Now and Always (2 page)

Katie approached Sheriff Ben O'Keefe, who was trying to redirect traffic. “Is the driver hurt?”

“Don't know. An ambulance is on the way.”

Katie strained to see what was going on through the chaos. Men worked to open the truck's passenger side door while others were trying to break into the mangled trailer. Katie observed the work and then impulsively raced to help, her former mission forgotten.

Working her way around the overturned trailer, Katie tried to peer through the narrow slits in the side wall. It was nearly impossible to count the heaving flesh trapped inside, but she estimated three, maybe four horses down, kicking and struggling to get out. Men worked feverishly to reach the injured animals, but the enclosed trailer defeated their efforts. The back door hung by one hinge, but the divider separating the back compartment from the front was jammed, making it almost impossible to reach the injured. Apparently the dead animals had been thrown out when the trailer jackknifed. Some had been hit by cars, judging from the damaged autos scattered along the
roadside. A portly man collapsed against the overturned trailer, breathing heavily and wiping sweat from his forehead. The cloud of smoke cast a stifling blanket, hampering rescue efforts.

Katie eased into the back of the overturned carrier, working her way cautiously to the crumpled and jammed divider. Her stomach seized at the sight of tangled limbs and the sound of the injured horses' screams. There had to be a way to free them before they sustained more injury. A bay kicked frantically, lunging against the divider. Blood spurted from a nasty shoulder gash.

“There, boy, take it easy,” Katie crooned, trying to calm the horse.

A shout and the wail of a siren heralded the arrival of emergency vehicles. Katie focused on the arrival of an ambulance, two firetrucks, and a couple of police cars, sirens blaring. Paramedics hit the ground before their vehicle fully stopped, racing to the truck cab. Firemen approached the overturned trailer, openly assessing the bedlam. Katie wanted to scream at them to move faster, but she knew they needed to determine what would be best for the horses' sake. Someone brought a Sawzall. Was it strong enough to slice through the metal trailer? Rescue workers were already using the Jaws of Life to cut through the truck cab and reach the driver pinned inside.

The screech of metal cutting metal sent the horses into a panic. Firemen sliced through twisted metal. Whining saws died away, and Katie eased to maneuver into line to help remove the animals. But a burly captain stepped in front of her.

“Sorry. You need to step back out of the way.”

“I can help. I've doctored animals all my life.”

“You could get hurt in there. If you want to help, you'll stand back and let us work.”

A tall, rawboned woman with short salt-and-pepper hair ran toward them. “I'm a vet.” She was allowed to pass to the scene of action.

A couple of men cautiously approached the trailer. Katie held her breath as they tried to untangle the downed animals. Finally they led the bay out at the end of a rope. One by one, the horses were removed. Frightened, shying at every noise, the trembling animals were led to safety. Two were limping and all were bleeding from numerous wounds. A stock trailer rattled up, restoring alarm. The men leading the horses spoke calmly, guiding them gently forward. One horse couldn't get up. “Broken legs and internal injuries,” someone in the crowd murmured. The vet administered an injection. After a short time the thrashing body went limp, and the horrible sound of an animal in agony was stilled. The carcass was dragged out and loaded on a flatbed trailer.

The woman vet glanced at Katie, her color drained. “Those horses look like someone took a baseball bat to them. It's a shame to allow this to happen in a civilized nation. Someone ought to do something about this disgrace.” A fireman called her, and she moved away to join him.

What disgrace? Accidents happen.

A news reporter held a microphone to the fire chief 's mouth, and Katie shamelessly eavesdropped. “How many horses were saved?”

“Four. At first we thought we only had four in the trailer, but when we got inside, one was down and buried under the weight of the others. Eight horses in all were involved.”

“Are the remaining ones going to be all right?”

“Can't say.” The chief lifted his hat for ventilation. “You'll need to talk to the vet — looked to me like most of them were hurt pretty badly. They got tossed around when the trailer overturned.”

Attendants strapped the truck driver to a body board and loaded him into the ambulance. A stench of oil and spilled gas, of blood and sweat and death, hung over the scene of the accident like a thundercloud mingling with the sharp, stinging scent of smoke.

