Walton (The K9 Files #26)

Chapter 1

W alton Headly returned his phone to his pocket and turned to the teammates he was sharing a beer with. It was a late Sunday afternoon, and they had been playing a friendly game of soccer for the last few hours, now relaxing and chilling over a couple cold ones. Most of the guys would get up and leave soon, and Walton knew he probably should too, particularly after that call.

Tony started to laugh. “What’s the matter, dude? You look as if you just lost your best friend.”

Walton shook his head and replied, “No, not at all.… Nothing like that.”

“Whatever it is seems to have you confounded.”

He shrugged. “Have you guys ever heard about somebody up here adopting a War Dog?”

They frowned at him. Johnny pointed out, “Nobody would call it a War Dog, would they? Wouldn’t it just be a dog?”

“Maybe,” Tony added, “unless whoever it is wanted the cachet of having a War Dog, and we know lots of people around here who probably would.”

Walton shrugged. “I suppose that’s possible too.”

Tony faced Walton. “Why? What difference does it make?”

“You guys know Kat?” Walton asked.

“We know that you know Kat,” Tony joked. “She’s the one who built you a leg that has you out here playing soccer with us.”

“Too bad she didn’t give you any skills to go with it,” Johnny noted in his typical teasing tone.

Walton took the ribbing in a good-natured manner because that’s just what it was. The fact was, Walton was damn glad to have what mobility he did. And, if a prosthetic allowed him to get out and to play soccer, he was all for it. Did he miss the ball sometimes? Yeah. Did the guys laugh even louder and cheer him on when he made a solid kick? Yeah. They all knew what he was up against, and they didn’t have an ax to grind about it, which made life here a whole lot easier.

Walton explained, “She called me, and apparently they have been asked to look into multiple military dogs that were retired and adopted out. Their wellness check in this particular case couldn’t locate the owner or the War Dog.”

“Up here, they’ve probably gone hunting. Maybe they headed to one of their old hunting grounds, and they’re just not in radio contact right now.”

Walton nodded. “That’s what I told Kat, and she just asked if I could check it out, if I had the time to spare.”

Johnny laughed. “Spare time? Dude, you’ve got nothing but spare time. It’s not as if you’re out there carving and making a life for yourself or anything.”

Again with the laughter and the jokes, but Walton just smiled because these guys were really supportive of his making a career as a carver. He’d been carving for a very long time, but he really never had the time, energy, or space to make a go of it, not until after his accident. Even then the accident wasn’t something he took kindly to. It wasn’t as if he was thrilled to have time on his hands, so he could stay home and carve. It was a goddamn disaster and definitely not what he’d signed up for.

But then nobody ever signed up for accidents, and still they happened, so who was he to blame anybody for it? “Shut the hell up,” Walton grumbled.

“Touchy much? We’re just saying that you can take some time, make a few inquiries around town,” Johnny suggested. “If they’ve renamed the War Dog, no way you’ll know for sure.”

“Maybe.”

“Actually,” Brian offered, raising his hand, “check with the local vet clinics.”

“Yeah, and how many are there around here?”

Brian tilted his head. “Don’t know, but a lot, I would think.”

“Did she say where in Alaska?” Johnny asked. “Because everybody seems to think we’re just some small chunk of frozen pond, but knowing the space as we do, it’s huge and an awful lot of ground to cover.”

“She knows. Kat’s sending me the information she has. She wanted to know if I was up for the job first.”

“Any money come with it?” Johnny asked, with a waggle of his eyebrows. “Money is always good.”

Walton chuckled. “Sorry, in this case, no money. It’s strictly a volunteer gig.”

“Yeah, but, if it puts you in good standing with the person who looks after your prosthetic, that’s got to be worth something. Maybe a favor now will help with a favor later.”

“Maybe so,” Walton conceded, “but I wouldn’t do it for that reason. I did plenty of K9 training when I was overseas. So, if I can help one of those animals now, I won’t say no.”

