Figuring that was the least important of the chores, Ally rushed to comply. By the time she returned, Duchess had heaved again, and the pup was out completely.

Duchess reached around, tore and removed the sack with her teeth, and cut the cord. As soon as that was done, she licked her newborn vigorously. The pup let out a cry.

Ally’s eyes welled with tears at the sound of new life.

Duchess turned away from the pup and began to strain again. Hank picked up the whelp, wrapped it in a towel and handed it to Ally. The pup was warm and soft to the touch. The joy she felt as she looked down at the pale gold puppy cradled neatly in the palm of her hand was overwhelming.

Hank set the warming box on the floor, made sure the heating pad was turned to low, positioned it on one side of the plastic incubator, then covered it with a white, terrycloth crate pad. “We’ll give this a moment to warm up,” he said, “before we unwrap the pup and put him in.”

Too overcome to speak, Ally nodded.

Seconds later, Duchess strained yet again, and the second pup was delivered.

Over the next two hours, eight more were born.

Amid the squeaking and the squirming, Duchess cared for them all.

Until finally, she collapsed with a sigh.

“Do you think that’s it?” Ally asked.

“Only one way to tell,” Hank said. He counted the pups. “Kurt said there were definitely ten…”

Duchess strained again, ever so slightly.

A dark blue sack, tinier than the others, fell out.

Only this time, Duchess merely nosed the pup and turned away.

Please don’t let this last one be stillborn, Ally prayed. “What do we do?” she asked frantically.

“Do our best to save it,” Hank muttered. He picked up the sack, quickly figured out which end contained the pup’s head, and tore the protective membrane open with his fingers. Amniotic fluid spilled out as he gave the pup’s nose a squeeze.

There should have been a cry, as with the others.

But there wasn’t.

Knowing there was no time to waste, Hank grabbed the bulb syringe, pressed the air out of it, and then suctioned mucous from the lifeless pup’s throat and nostrils. Nothing happened. Again, he suctioned out the fluids. The puppy still didn’t respond.

Hand pressed to her chest, Ally watched as Hank lifted the tiny form and made a tight seal by putting his own mouth over the pup’s nose and mouth, gave two gentle puffs, then pulled back and assessed her. Again nothing, Ally noted in mounting despair. No visible sign of life.

Helpless tears streamed from her eyes as Hank repeated the puffing process, then rubbed the puppy’s chest while holding her head down.

Still nothing, Ally noted miserably.

Hank used the bulb syringe again, then lifted the puppy and attempted mouth-to-mouth resuscitation once more. And this time, to Ally’s overwhelming relief, their prayers were answered.


THE SOUND OF THAT SMALL gasp, followed by a highpitched, rather indignant squeak, was nothing short of a miracle, Ally thought.

With tears of joy rolling down her cheeks, she watched as Hank gently wiped the moisture from the tiny puppy and wrapped her in a cloth.

Ally drew a quavering breath and edged so close to Hank their bodies touched. “That was…incredible,” she breathed, not sure when she had ever been so impressed by a man’s gallantry under pressure.

He nodded, looking as amazed and grateful as she felt. “I didn’t think she was going to make it,” he admitted in a rusty voice.

Ally studied the cute black nose and tightly closed eyes. The pup’s ears were as small and compact and beautiful as the rest of her snugly swaddled form. “You saved her.”

Yet a trace of worry remained in Hank’s blue eyes, Ally noted as he passed her the newborn.

A ribbon of fear slipped through her. She cuddled the tiny pup close to her breast, relieved to feel its soft puffs of breath against the open vee of her shirt. The whelp was breathing nice and rhythmically now, and felt warm to the touch. Yet…Ally searched Hank’s face. “What is it?” she asked quietly. “What aren’t you telling me?”

His glance met hers, then skittered away, as if he didn’t want to be the bearer of bad news. “She’s really small,” he said finally.

About a third smaller than the others, Ally noted. She nuzzled the top of the puppy’s head as she followed Hank back to Duchess’s side. “So?” She felt the tiny pup brush its muzzle against her collarbone and snuggle even closer. Unbearable tenderness sifted through her and she stroked the dog gently with her free hand. Was this the connection dog lovers felt? Why many considered canines not just pets but members of their family?

All Ally knew for sure was that she felt fiercely protective of this tiny being. And would do anything to help her thrive. “Isn’t there usually a runt of the litter?”