Devils Tower loomed in the distance. The national monument formation jutted out of the smoky Black Hills landscape, looking almost surreal with the smoke billowing around its base and the flickering flames skirting the ridge. Katie knew several northern plains tribes called it Bears Lodge and considered it a sacred worship site, but it was probably best known for the role it played in the late seventies movie
Close Encounters
. Today the tower, the smoke, and the tragic wreck sent a shiver of apprehension rippling through Katie. She breathed a quick prayer.

Father, be with the driver and with these helpless animals.
You can work miracles, and it looks like the victims could sure
use one
.

“The driver will be lucky to get out of this alive.”

Katie turned to find Warren Tate beside her. Warren owned the ranch two miles to the south. Except for the seven years he'd recently spent on Wall Street, he'd been a fixture in these parts. Katie and Warren had gone to school together, and known each other most of their lives. Warren had returned from New York a few weeks earlier, but this was the first time Katie had bumped into him. She smiled. “I'd heard you were back. Welcome home!”

The former classmate removed his hat. “Katie.” His eyes skimmed her. “You're looking good.”

“Thank you. So are you.” The latter was an understatement. He looked terrific! Gone was the gangly, acne-prone teenager. In his place stood a self-possessed, darn good-looking man. Rumor had it he'd graduated college summa cum laude. Shortly afterwards, he left the state to make his fortune in New York on the stock exchange.

Warren's gaze focused on the frantic scene. Katie eased closer. “It's so tragic. Does anyone know how it happened?”

He inclined his head toward the distorted wreckage. “The driver hasn't regained consciousness.”

Katie's eyes scanned the highway where the rest of the carcasses were being loaded on the flatbed trailer. “It's a miracle anything survived.”

Warren lifted his Stetson and ran a hand through thick black hair. Katie had to admit that the years had worked to his advantage. He'd bloomed. His odd-colored eyes, a dark green hue, had been a distraction during his youth, but now they enhanced his features. In high school he'd been the bookish sort, not particularly handsome and certainly not part of the in crowd. He hadn't been a partyer. She'd liked that about him, but others called him a geek. Well, world, Warren Tate was anything but a geek now. He was a couple of inches taller than her own six feet, which made it nice to stand beside him. It hadn't been easy in high school when she had towered above him and most boys her age. Her gaze shifted to his ring finger. Empty . . .

Maybe Warren was like Katie, content to wait until Mrs. Right came along, though rumor also had it he'd been involved in a pretty nasty breakup prior to leaving the Big Apple.

Katie didn't have time to brood about her own lack of social life, much less Warren Tate's. Taking care of Grandpops until he died took time, then establishing the shelter . . . She glanced at her watch. “Oh, granny's skirts! I was due at the airport fifteen minutes ago!”

Warren turned to look at her. “New guest?”

Katie nodded. Everyone around knew that she took in battered women, but the town kept the information to themselves. Little Bush was a close-knit community, loyal to a fault, and the Addisons had been part of the community as far back as anyone remembered. It wasn't a large community, though it had grown since Katie graduated from high school. A couple of factories had moved in, and a few hometown boys made good, investing time and money into the community. Quite a few mom-and-pop businesses had sprung up, and the chamber of commerce boasted a healthy number of members. The town still had most of the original buildings, reminders that Little Bush was an old town with roots going back a long way. But there was still a hint of wildness, a feel of the frontier that outsiders sometimes found intimidating. If they wanted something more, Sundance and Gillette were a short drive away, and Cody, if you really wanted an outing.

Katie's Grandpops, old man Addison as the locals called him, was a crusty Little Bush councilman before he died six years ago. Paul and Willa Addison, Katie's maternal grandparents, had raised Katie from an infant when their daughter had been shot and killed by her jealous husband.

Because
of the abuse in her background, if mistreated women needed protection, Katie gave it, and Little Bush enforced it. Katie had been young, but she still remembered her mother's dying screams. They had been seared into her memory, and she vowed she would protect helpless women — with her own life if necessary — when she grew up.

Katie's thoughts returned to Warren. “What happens to the surviving animals?” She stepped back, allowing an emergency worker to pass.