Several of the men rolled their eyes.

Nobody else in this group had been in the military. Yet, just because they hadn’t, they were all standing here on their own two legs, whereas Walton was standing on a prosthetic. Such was his life. He looked down at his left hand, which was missing two fingers. If that was the price he paid in service to his country, he was good with it. So far, he’d managed with just three fingers on that hand. Yet it was amazing how much those two missing fingers altered his day-to-day life. Not to mention his missing leg.

“Dude, you came back in pieces. Haven’t you given up enough of your life for that?” Brian spoke in a tone harsher than Walton expected.

“Maybe,” he said, turning to look at the man, “but I did what I needed to do at the time.”

Barry shook his head and finally spoke up. “But you of all people,… Christ. You were the best soccer player out here before.”

Walton winced at that before reference, meaning that he sucked at soccer now. “I know I’m holding you back,” he stated, trying not to sound as stiff and as pissed off as he felt.

Immediately Barry jumped on that. “Look. We’re just playing for fun, so it’s not a big deal. Forget I said anything.”

“But just so we all know and are all clear on this, we’re still talking about setting up an actual team,” Brian declared, “in which case, Walton won’t play.”

Stan, who had stayed out of this whole conversation, sent a warning glare to Brian.

“Maybe not,” Walton agreed, with a shrug, “and maybe I don’t care to anyway.” With that, he stood up. “Time for me to go find a War Dog.”

With a wave to the guys, he turned and strolled off, trying to make his exit a little more elegant than his arrival pregame. His stump had been pretty damn sore when he’d arrived, limping in, so Kat would admonish him about playing in the soccer game. But, damn, it was one of the things he’d always loved and still did. Yet the stump pain was a constant part of it now.

These guys were right. Walton hated admitting it, but they were. Walton had been a good soccer player, as in damn good. But then he’d chosen the military, and with that came all kinds of things he hadn’t expected. His buddies obviously still held a few things against him.

As Walton walked away, he heard the others chiding Brian, their comments floating toward Walton, even as they tried to keep their voices down.

“Jesus, you didn’t have to say that,” Stan told Brian. “Walton’s doing the best he can, and it’s not hurting a thing. The game is a game, just for fun.”

“Yeah, it’s for fun right now,” Brian clarified, “but we were doing this in order to set up a competitive team. I get that he’s here and that he can do what he can do, but you know damn well he can’t play in a league.”

Walton wasn’t so sure about that. If a few more adjustments were made to give him better balance, he could play better. They all thought it was pretty funny when he wiped out after the first couple kicks, though initially it had resulted in concern. Now when he fell, the comments were more routine, such as, And down he goes,… timber!

It had become a standing joke, and Walton appreciated that because it was a whole lot easier than any pity. The last thing he wanted was anybody racing to pick him up again. If he fell, he would damn well get back up on his own two legs.

He walked slowly to his truck, a little less defiantly now, when a woman approached him.

“Are you okay?” she asked softly.

He stiffened and looked back at his physiotherapist. “Any reason I wouldn’t be?” he asked, his tone cool.

She didn’t say anything at first but studied him closely. “You tell me. I saw what happened when you came out that door. All of a sudden… you gave up the pretense.”

“Some days you have to put on a little show—more than others.”

Her lips twisted. “Are they hassling you again?”

“No, they aren’t,” he replied curtly. “We had a long game of soccer, and it was fun.”

“Until it wasn’t fun anymore,” she pointed out.

“ I thought it was fun,” he clarified, “but I guess they’re working toward a soccer league team here locally, and some feel I’m holding them back.”

“No, you’re not,” she stated. “I drove by you guys today and stopped because you were doing a hell of a job.”

He shook his head. “ Right . What did I do? Fall twice?”

“Yes, only twice,” she pointed out. “How many times have you fallen in the last few games?”

