It's a Christmas Thing (The Christmas Tree Ranch #2)(53)

“Tracy.”

She turned back to look at him. He saw the gleam of tears in her eyes.

“Call me if you want to talk, or if you need anything,” he said. “I mean it.”

She shook her head. “We both need time.” With that she slipped to the ground, closed the door behind her, and fled into the house.

Rush drove back to the ranch. A sooty bank of clouds moving in from the west added to the gloom of the day—the kind of clouds that brought icy rain or thin, powdery snow that would blow away on the wind.

He battled the urge to pick up his cell phone, call Tracy, and try to put this nonsense to rest. But no, he had to respect her wishes to be left alone. All he could do was keep busy and hope for the best.

*

Even with the tree-selling season past its peak, the partners were working long hours. Late buyers still flocked to the ranch and to Hank’s tree lot for their fresh trees. The thought of the cash flowing in was enough to keep the partners in good spirits, but the pace was exhausting. They were all anxious for the coming holiday, when they could rest and celebrate a profitable season.

Rush had cut back his veterinary practice to emergency calls only, so he could help at the ranch. It helped to keep busy. Still, every spare moment found him thinking about Tracy. A week had passed since he’d let her off at her house. Still she hadn’t called.

Clara had begged him every day to take her to Tracy’s to see the kittens. It had been hard, telling her he was too busy. But he was doing his best to keep her entertained.

She was still spending time with the McFarlands. She also enjoyed playing with Bucket and “helping” with the tree sales when customers came. Rush had checked out a big box full of picture books and easy readers from the library. With a little instruction in the basics, Clara was learning to read. They read together every night before she went to bed. Rush cherished every moment of these times, knowing they would never come again.

Busy as he was, the thought of Tracy was never far from Rush’s mind. Did she miss him? Had she come to realize that as long as they had enough love, they could find a way to have a family? True, they hadn’t spent enough time together to develop a solid relationship. But he’d sensed from the beginning that he and Tracy were meant to be together. He could only hope that she felt the same way.

He’d fantasized about his future family with her. Now the picture he imagined had changed—their children, not alike or like them, perhaps of different races, maybe even with special needs. The only constant was that they would all be loved.

He yearned to call her and hear her voice, but every time he reached for the phone, he checked himself. She’d asked him for time. He would give it to her.

*

It was after midnight, a week before Christmas, when Rush’s ringing phone woke him out of a sound slumber. As his sleep-blurred vision focused on the display, his heart slammed. The caller was Tracy.

“What is it?” He was instantly wide awake.

“It’s Murphy.” She was sobbing, barely able to speak. “He’s in pain. I think he’s dying. I don’t know what to do.”

“Stay with him. Comfort him as much as you can. I’ll be right there.”

He flung on his clothes and boots. After pausing to wake Travis to tell him where he was headed, and to make sure Clara would be looked after, he grabbed his keys and raced out the front door.

Outside, it was snowing. Thick flakes swirled out of the night black sky, cloaking the world below in white velvet. Rush scarcely noticed the storm as he sprinted toward the Hummer and cleared the windshield with a sweep of his hand. Heedless of the snow, he started the engine with a roar, backed out of the drive, and shot down the lane to the highway.

Minutes later, he pulled up to the curb in front of Tracy’s house. Before getting out of the vehicle, he reached back for his medical bag. Included in its contents was an injection kit for putting animals out of their suffering. If he needed to use it, he could only hope that Tracy would allow him to do the right thing.

Through the closed front blinds, he could see the glow of a single lamp. He opened the unlocked door and stepped into the living room.

Dressed in faded flannel pajamas, Tracy was huddled on the floor next to the unlit fireplace. The old dog lay in his bed, not curled as usual, but on his side, with his head in her lap.

As Rush walked in, she raised a tear-stained face. Her eyes were swollen from weeping. “Thank you for coming,” she said. “He seemed all right when I went to bed, but when I woke up in the night, I found him like this. He flinches if I touch his body, and he’s barely breathing.”

“Let’s see what I can find out.” Rush used the stethoscope in his bag to check Murphy’s heart and lungs. His pulse was thready, his breathing the barest broken whisper.

“Can you do anything for him?” Tracy asked. “I know he must be suffering.”

Rush laid a hand on her shoulder, his touch as light and gentle as he could make it. He could feel her trembling.

“I think Murphy is telling you it’s time to go,” he said. “How it happens is up to you. We can put him to sleep, or we can wait for as long as it takes.”

“How long?”

“Not long. Maybe a few hours.”

“Isn’t there anything you can do to save him?” she pleaded.

“Even if there was, I wouldn’t be doing the old boy any favors. His body is failing. Take your time, Tracy. Either way, I’ll support your decision.”