onto Bernard’s face.
“Eventually she went,” Bernard said. “I was glad. Hated watching her do it.”
Owen kept his hand on the rail a moment longer, then asked what kind of lumber Bernard preferred for an outdoor gate.
For the next several minutes, Bernard supplied a detailed indictment of cheap boards, careless joinery, and hardware made to look durable in a package. When his voice weakened, Owen offered an opinion Bernard could disagree with.
It worked well enough.
Then Bernard said, “Sorry to spoil your afternoon.”
Owen looked down sharply.
In his memory, Ruth sat on the edge of their bed, apologizing because she needed help standing. Another day, she had apologized for making him drive her to an appointment. He could still hear the care she took with the word.
“Don’t say that.”
Bernard blinked at him.
Owen adjusted the coat again, more roughly than necessary. “You didn’t arrange this.”
“No. But a man wears out his welcome if he needs enough.”
Owen’s jaw tightened. “With whom?”
Bernard looked up through the bare branches. “You live long enough, you find out.”
Owen had no answer ready that wouldn’t sound like an argument. He watched the old man’s trembling fingers and thought of all the times he had told Ruth she had nothing to apologize for, without asking why she felt she did.
The radio spared him from answering.
Russell was close.
A few minutes later, boots crunched along the grade. Russell appeared in a reflective rescue coat, broad shoulders crowded beneath the branches. A younger volunteer followed with a medical pack, a compact sled, and lifting tools.
Russell knelt across from Owen and looked Bernard over.
“You picked an inconvenient place to take a rest.”
“Your roads weren’t comfortable enough.”
“Good. Still complaining.”
They worked in a small, careful space. The volunteer supported the lower leg. Russell set a block beneath his pry bar. Owen controlled the boot while the rail rose just enough to release its pressure.
Bernard drew one sharp breath when his foot came free. He made no other sound.
They splinted the ankle and wrapped him before shifting him onto the sled. Russell checked his condition again, then took hold of the tow straps.
Bernard caught Owen’s sleeve.
“Tess is waiting.”
“We need to get you warm,” Russell said.
Bernard didn’t look at him. His fingers stayed closed on Owen’s jacket.
“Bring me to her…”
To read the rest of the story – CLICK the NEXT button 👇👇👇