The Soldier's Promise

“Maggie’s not going to be happy about you sticking around here,” Eve said, stating the obvious.

“I’ll take it easy. I’ll also put out the word to some of my friends across the state that we’re looking for a police chief. Maybe someone who wants a second career in a nice quiet town will turn up. Having a good mayor is another benefit.”

“I’ll miss you around here,” Eve said, hugging him.

“I’ll be around. I don’t plan to kick the bucket yet. I sent Sam out to Maude’s. Maybe he can find something. At least it will keep him busy and out of Manning’s way.” He didn’t sound hopeful as he rose slowly from the chair and walked out without his usual bounce.

She closed her eyes for a moment. She wasn’t sure she should have encouraged him to make a few calls or delay his retirement even for a short time. But Tom was like an old warhorse, and she couldn’t help but think he would live longer if he had a purpose.

She looked at the pile of papers on her desk. She had to work on the budget for the next fiscal year. Too little money. Too many needs. And in the current economy, a tax increase was out of the question. Her people were all struggling. A little juggling here, a small cut there. She just wished that Joshua Manning’s face didn’t keep intruding on the pages.

* * *

AFTER THE MAYOR left, Josh refreshed his coffee and fixed a bowl of cereal for both Amos and himself.

He had an appointment in an hour with the only veterinarian in the area. She’d already been contacted by the Lackland AFB veterinarian and had been faxed Amos’s records, but Josh wanted to see her, take her measure. Hopefully, she might have some suggestions to help Amos.

He took a shower to cool the heat that still bedeviled him after his encounter with the mayor. A cold one. Then a hot one. After some repairs, the hot water heater was one of the few things that actually worked in the cabin. Then he dressed in a clean pair of jeans and soft cotton shirt.

He thought about shaving, then decided against it. He coaxed Amos out to his Jeep, but once in the passenger side the dog hopped back out and huddled next to the door. His entire body trembled, and Josh ached looking at him.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll try to talk her into coming out here.” He opened the front door and Amos headed for the bedroom and safety under the bed.

It was just as well. He had other errands to run. He needed paint for the walls and boards for the porch, as well as nails, screws and more large trash bags.

His first stop was to the vet. When he walked in, a bell jingled and a feminine voice from the back told him to take a seat.

He was too restless to sit. He walked around the office and peered at the bulletin board. Horses for sale. A lost dog. Puppies up for adoption. Advertisements for tick and flea medicine. After several minutes, an elderly woman holding an equally elderly poodle came out of the back.

He opened the door for her, got a “thank you, young man” for his effort.

“Hi,” said a voice behind him. He turned around and faced an attractive woman in jeans and a white coat. “I’m Stephanie Phillips. Just call me Stephanie. You must be Mr. Manning.” She looked around. “Where’s Amos?”

“He objected,” Josh said. “He started shaking, and I...wondered whether you could come out to the cabin.” He hesitated, then added, “He was a basket case when I picked him up at Lackland and during the drive here. The only place he seems to feel even a little safe is the cabin. I understand the vets at the dog training center at Lackland sent you his records.”

“They did. Extreme anxiety,” she said. “Physically healthy, but Amos wouldn’t respond to any trainers. Practically goes over the fence when there’s lightning. Rest of the time huddles in the safest place he can find.”

He nodded. “That’s about it. I can take him for short walks at night when there’s no traffic. Most of the time he stays under my bed.”

“Appetite?”

“He eats enough to stay alive and that’s about it. This from a dog who used to gobble food like it was his last meal.”

“You knew him before...?”

He nodded. “His handler was in my unit.”

“Was?”

“He was killed ten months ago.” It hurt like hell to talk about it, but talk he must. For Amos. “He was...close to his handler. Because we were often on the move and there weren’t always kennels, Amos usually slept near him. Even when there were kennels, Dave found a way to keep Amos at his side.”

She waited for him to say more. He was reluctant, but he knew he had to explain everything. That’s all that matters now. The promise. “I was wounded, and Amos’s handler was killed in the same engagement. I was sent to a hospital, but I heard from other members of the team that Amos had been sent to Lackland. Nearly starved to death.”

“But he does respond to you?”

“Barely. Sometimes.”

“After Lackland contacted me,” she said, “I did some research on canine PTSD. It’s not uncommon. I imagine it’s worse when the handler is killed. Dogs grieve, too.” She paused, then said, “I can come over in the morning. I have a mare about to foal this afternoon, and I’m not sure how long it will take.”

He nodded. “I’ll be at the cabin all day.” He gave her his cell number, only the third person to have it. His shrink at the military hospital was one—he’d promised—and the other was Dave’s attorney.

“I look forward to meeting Amos. I’ve never treated a military dog.”

“One other thing. I would appreciate you not speaking to anyone in town about Amos’s condition. People might think he’s dangerous. He’s not. I think it’s more that he’s missing his...handler. Amos wasn’t with us the day Dave died. As far as he knows, he was abandoned.”

“How long was Amos with him?”

“Four years.”

The phone rang and she picked it up. “Excuse me,” she said. “I have to answer this.”

She walked to the other side of the room, said something then returned.

“The foal is coming. I have to go. I’ll be over tomorrow.”

He nodded, encouraged by her interest and questions.

He left and headed for the hardware store. He’d been there before to get tools.

Four people were in the store, two of them talking to an elderly man at the counter. A younger one had been there during his previous visits. Father and son, he surmised.

He went directly to the section with paint. He found a primer, then selected a color from the limited selection and took the cans to the counter. He looked at some thick pieces of lumber to temporarily repair the porch.

“Do you deliver?”

“Sure do.”

“I live...”

“I know. End of Lake Road.”

He should have known. “Maybe you’d better add an electric saw,” he said.

“Got a real good one. On sale, too.”

Josh nodded.

The man held out his hand. “Glad to have you in the community. I’m Calvin Wilson, and I own the store. Me and my son.”