A Cowboy Under the Mistletoe by CATHY GILLEN THACKER Page A

squeaking and the squirming, Duchess cared for them all.
    Until finally, she collapsed with a sigh.
    â€œDo you think that’s it?” Ally asked.
    â€œOnly 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.
    â€œDo our best to save it,” Hank muttered. He pickedup 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.
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    T HE 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,” shebreathed, 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