Hank admitted that was so, then frowned. “But it’s not just that.” He bent down to tend to Duchess.

Ally watched him remove the placenta and gently clean away any remaining afterbirth with the skill of a veteran rancher. “Then what’s wrong?” she pressed. She lowered her head and heard a faint purr emanating from the whelp’s chest. “I mean, she seems to be breathing okay now.” The other ten puppies were okay, too. All snuggled together cozily in the warming box, which had been placed inside the whelping pen, within easy reach of Duchess.

Hank brought a bowl of water to Duchess, and knelt down next to the golden retriever. Shakily, the dam got to her feet and lapped at the water, before sinking down once again. Surveying her with a knowledgeable eye, Hank said reluctantly, “It could just be that the pup you’re holding was the last of the litter to be born. And Duchess was exhausted.”

Another shiver of dread swept through Ally.

She watched Hank take a fistful of kibble and hand feed it to Duchess. Wondering what he still wasn’t telling her, Ally prodded, “I hear an ‘except’ in there.”

Hank’s big body tensed. “Sometimes,” he allowed wearily, deliberately avoiding Ally’s eyes, “when a mother dog shows absolutely no interest in one of her whelps, it’s because the dam knows instinctively there’s something wrong with the pup. That it may not survive…”

Shock quickly turned to anger. How could he even say that, after all they’d already been through? Ally wondered. “But the littlest one did survive,” she protested heatedly, still cradling the puppy to her chest.

Hank nodded. And remained silent.

“She’s going to be fine,” Ally insisted, and to prove it, placed the runt in the warming box with the rest of the litter.

Again, Hank nodded. But he didn’t seem nearly as certain of that as she wanted him to be.

Chapter Five

Wary of fast wearing out his welcome at Mesquite Ridge in regards to Duchess and her puppies, Hank gathered up the soiled towels and cloths, and carried them to the washing machine. For the second time that night, he added detergent and bleach, and switched it on. He returned to the kitchen, spray bottle of disinfectant cleaner, paper towels and plastic trash bag in hand.

He hunkered down to clean out the plastic whelping bed.

While he worked, Ally knelt on the floor next to the warming bed that contained all eleven puppies. The whelping instructions Kurt had left for them were in her hands. She appeared seriously concerned and incredibly overwhelmed with the responsibility of caring for the dam and her litter. Duchess was right beside Ally, face on her paws, serenely keeping watch over her brood.

Hank knew there was no need to burden Ally with this, too-she had enough on her plate, with the sale of the ranch, the task of sorting through her parents things and the possible loss of her job. “I think I can handle it from here,” he said gently.

She stopped reading and looked up, as if she hadn’t heard right. “What?”

Was that hurt he saw flashing in her eyes? Or just fatigue and confusion? It had been a long day for Ally, too. “I need to walk Duchess for a moment,” Hank told her. “But then I can handle it.” He paused, wishing Ally would hang out with them a little longer. She was turning out to be surprisingly good company. “Unless you want to stay,” he added impulsively.

For a second, Ally looked truly torn about whether to stay or go. “I’ll stay until you get them all settled,” she said finally.

“Thanks.” Deciding to leave her to her thoughts, he headed outside, with Duchess beside him.

The retriever quickly got down to business, then headed back inside. This time she walked straight to Ally.

Hank knew Duchess was waiting to be petted.

Ally didn’t.

Recognizing it wasn’t going to happen, at least not then, the dog sank down beside her, close enough that her nose was touching Ally’s thigh.

Ally looked at Duchess briefly, tenderness flickering across her delicate features. Wordlessly, she smiled and went back to her reading.

Hank folded a clean blanket in the bottom of the whelping pen, then encouraged Duchess to climb back in. “Come on, girl. I need you to get in here so you can take care of your puppies.”

Duchess just looked at him, clearly understanding, but in no mood to comply.

At the “standoff” between him and his canine pal, Ally did her best to stifle a grin. Which showed how much she knew.

“You want to try?” Hank asked.

Her eyes twinkling, Ally tilted her head to one side and said drily, “I don’t think she’s in a mood to listen to me, either. But…” She rose gracefully and moved to the makeshift bed, patting it firmly. “Come on, sweetheart. You’ll be more comfortable in here.”

Surprisingly, Duchess rose, climbed in and settled down immediately.

Hank was stunned-and grateful. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” Ally waved the papers still clutched in her free hand. “I think we’re supposed to introduce the puppies to Duchess next.”