Dr. Dad To The Rescue

She’d been his friend and companion for five years, ever since the pup had been given to Holden’s father when he’d refused to take payment from a patient he knew struggled to keep food on his family’s table. That was Samuel McKee’s way, putting others’ concerns before his own. Just like two winters ago when a bad flu outbreak hit the county, and he’d seen to everyone’s health before his own. His mercy had cost him his life.

And now...now God was calling home Holden’s mother, too.

“So what’s going to happen to me?” Holden muttered rebelliously into Elsa’s ear. He’d done pretty well so far, keeping faith that things would turn out somehow. But right now he couldn’t find it in him to trust God knew his business.

Elsa whimpered softly, probably because of the tight grip he had around her. He didn’t ease up but clasped her tighter to him.

The retriever leaned into him, solid and true. Her copperand-gold coat glowed like a halo. How could someone not want such a pretty dog?

Blinking back more tears, Holden tried to distract himself by staring up through the trees. It did the trick, for he noticed two pines standing side by side, both with forks in their trunks, which was unusual enough, but the top of one split trunk crossed over the other.

“X” marks the spot, he thought. Like in a treasure hunt. And this was his spot, his very own corner of the world. He belonged here, not in some strange house in the suburbs of a city, away from all that was familiar and dear.

Holden set his jaw. “I won’t go. No way they can make me.” And no way would he leave without Elsa.

Holden launched himself to his feet and continued into the woods toward the river and the section of undercut bank he’d come to think of as his.

Within minutes, though, Holden was up to his ankles in freezing mud. Wiping the raindrops from his eyes with one sleeve of his sodden T-shirt, he peered through the undergrowth. It looked like the path to his hideout might be underwater. Should he turn back?

But there was something he kept wedged in a cranny in that hideout. Secured in a watertight box were his most treasured possessions.

He couldn’t lose everything he cared about all at once.

Holden gritted his teeth against the lump that rose in his throat, thinking about how his mother had called him to her bedside this afternoon and told him that Aunt Tina and Uncle Dwight would take care of him from now on; Chicago would be his new home. Would he try, for her, to be good—to be happy?

Holden had wanted to reassure her. But he couldn’t speak, or he’d have poured out his fear and heartbreak to her. Still, she’d known.

Then she’d laid her hand on his cheek and gazed down at him with tear-filled eyes, and he’d sensed she wasn’t able to find the courage to tell him something else. But what could be worse than losing your mother and having to leave your home forever?

When he’d come out of Mama’s bedroom, Elsa had risen from her spot by the door, and he’d noticed the look in his aunt’s and uncle’s eyes. They didn’t have a large house, Aunt Tina said, and not much more than a patch of a yard. Cousin Seth, with whom Holden would be sharing a bedroom, had allergies....

Holden had gotten the message, loud and clear. That was when it had all seemed too much, too unfair. He tore out the door, Elsa at his heels and his mother’s plea swept from his head.

His attention was brought abruptly back to the present as Holden found himself fighting for every foothold in water that had deepened to thigh-high. This was too dangerous, he scolded himself. He knew East Texas weather, knew better than to venture into rushing water.

And he knew he must go back. He couldn’t let Mama down.

Something bumped up against the back of his knees, nearly upsetting his shaky footing. Elsa had already lost contact with the ground. Her front legs churned against the swelling current. Holden’s hand shot out to secure her by her collar. He had to get them both out of there, fast.

“C’mon, girl. I won’t let you drown.”

Panting, Elsa gazed up at him in perfect trust.

He retraced their route, using the trunks of trees to pull himself along. He didn’t dare let go of Elsa.

Finally, grimy with mud, bits of leaves and sticks clinging to his clothes and Elsa’s coat, they made it to higher ground and the dog bounded up the incline ahead of him, shaking herself furiously. She turned and crouched in her usual playful stance—front legs spread wide as she went down on her elbows, hind end high in the air, a grin wreathing her face. Holden had to grin himself. Yes, the danger was over, for now.

Reaching up, he grabbed a low hanging branch to haul himself up that last stretch of the embankment. His hand closed over not rough bark but muscled smoothness, cold and wet and slimy—

A musky, mtring smell invaded his nose. Holden came eye to eye with a deadly cottonmouth.

Every hair on his body stood on end. He jumped away, but the ground was slippery and his feet flew out from under him. Tumbling backward, he came down in three-foot-deep water, going completely under. Yet within an instant, he was up and splashing, scrambling back however he could, arms flailing, his every effort aimed at putting as much distance between himself and sure death. Elsa would take care of herself, he knew. The retriever had been snake-proofed by his father, had had the lesson to avoid all reptiles drilled into her.

Except there was no getting away from a riled-up cottonmouth. Quick as lightning, it uncoiled from the tree branch and dropped to the ground before slithering toward Holden.

He could only backpedal deeper into the water, where he knew he’d have even less of a chance against the cottonmouth. His only hope was to find a long stick to catch the snake under its middle and Sing it far away.

He was frantically feeling under the murky water for such a weapon when Holden heard a low growl. He spun. Terror sliced a trail straight up his spine, for Elsa’s manner was now anything but playful as she squared off in front of the cottonmouth, directly between it and her master.

“Elsa!” he shouted, taking a step toward them. The current tugged at him. Had it grown that much stronger in just a few minutes? “Elsa, no!”

She retreated not one inch as, lips curled back, she bared sharp white teeth that would have made a lesser beast think twice about tangling with her.

Not the cottonmouth. Holden saw the snake rear up its triangular black head and open its jaws.

Hackles raised, the retriever raked the dirt with one paw, feigning first strike. Her water-soaked coat looked like polished copper, smooth as armor. Yet it wasn’t armor; she was just a dog, with skin as tender as his.

“Elsa, no!” Holden yelled again, clambering out of the water, hoping to distract one or the other.

Then the snake struck, and in an endless moment all he could see were flashes of red-gold and the writhing, dark-brown whip of the reptile. The struggle propelled both dog and snake into the water, where Elsa completely submerged while still going after the cottonmouth for all she was worth. His heart pumping, Holden’s eyes stung at the raw, fierce beauty of her.

Oh, his brave, loyal girl!

Just as suddenly it was over, the cottonmouth swimming away, oozing dark blood in its wake.

Had Elsa been bitten, too? Caring nothing for his own safety, Holden plunged once more into the floodwaters. But the flow had picked up, and he found himself being carried along. He’d have welcomed the current if it would bring him closer to Elsa, but she was moving as rapidly.

He should never have come here and tried to retrieve his treasure box! It wasn’t worth losing Elsa.

He used his arms and legs as rudders to steer him toward the dog. He came within an arm’s length of her, and Holden stretched out his hand as she thrashed toward him. His fingers caught a handful of slick fur—

Slam! He crashed into a tree trunk, which nearly knocked the wind out of him—and caused him to lose his hold on Elsa.

Holden wrapped his arms around the tree as he searched for the retriever. His heart sank when he located her. She was so very, very far away. If he let go of the tree trunk, he might never catch up to her and would surely lose his life.

It seemed hopeless.

“No!” Holden screamed. “Don’t give up, Elsa!”

But he saw her losing strength, going under, then surfacing briefly, water spraying from her nostrils, chin stretched and straining. Her movements grew sluggish, weaker.

“Come on, girl,” he pleaded. “Don’t give up on me now!”

Her brown eyes fixed on him, valiant, devoted, loyal to the last. She blinked.

Then she was gone.

“Elsa! Elsa!”