Meanwhile Back at the Ranch
Chris started loading all the cases and bags into the back of his crew cab truck. Quickly checking his watch he cursed softly. 10:30 p.m. on the Friday before Christmas and he was headed to the airport. He'd be cutting it awfully close getting the Travis' there in time to check in. Looking over Larabee grunted and loaded the dog crate into the back.
I'll take Edgar with us. That'll save me another trip. He wrapped the crate in a heavy blanket to protect the Boston Terrier from the cold on the way. Larabee continued to load items as they were carried out to him. They're only going to be gone ten days how much crap do they need? he fumed.
Soon Chris had Orrin, Evie and Billy loaded while Mary made one last check on the house. Chris flinched at the censoring eyes on him as he looked down at the little dog standing in the falling snow. Picking up the pop-eyed little beggar he sighed as the dog shivered.
"Shit," Larabee snarled and shut the crate door. Damn thing must be related to Standish or Tanner one. He'd freeze to death before I got to the corner.
"Here, Hold on to Edgar," Chris growled as he opened the back door and handed the dog in to Billy.
The tough man in black avoided Mary's knowing look as he helped her into the truck.
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Arriving at the airport Chris quickly pulled into the loading zone. Orrin brought a cart over and the two men began to unload the truck. Chris wordlessly moved Edgar's crate to the now empty back seat.
"Thanks for taking care of Edgar for me," Billy said excitedly as he rocked on his heels.
"Have a good time kiddo." Chris leaned down to hug the boy. A chorus of byes and the Travis's hurried to check in and get their boarding passes.
Well I got them here in time, now to take the mutt and go home. Larabee sighed in relief. Walking up to the driver's door of his still running truck, he watched in disbelief as the excited Edgar jumped up on the door to greet him. A front foot landed squarely on the automatic door lock, locking all four doors with a S.O.L.id 'thunk'.
Aw hell!! Chris stared in disgust. His keys dangled from the ignition and his cell phone lay on the console right where he left it. Now what? Edgar's mouth gaped slightly in a doggy grin as his stubby tail spun.
"Sir, you need to move your truck, this is a ten minute zone," the uniformed security guard approached.
"The dog locked my keys in the truck," Chris groaned laying his forehead against the cold side glass in an attempt to ease his sudden headache.
"I'm sorry, sir. But you'll have to get it moved. It's part of the airport security regulations . . . car bombs you know," the polite, but insistent officer ordered.
"ATF," Chris slowly reached into a pocket and removed his ID to show the man.
"Larabee? One of the Magnificent Seven? Hi, I'm Jim Stafford," he introduced himself. "Wow! You guys are awesome," the security guard beamed in delight.
"Thanks," Chris grunted, opening his eyes to stare at the dangling keys.
"You still have to move the truck though," the security guard reminded.
"I have road service but my phone is . . . " Chris' voice trailed off.
"In the truck? Here, use mine," Stafford offered the use of his phone.
"Thanks," Chris opened his wallet to find his auto club card and punched the number into the borrowed phone.
Stafford waited patiently as Larabee cursed softly while listening and pushing a button occasionally while he was directed through a menu by a too pleasant woman's voice, until he finally spoke to a 'real human' and explained the situation.
"They'll have someone out here in an hour," Chris closed the phone and offered it back.
"I'm sorry, but I'm gonna have to get our wrecker to move you," the embarrassed guard explained.
"You have to do your job, Jim," Chris sighed.
Impatiently the two men waited as the wrecker came around.
"I'd have thought you'd have a Rottweiler or German Shepherd," Stafford looked in at the happy Edgar.
"I'm dog sitting," Larabee muttered, scowling in at the smiling dog.
Edgar gave an excited yip and pressed his nose against the glass, looking out at Chris.
The wrecker pulled up and began to back in to the crew cab. Edgar became more excited and ran from one side of the truck to the other peering out the windows.
"Cool it, mutt," the embarrassed Larabee hissed.
Edgar bounced up and down in the driver's seat looking out adoringly at the man in black. He suddenly launched himself at the window leaving a trail of doggy slobbers and nose prints. Chris stared in disbelief as the dog once more hit the automatic switch unlocking the doors. In a flash Chris had the driver's door open and the little trouble maker in custody.
"Hey, how about that," Jim laughed.
"Yeah, how about that," Chris growled, opening the back door and firmly placing Edgar in his cage and then locked the door.
"Let me move this thing out of the way. Do I need to fill out any reports?" Chris turned toward Stafford.
"Pull over into the Official Business spot there and I'll get you to sign a couple of forms," Jim pointed to a parking spot down the line. "Don't forget to call your road service and tell them not to come," Stafford reminded.
Larabee nodded as he climbed into the truck. Pulling it down to the spot he turned the truck off and carefully pocketed the keys. Climbing out he glared at deepening snow and sighed. It's gonna be a long ride home.
He walked back over to Jim and the two men entered the terminal. With Stafford's help Larabee quickly finished up the paperwork.
Chris made his way cautiously across the icy pavement to his truck. A car moving far too fast not only for the conditions, but far faster than the posted speed limit roared towards him. He attempted to move out of the way only to lose his footing on the ice and slide completely underneath his truck. Almost immediately Larabee heard the crunch as the car made contact with his truck.
Shaking his head and cussing up a storm Chris crawled out from under his truck ready to hand the driver his head on a platter. A white faced Stafford rushed up, demanding to know how badly Larabee was hurt.
"Just cold, wet and bruised I think. What about that idiot?" Chris demanded, gesturing toward the driver of the other vehicle.
Stafford opened the car door to check on the slumped driver. "Jeez," he choked as the stench of whiskey reached him. "I've already called nine-one-one. I thought we were going to have to have the meat wagon for you," Jim chuckled weakly. "This fella looks to be passed out drunk, but I'm no doctor. Do you want to go to the hospital?" the security guard asked worriedly.
"No. I'm fine, but let me check on Edgar," Larabee answered, opening the back door of his truck and looking into the crate. Edgar's head was down and he looked embarrassed at the puddle in the kennel floor. "Don't blame you buddy, it scared me too. I don't think you're the only one who sprung a leak, but I'm not sure," Chris said wryly looking down at this soaked jeans. Opening the cage door he rubbed the dog's ears gently before getting behind the seat and tossing an old towel onto the puddle. Snagging a dry corner he tossed the soaked towel into the back of the truck. "I'll clean up better when we get home Edgar," he promised as he put in a dry towel for the dog to lie on.
"Did they say when they'd have a police car out here to get the report?" Chris asked, rubbing his aching temple as he turned back to Stafford.
"Looks like that's it now," Jim sighed in relief, nodded to an approaching police car.
The police officer soon sorted out the situation, arranging for the drunk driver to be taken to the hospital. The accident reports were filled out and Chris was sent on his way.
Hell. It's midnight already. Chris scowled. Turning up the heat as high as it would go; soaked and chilled he headed home. Larabee and his canine companion hadn't been on the road for long when the pain in Chris' right ankle and knee began to make itself known.
Shit. I'd better get this checked out. The immediate care center over on Silver Street is still open and Andre Montgomery is on since this is Friday. Now isn't that a sad thing? Not only do I know the operating hours of five different immediate care centers, I know which doctors are on which shift. Larabee huffed ruefully as he made a right turn.
