Page 84 of Clara Knows Best

“Clara!” he said sharply, but she was out of the car. He swore, but after a moment he hurried after her.

She was right; it was a black and white border collie, and it was alive—just barely.

Clara was calling it Darling Baby right off the bat, soothing and reassuring it while she took stock of its injuries. He had never known her to show much interest in an animal before. She was nice to her brothers’ dogs and had learned to ride horseback fairly young, but he couldn’t recall her ever having—or wanting—a pet of her own.

“Jesse, look at her leg. We have to help her.”

He’d already seen it, but it was the damage to the animal’s midsection that counted. “Clara, this dog is dying.”

“No! She’s so alert. Look at her. She’s so pretty.” She lifted her eyes to his face, and they were full of unshed tears. “You can save her, can’t you?”

The tears were a gut punch. “Honey, she’s bleeding internally.”

“You’re a surgeon,” she reminded him quickly. “You can fix it.”

“I don’t know anything about dogs.”

“Mom said you’re brilliant,” she argued, in a voice that wavered a little. “She said you’re a miracle worker.”

“No, honey, I can’t work miracles. People said that because I got lucky once with a bad candidate.”

“You saved the biker and he’s doing great,” she pointed out desperately.

“Totally different wounds, Clara.”

But she wasn’t listening. A squad car made a U-turn in the median and pulled over behind them, shining bright headlights on them in the early morning gray. The door opened and a cop started towards them.

“What’s going on, folks?” Then he let out a wolf whistle. “Looks like a fashion plate, gotta be Clara Wilder. What are you doing on the side of the highway at dawn’s early light? Wow, that is one dead dog. That your dog, sweetheart?”

“No,” she answered fiercely. “Shut up, Jordan. You’re the worst.”

The young man looked surprised, and ditched the swagger. “Anything I can do to help?”

Clara was looking at Jesse again. “Iknowyou can save her. Please, Jesse.”

The dog whined softly, but remained still.

“Is there a vet in town?” he asked.

“Barely,” she fretted.

“Dr. Ochoa’s a livestock vet,” Jordan explained. “He’s getting up there in years, too. Only works half-days. Normally, I’d say try your luck with Doc Wilder, but…” He trailed off. “Marfa’s gonna be your best bet.”

“It’s too far,” Clara worried.

Jesse could hear the animal’s labored breathing and knew it was going to be a slow, painful death. “The humane thing to do—”

“No!”

The dog whined again. Clara shushed her, stroking a clean spot on the black and white coat with a hand that trembled. Then she looked up at Jesse again with her heart in her eyes.

“All right,” he decided reluctantly. At least some anesthesia would make the end easier. “Let’s get her to the office.”

“I can put her in the squad car,” Jordan offered. “Even got a blanket. Be right back.”

“You’re not going to put her to sleep,” Clara warned Jesse fearfully.

“As a last resort,” he said firmly.

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