Colleen Coble (40 page)

“He’s caught it!” Bree said, running after her dog. Naomi followed Charley. Bree heard the ranger shout as he realized they were disobeying his instructions, but then the sounds of people and cars fell away as though they had slipped into another world. The forest engulfed them, and the rustling of the wind through the trees, the muffled sounds of insects and small animals, and the whispering scent of wet mud and leaf mold all welcomed Bree as though she’d never been away. In spite of their familiarity, Bree knew the welcome was just a facade. The North Woods still guarded its secrets from her.

After nearly two hours, Bree was hot and itchy. She started to sit on a fallen log, then the drone of honeybees inside alerted her, and she avoided it, choosing instead to rest on a tree stump to catch her breath. Though the bees were sluggish this time of year, she didn’t want to take any chances. Naomi thrashed her way through the vegetation as she rushed to catch up with Bree and the dogs.

Samson had lost the scent about ten minutes ago, and he crisscrossed the clearing, searching for the lost trail with his muzzle in the air. Bree unfastened a canteen from her belt and took a gulp of water. Though warm, the water washed the bitter taste of insect repellant from her tongue. She dropped her backpack onto the ground and pulled out a small bag of pistachios. Cracking the nuts, she tossed the shells onto the ground. She munched the salty nutmeats and took another swig of water.

Naomi came up behind her, short of breath. “Anything?” She pushed away a lock of hair that had escaped her braid. Naomi was like a cocker spaniel with her soft brown hair and compassionate eyes—and like a spaniel, just as persistent. Her spirit never flagged, and she always managed to transfer her optimism to Bree.

Bree shook her head and held out the bag of nuts to Naomi. “Want some?”

Naomi wrinkled her nose. “I don’t know how you can stand to eat those things. Give me walnuts or pecans, not those funny green things. You eat so many of them, we’d never need search dogs to find you; we’d just follow the shell trails.”

Bree grinned and put the bag of nuts back in her bag. She screwed the lid back onto the canteen and fastened it to the belt around her waist. “Time to get moving again.”

“Charley’s lost the trail,” Naomi said. Charley nosed aimlessly among a patch of wildflowers while Samson thrust his head into the stream running to their right.

“Maybe the other searchers are having better luck.” Bree snapped her fingers, and Samson came to her. He shook himself, and droplets of water sprayed her jeans. She knelt and took his shaggy head in her hands and stared into his dark eyes. “I know you’re trying, buddy,” she whispered. “But can you try just a little harder?” Samson’s curly tail swished the air, and he licked her chin as if to say he’d do what he could. And Bree knew he would. As a search dog, Samson was in a class by himself.

Bree knew dogs. From the time she could barely toddle, she’d had a dog. When she and Rob had lived in Oregon, she’d been introduced to K-9 Search and Rescue, and she knew it was what she was meant to do. Margie, her first dog, had been a pro too, but she’d had a stroke three years ago, about six months after Samson had come along.

She’d never seen a dog with as much heart as Samson. His markings and size betrayed his German shepherd lineage, but his curly coat was all chow. Since the day she’d found him in a box by the river, barely alive and not yet four weeks old, his gaze had spoken to her more clearly than any human words could. When he’d turned his head that day and tried to lick her hand, she lost her heart. There was a special bond between her and Samson, and he loved search and rescue as much as she did. Together they’d been on search missions all over the country as part of the FEMA team.

He whined and sniffed the air as if determined not to let her down.

“If Samson can’t find the kids, we might as well all go home,” Naomi muttered. “He could find a flea in a hay field.”

Bree grinned. “The fleas seem to find him.” But she knew Naomi was right. Samson was special. She wanted him to prove it today.

Up ahead, Samson began to bark and then raced away. Bree’s adrenaline kicked into overdrive. “He’s found the scent again.” Her fatigue forgotten, she followed the dogs.

A
BOUT
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ITA finalist Colleen Coble is the author of several bestselling romantic suspense novels, including
Tidewater
Inn
, and the Mercy Falls, Lonestar, and Rock Harbor series.