Page 5 of Sweet Beginnings

“At least not from us,” Rachel added.

“So, if Mom has whatever is going on under control, she is not going to like us bringing in the sheriff.”

Preston pinched the bridge of his nose. “No, but all this is simply—”

A scratching at the back door, followed by a single woof had everyone turning their heads toward the sounds.

“Brady,” a couple of voices muttered.

Another bark and the siblings already on their feet sprinted to the door.

Brady seemed to focus directly on Preston, maybe because he was the brother who looked the most like Kade, or maybe he was simply the closest to the door, but the dog let out a single woof and doubled around, hurrying away from the house.

“I guess we’re following the dog.” Preston raised his hands and quickly dropped them to his sides.

Jillian muttered, “We don’t have any wells.” The teasing reference to Lassie and Timmy falling down the well fell flat on most of them. Especially once they one by one realized the dog was now galloping at full speed and there was no way they were going to keep up on foot.

“I’ll get the four-wheeler,” Rachel shouted over her shoulder.

Carson shook his head. “Jeep would be better. Then we can all ride together.”

Jillian stopped in her tracks. “I’ll stay put. At least one of us should be here in case that dog isn’t taking us to Mom and only leading us on a wild goose chase to a stash of buried dog treasures.”

“Good idea.” Preston did his best to sound calm and collected and hide the fear from his voice. Right about now, none of this looked good to him.

A few minutes more and the dog barked again, this time doing an impatient-with-them dance in place, and once again bolting across the field when the Jeep appeared ready to follow his lead.

Rachel shook her head. “I swear that dog is definitely directing us somewhere and none too happy that it’s taken us this long to follow.”

Preston’s first thought was it better not be a treasure trove of dog bones, but his second thought kicked that aside—hard. If it wasn’t bones, then it would be his mother, and if she needed to send the dog out with an SOS, wherever she was, couldn’t be good.

As his speed demon sister drove them over the uneven terrain, the backseat of the Jeep sent him nearly airborne again. If he wasn’t careful, the next bump might just send him flying off the back end and the poor dog would have to do search and rescue.

“There!” Preston pointed ahead to a big blur of a horse on the horizon. “Blaze is just standing.”

“Then Mom should be nearby.” Except the dog wasn’t running toward the horse, the animal ran at a diagonal. He was heading toward the fence line between their land and Doc Conroy’s property. Preston didn’t think he’d ever hear himself say this while his sister Rachel was at the wheel, but never say never: “Gun it.”

Carson yelled over the roar of the engine. “When the dog stops, slow the hell down. We don’t want to run Mom over.”

There. Someone had finally said it out loud. None of them expected to find their mother picking flowers. In what seemed like only a heartbeat of time, the dog stopped at the fence line and Rachel eased her foot from the gas pedal. The closer they got, the tighter the knots in his stomach twisted. He couldn’t quite make out what the dog was doing, and then he heard a collective gasp at the same time he figured out what Brady was up to. Ever so gingerly, the dog that had lived at their mother’s side since retiring out of the military, inched his way left and right, carefully sniffing from head to toe at their mother tangled in the barbed wire fence.

“Oh, hell,” Rachel muttered. She’d barely come to a stop when both he and Carson had bolted out of the Jeep.

Half a step away, Preston stopped and grabbed the tool bag from under the seat.

“I’ll get the first aid kit.” Rachel leaned over the other side. Ranch vehicles were often a combination of tool shed and doc’s office. Just enough equipment to patch something or someone up until later.

“Took you…” their mom sucked in a low breath, “long enough.”

Not only was she able to talk, she was able to tease. Like a hot spring on a cool day, relief bathed over every tense muscle. Except the closer Preston got to the fence line and the more clearly his mother’s predicament came into view, tension once again had a stranglehold on him. One leg up and tucked under a run of wire, her other leg rested in the opposite direction, the barbed spikes tearing into her jeans. A nasty gash cut into one arm. With the weight of her torso pushing down on the fence, she resembled a wishbone on Thanksgiving Day. It wouldn’t take much effort to snap her in two. With every passing moment, more trickles of blood appeared where the spikes had shredded bits of fabric and cut into her skin. Carson cast a sideways glance in his direction, and Preston barely nodded in response. This was not going to be easy. At least, unlike an entrapped cow, his mother would know not to move when they started to cut her free. The trick would be avoiding any more injuries.

“Dare I ask what the hell happened?” Rachel’s tone may have been strong, but the worried look in her eyes sharpened when her gaze fell on the blood-soaked sleeve.

Careful not to move, her mom spoke softly. “Rattler got too close.”

That was all they needed. Bad enough their mother was trapped in cutting barbed wire, a snake bite on top of that would have been too much.

Preston had the tool bag open at his mother’s feet. “Did he bite you?”

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