He turned to her and shook his head. “Always the cheerleader.”

“Sometimes you need a cheerleader, and sometimes you just need to be yourself.” And, with that, she turned and walked away.

Chelsea Brown watched as Walton pulled out of the parking lot and drove away. He was sore; she could tell from his stride, but the set to his shoulders was also indicative of something else. She walked into the bar moments later, here to pick up her brother, but she stopped in the corner for a moment and stared at the group. She was a bit hidden, out of their line of sight, seeing the same men she’d watched playing earlier today, and heard part of their conversation. Apparently Walton was the center of attention.

“You know we can’t keep babying him,” Brian said in disgust.

Johnny frowned. “It’s not as if we’re babying him, for crying out loud. We’re just playing a game.”

“You think so? What are you, blind? It’s not as much a game as a pity party.”

Chelsea winced at that. Who with any pride would take that comment in good stead? This was Walton they were talking about, and he was stubborn, more so than a lot of men she knew. It went along with being military as well as dealing with his injuries, she assumed. Yet Walton was determined to work damn hard on his mobility. It would be a shame if these guys’ attitudes set him back.

As she walked toward her brother, Stan looked up and smiled, standing now. “Here’s my chauffeur. I’ll talk to you guys later.”

Stan eyed her as they walked out. “What was that look on your face for?” he asked curiously.

“Were you guys talking about Walton?”

He winced. “Right. He was one of your patients, wasn’t he?”

“I saw him outside, and he looked pretty ragged.”

“It was a pretty rough soccer game today,” he pointed out.

“Yeah, and that was definitely part of the physical effects I could see with Walton, but that stiffness to his neck and shoulders just means he was holding back something pretty emotional.”

Stan groaned. “That’s the problem with living in a small town. You get to know everything about everybody .”

“Yeah, I also know what he’s been going through.”

“Which is why we play with him.”

“But what you’re saying is you’re only playing with him because of pity,… not because he’s any good.”

“He was good,” Stan pointed out. “He was incredible, and everybody wants nothing more than for him to be good again.”

“Point noted. Yet he’s not good anymore. Is that what you’re saying?”

“I’m not saying that he can’t be good. I don’t know that. However, I’m not sure that he can improve because of the missing leg,” he muttered, fumbling over his words. “I don’t know what the deal is. You would have a better understanding than me, but the guys want to get into a league. We have to set up a team roster to play. If we ever get there, we need to be more competitive. If that happens, Walton will really struggle.”

“You mean, you guys will struggle,” she stated, calling a spade a spade. She’d never been one to pussyfoot around when it came to the truth.

“Maybe,” Stan conceded, with a shrug. “I don’t care because I play for fun, but some of the guys are a little more serious when it comes to that level of play.”

She nodded. “You’re talking about Brian, I presume?”

He glanced at her and agreed. “Yeah, Brian’s always been very competitive.”

“And he always wants to win, no matter the cost,” she added. “I remember that very well.”

Stan laughed. “Of course you do. You were fighting with him all through high school and college.”

“No, I left for college,” she clarified, raising her hand, “and he was one of the reasons.”

“It doesn’t matter what the reason was. The thing is, Brian remains very competitive.”

She nodded and dropped it.

“Do you know anything about War Dogs?” Stan asked suddenly.

She frowned at him. “No. What are you talking about? As in the military ones that go to war?”

“Yeah, apparently the US has a large Department of War Dogs, and the ones that retire get adopted out,” he explained. “I didn’t even know anything about it, not until Walton mentioned it.”

“I wonder why he brought that up?” she muttered.

“I think he’s been asked to look into one that’s gone missing locally.”

She shook her head. “He sure as hell isn’t ready to go back to work.”

“I don’t think it’s paid work. It’s a temporary gig. I think it’s more of a friends-and-favor thing.”

