The Maltese Terror

Chapter 1-2

Caleb Storm slammed the barn door before he headed for the house. It might be late March, but from the feel of that wind, they were due for an ugly night. Fine, gritty snow stung his face as he stooped, tilting his hat for its maximum protection. He leaned into the push of the wind and forged on. The hundred yards from the barn to the house seemed a lot longer than normal. He grabbed a scoop shovel beside the porch and took it inside with him. He’d need it in the morning to dig through the drifts that were sure to be left when the wind blew snow this way.

Cheyenne looked up from her bed behind the kitchen range. Her stubby tail thumped a time or two when she recognized him. Although the rest of his stock dogs bedded in the barn, he let the old girl stay inside. Matriarch of his pack, she had arthritis in a hip from an old injury, and the cold made her limp. The blue merle Heeler and Aussie-mix b***h had seen him through many a misadventure during her ten years of life.

She’d been born right here in this room, one of eight pups, the last litter his old b***h, Blue Blazes, had produced. One of the best stock dogs he’d ever had, Chey was also the best companion a rancher could ask for. A damn sight more faithful and trustworthy than any woman he’d ever known, for sure, and most men as well.

Caleb kicked off wet, muddy boots, then hung his dripping hat and snow-laden parka on big nails by the back door. Next he headed for the coffeepot on the corner of the old wood-and coal-burning range. It would take at least a couple of cups to thaw out this evening. Then he’d think about supper.

He’d only finished one when the phone rang. Too tired to cuss, he stumbled to his feet to go answer it. Another old-fashioned thing about this early twentieth-century vintage ranch house he called home was a single phone, on the kitchen wall where it had been for a good fifty years. At least it wasn’t a party line anymore. He kept saying he’d get new phones, have the wiring put in for a phone in each room. Somehow, he never seemed to have the money at the right time. Cell phones didn’t always work well out here, so he rarely used the one he had, except when he traveled.

“Storm.”

There was a rough chuckle on the other end. “Damn straight it’s a storm! Caleb, we got a problem. Some lowlander’s got himself stuck trying to get from the airport into town. You know what a mess the highway is right now with all them detours. From what he said, it sounded like he’s about five miles down the road from your place, just short of the junction with the back road to Prairie View. Do you reckon you could get down there and pick him up?”

Caleb exhaled a long breath. He recognized the gravelly voice of Sandy Kuntz, the regular night dispatcher at the Adams County Sheriff’s Department substation. He knew Sandy wouldn’t call if it wasn’t critical. Still, he had to give her a hard time. That was their long-term tradition.

“What’s the matter with the deputies? All in town sucking up coffee and pie?”

“Aw, Caleb, you know better’n that. Nights like this we couldn’t cover all the calls with three times the people we have. I’m asking, real sweet-like. Pretty please? I’ll buy the coffee next time you’re in town.”

Although Sandy was old enough to be his mother, she was one of the few women he really respected. Tough as rawhide, she still had a good heart, hidden behind her gruff exterior. Somehow there didn’t seem to be any like her in his age bracket. Too bad. Oh hell, what would he do with a wife anyway? Or even the boyfriend he’d prefer.

“Okay, babe. I’ll give it my best shot. Got chains on the old Dodge, so I can probably get there and back. Do I need to put this stranger up for the night?”

“It’d be right nice if you did, Caleb. Prob’ly can’t get his car out until the storm passes. And don’t be trying to sweet-talk me, you rascal. I knew you when you were still in shitty diapers. Babe, my ass!”

Shaking his head with a chuckle, Caleb hung up. He crossed the room to get back into his outdoor gear. As an afterthought, he filled a big thermos with coffee. Then he went ahead and fed Chey her kibble. He might be pretty late getting back.

The old truck started hard but, after a few tries, the big V-8 coughed and spluttered into a roaring growl. Caleb eased the Dodge in a wide circle and then headed down the lane to the gravel road at the foot of the hill. This was not how he’d planned to spend the evening. Still, people had died stranded overnight in blizzards. He couldn’t let that happen to a fellow human, no matter how it put him out.