He shook his head. “Overheard someone speculate they were on their way to the slaughterhouse.”

Katie's jaw dropped. Slaughterhouse! She knew these things happened, but . . . slaughterhouse?

“Why?”

“Why? Greed, of course.”

Katie had heard that animal byproducts was a huge business, but to see evidence of the cruelty turned her stomach. Sure, she was accused of taking in every stray that wandered her way, and if her house and yard were any indication of her being a pushover, she couldn't argue with the accusation. But horses, innocent animals, on their way to becoming glue or paste, or whatever they did with them, appalled her.

“How can they do that? The survivors. Where will they go? Who is going to take care of them till they heal?”

Warren shrugged. “If the rumors are true, they'll continue to their destination. If not, then I really don't know. Maybe they'll go to the humane society. I can't really say.”

“I want them.”

Warren glanced over. “You want them?”

“Yes. I want them if all that awaits them is the slaughterhouse. Who do I talk to?”

He shook his head, a grin shadowing the corners of his mouth. His clean-shaven features hadn't changed much over the years; his youthful complexion had cleared, but faded acne scars still shadowed his cheeks. Wall Street's pressure had done a job on him, folks said. Made him cynical. Sick of life. He pretty much stayed to himself, only going into town for groceries and supplies every couple of weeks.

He shifted. “I see the years haven't changed you.”

“Meaning what?”

“Meaning you're still a bleeding-heart trying to take care of the whole world.”

Katie shrugged. “And that's a bad thing?” That was most people's problem; because they couldn't take care of everything, they quit trying to take care of the things they could. Katie believed one person's efforts, regardless of how puny, made a difference, and she tried to live her life accordingly.

Katie's cell phone rang and she punched the on button. “Yes, this is Katie. Oh. Hi. Yes, I meant to call you this morning about the feed bill. I'll have the payment to you by morning — yes, in the morning. No later, Sue.” Katie flashed a lame grin in Warren's direction. “Yeah, can't really talk now. Thanks for calling.” She clicked the off button and resumed the conversation with Warren without missing a beat. “I really have to go. Who do I see about getting the animals?”

“You've got room for four near-dead horses?”

“I've got a barn and pasture. I'll make room.”

Shaking his head, Warren focused on the activity. “I haven't acquired injured horses on their way to the slaughterhouse, but I suppose if I was planning on it, I'd start by consulting Ben O'Keefe. Most likely he can trace the owner's name, maybe talk to the people at USDA or the humane society.”

“Ben?” Her eyes tracked the sheriff, busy trying to redirect traffic. “You think he'd help?” Not likely. She and Ben had been at sword's point since the night all those years ago when he'd failed to show up for their high school prom. The man had stood her up. She didn't hold grudges, but neither had she necessarily treated him cordially since that humiliating evening so long ago. She wasn't sure he would be overly eager to help her, though lately he'd been teasing her about dating. As if she'd date a man she couldn't trust. She hadn't stayed single all of her thirty-six years by practicing stupidity. Like Warren, she'd known Ben most of her life, but the two boys — at least at the time they were boys — were as different as rain and fire. Warren, though a nerd, had always been kind, courteous, with dark complexion and dark eyes, while Ben had rugged features, ruddy complexion, and unruly curly red hair. Feisty features — maddening features when she was sitting in a prom gown waiting for the man to show up. Warren's voice broke into her thoughts. “You'd have to pay the person who owns them something, I suppose — though if they're injured enough, he might pay you to take them off his hands.”

Katie shrugged and scribbled down the information on a notepad. “Thanks, Warren. Good to see you back.”

“No problem.” He tipped his Stetson. “I suppose your lady guest has an escort with her?”

Ah yes, this woman would have high security. Katie had been reluctant to take this particular case. She wouldn't have if a college schoolmate-turned-judge hadn't pleaded with her to give the woman temporary shelter and anonymity, the latter being of utmost importance. Elections were coming up, and if word spread that the party candidate was married to a wife beater, the party could lose a Senate seat. Katie's shelter only held three — no more than four women at the most, and with this celebrity arrival the house was full.