“Ah.” Chelsea nodded. “Maybe that’ll give him something to think about other than you guys.” She winced at her own waspish tone because she knew not to handle this in that way. Yet she hated to see anybody hurt, and she knew that some damage had already been done.

Whether it was just to Walton’s pride or not, she didn’t know. If it was, that was a good thing because some wounds would heal. However, if it went deeper to a self-esteem issue of not being good enough, then it would be a whole different story. “Those hurtful comments could really set back Walton’s progress,” she muttered, “especially if he believes you guys.”

“What’s to believe, Chelsea? If he can’t play soccer, he can’t play soccer,” Stan declared. “We can’t make that happen for him.”

“No, but that doesn’t mean that other people can’t make it happen for him,” she pointed out, “and he’s working so hard, and you guys giving him a chance would make a huge difference.”

“We did, and this wasn’t the first time we’ve played with him either,” Stan added. “We’ve played with him every Sunday.”

“Is he getting any better?”

He hesitated, then shrugged. “I’m not sure.”

“And that would mean no .” Her shoulders sagged, as she recognized the looming reality of Walton’s losing one of the sports that he’d always loved.

“He can still play at practice,” Stan suggested.

“Not likely,” she pointed out. “He’ll just feel as if he doesn’t belong.”

“We can’t make everybody’s life happen,” Stan muttered. “I know you want to take on the world and to save everybody, but sometimes that just doesn’t work.”

Those were definitely words of truth, which she had to accept as she dropped off Stan at his place and headed home. It was a truth that she didn’t always want to see, but she was forced to deal with reality, given her line of work. With patients recovering from some of the most incredible injuries, as long as they continued to improve, then she was happy. But it didn’t take much to set back their progress, and people being less than kind with their words or actions was a sure way to do that. Walton’s case was a different one. This group of guys had been playing together for a long time. Walton was part of the group, but that was before he had gone away to serve in the military.

As a matter of fact, he had been gone for quite a few years. They couldn’t expect him to be the same after these injuries, and he couldn’t expect to be at his full potential after suffering the loss of a leg and two fingers. She headed to the grocery store to grab a few things and saw him again.

He stood in front of the meat department, staring at the shelf but obviously not seeing it.

She walked up and nudged him. “Earth to Walton. Earth to Walton.”

Startled, he turned to her and shrugged. “Not sure Earth is a place I want to be just now.”

She schooled her expression because she understood exactly what he meant. “Tough day on the soccer field, huh ?”

“Yeah, for sure,” he admitted, regaining his usual smile.

“I picked up Stan and took him home. He mentioned something about a War Dog.”

He eyed her with interest. “Do you know anything about them?”

“Nope, I sure don’t.”

“Have you heard of anybody here having one?”

“No, nothing,” she replied.

He raised both hands in frustration. “That’s not helpful.”

She laughed. “You could always check with the local veterinarians though.”

“One of the guys suggested that,” he noted. “I thought I would go home and make some phone calls.”

She nodded. “You’re not trying to go back to work or anything yet, are you?”

“It’s not that I’m trying to go back to work, but the woman who looks after my prosthetic asked me if I was up to looking into the lost dog.”

Chelsea nodded, feeling relief inside her. “Good. I’m sure that will keep you interested in life.”

“Do I look as if I’m not interested in life?”

She smiled up at him. “There are a lot of ways to be interested and a lot of ways to not be.”

“Oh boy, here we go again with the psychobabble.”

“Hardly psychobabble,” she protested.

“Sometimes I think you should have gotten your psych degree,” he teased.

“Sometimes I think about that too, and other times I think about leaving here and never coming back,” she admitted, with a laugh.

“You’ve been threatening to do that since you were in high school. And you did go away to college. Yet here you are back again.” He motioned at the steaks in front of him. “I don’t know where I’ll be traveling to as I look for the dog, or if any travel will be involved. Presumably I’ll have to ensure it’s the right dog at some point.”

“You’ve got to find it first,” she noted, then pointed to the meat case. “Heavy protein is good for you when you’re rebuilding, and you put out quite a bit of energy on the field today.”

He nodded agreeably and seemed to be happy to let that topic slide.

They went their separate ways in the store, and she picked up the rest of her groceries, then found herself going through the checkout lines with him at the same time.

He raised his eyebrows. “You got that done pretty fast.”

“Yeah, I didn’t need much. I’m not doing a whole lot of cooking these days.”

He smirked. “Don’t forget that protein is important.”

She snorted. “Right, as if I’ll take advice from you.” Still grinning, she headed out to her car. As she stowed away her groceries, she noted that he was parked only a few vehicles away.

Just then his phone rang, and he put it on Speakerphone, unloading his purchases as he spoke.

Chelsea couldn’t help but hear somebody on the other end, somebody named Kat.

His tone warmed considerably as he talked to her.

Chelsea frowned at that, not sure why it would upset her, beyond the fact that she’d always liked Walton and had wondered multiple times about inviting him out for coffee or something. However, she had been waiting until they were no longer patient and therapist. Still, that time had come and gone.

He only came in for occasional checkups nowadays, instead of regular treatments. She wasn’t aware he had somebody of interest already, until the topic of the War Dog came up, and she figured that Kat was his prosthetic lady. As Chelsea recalled, the woman lived somewhere in New Mexico.

Chelsea didn’t want to listen in, yet it was hard not to. She walked a little bit closer and waited until he got off. When he looked at her, one eyebrow raised, she asked, “Good news?”

He shrugged. “Probably not. I needed details on the dog, and she was giving me the rundown. I don’t want to slog my way through everything, and she was hoping I’d gotten somewhere already.”

“But you haven’t had a chance to even ask anybody yet, except for me and the guys.”

“Right, but Kat’s definitely an eyes-on-the-ball kind of person,” he shared, with a big smile.

“Sounds as if you really like her.”

“She’s pretty amazing,” he replied, his tone warming up again.

“Is she married?” Chelsea asked in a teasing tone.

“Married? More like happily married,” he replied, laughing. “Badger’s also in the same boat.”

“What do you mean by the same boat ?” she asked, curious now.

“Kat’s missing a leg, and so is Badger.” When she stared at him in surprise, he nodded. “It goes along with our world, though at the moment it still seems as if my world has completely shifted,” he shared, as he glanced back at the grocery store. Yet she got the feeling he was thinking back to the post-game scenario at the bar.

“I’m not sure a shift is necessarily a bad thing,” she noted briskly, as she turned and headed back to her car. “Let me know if you get anywhere on that War Dog thing.”

“Why?” he asked curiously. “Last I heard you weren’t particularly fond of dogs.”

She pivoted, frowning at him. “Oh no, I’ve always loved animals. It was my mother who couldn’t stand being around them.”

“I’m afraid that the War Dog might be at one of the hunting lodges. And, being a War Dog, plus retired at that, he’s most likely injured. I sure don’t want him in any situations where he would be outmatched.”

“Don’t forget. If you need any help with hunting lodges or have questions,… there’s always Rick.”

“Rick?”

“My older brother, remember?”

He studied her and then nodded. “That could be pretty helpful.”

“I can give him a shout, if you want.” She pulled out her phone and waved it in front of him.

He nodded. “If you wouldn’t mind, that would be great.”

She quickly placed a call, hoping that maybe there would be some cell access. Her brother often couldn’t be reached, depending on the weather and the satellite and how frozen the sole cell tower was, but this time she got lucky. “Hey, bro,” she greeted him in a playful tone.

“Look at that. My little sis is calling. What’s up?” he asked.

“You remember Walton?”

“Of course I remember Walton.”

“He’s here with me right now.”

“Oh, now that’s an interesting twist.” His tone turned teasing.

She rolled her eyes. “He’s been asked to look into a retired War Dog that’s supposed to be here somewhere, maybe in your neck of the woods. Apparently the government does welfare checks on the dogs periodically, and Walton’s been asked to help, but they don’t have a good handle on where this one is.”

“A War Dog, huh ?” Rick asked. “That’s interesting.”

“Why? What’s interesting?”

“Because I just heard one of the four guests I have up here talking about a War Dog.”

“What did they say?” Walton leaned forward, so his voice could be heard on the phone.

“Hey, Walton. Nice to hear from you. I haven’t seen you in forever. I hear you came back minus a body part.”

“Minus a few of them,” he replied a bit stiffly, “but that’s old news. Tell me about this War Dog.”

“They mentioned something about training or taking a War Dog out hunting. One of the guys figured it might be a good match between grizzlies and the dog.”

“What the hell?” Walton asked briskly, as he stared down at the phone. “He wasn’t serious about using the dog to flush out grizzlies, was he?”

“Honestly, the way he was talking, it sounded a whole lot worse than that. When I went to question them, they all just told me that he was joking.”

“Interesting.”

“If you don’t want him here flushing out grizzlies, quite possibly testing the dog, you might want to get your ass up here and look at him.”

“You’ve got the dog there?”

“Definitely one is here,” Rick confirmed. “Can’t swear it’s the one you’re after, but it seems more likely than not.”

“Any chance you could shoot me a photo of it?”

“I can do that. May take me a bit though, given our situation with the cell tower and satellite and whatnot. I don’t know how long it’ll take.”

“I would appreciate it if you could. I would hate to make the trip if it’s not the dog I’m looking for.”

“I highly doubt that more than one War Dog is up here, but who knows,” Rick replied. “Give me a little bit, and I’ll send it to my sister.” And, with that, he ended the call.

Chelsea looked over at him. “As soon as I get the photo, I’ll forward it to you.”

“Good enough, thanks.” Walton smiled and nodded. “That was a good idea. I’ll still need his phone number because I want a little more information on the men up there.”

She gave it to him, quickly sending it in a text, then looked at him. “They really wouldn’t do something like that with the dog, would they?”

“I would hope not,” Walton muttered, “but people act differently when they find out it’s a War Dog.”

“ Right .” She visibly shuddered. “I hope these guys aren’t of that same ilk.”

“Who knows,” Walton replied, with a shrug. “Yet, if they are, you can bet that isn’t what the War Department had planned for the dog’s retirement.”

“And yet how much control do they have?” she asked. “I mean, once they hand over the dog, and it’s been adopted, how much control of what happens to a War Dog do they really have?”

“I don’t know,” Walton admitted, “but you can be sure that I’ll have something to say about it.”

She winced. “You won’t go up there, will you?”

“I will if I need to,” he stated, with conviction. “Besides, your brother said that they were up there now, right?”

“He offered to take a picture of him, so I would presume so.” She quickly sent her brother a text to confirm that but got no response. “He probably has no service right now,” she said, with a shrug.

“Of course not. That would make things way too easy,” Walton muttered, as he stared down at their phones. “I guess I’ll contact Kat again and see what she has to say about it.”

“I would prefer you didn’t go up there and put that added stress on your leg. However, if you need to go, I’ve got a few days off coming up, so I could go with you,” she offered impulsively. When he turned and frowned at her, she shrugged. “I’ve been up to my brother’s lodge, but that was years ago, before Dad got so sick. I wouldn’t want to go alone, and my schedule has never worked out with anyone else’s. But, if you’re heading up there to check out the dog, I would be happy to go along.”

“How long of a drive is it?” he asked.

“About six hours.”

He thought about it and nodded. “It would be easier with two of us. I haven’t driven that far lately.”

“Meaning, your leg won’t handle it?”

“I don’t know everything about what my leg can handle,” he stated bluntly, “but, if you’re up for the trip and want a few days away and a chance to see your brother, it works for me.”