Angel's Rest by Emily March

Hank, we dodged a disaster by the skin of our teeth. We have to get the pump truck fixed. Got it running tonight on a lick and a prayer. Hell, the fire could have jumped the creek and burned down the whole damn town!”
    Gabe took another step back. Then another. When he saw a trio of matrons eyeing him with questions in their eyes, he pivoted on his heel and headed for the Jeep. Halfway there he stopped abruptly. He’d brought Nic here. He couldn’t up and leave without her. His mother—God rest her soul—had branded that into his bones.
    Reluctantly he went to find her. A triage of sorts had been set up along the bank of Angel Creek with lanterns and flashlights and car headlights illuminating the space. Nic and a handful of other women were there tending to a variety of minor injuries.
    As he approached, an older woman eyed him with interest. “You must be Gabe Callahan,” she said. “I’m Celeste Blessing. Nicole tells me that Archibald has decided you are his owner.”
    Who? Oh. The dog. Oh, no. No. No. No
. “I’m just visiting the area, Ms. Blessing. I’m a guest in someone else’s home. I can’t have a dog.”
    “Hmm …” She offered him a beatific smile before turning to Nic. “Now that things have calmed down a bit, I need to tell you why the accident happened. I’m afraid I knocked over the candle because I was trying to run after the puppy that a fox chased into my root cellar. He was hurt, Nic, and I’m sure he’s still down there. We need to go get him.”
    A pretty brunette about Nic’s age shook her head. “You can’t go down there tonight.”
    “It’s a puppy,” Celeste repeated. “I hope he doesn’t die.”
    The brunette hit her forehead with her palm and groaned. “Now you’ve done it. Nic won’t hesitate to risk life and limb for a puppy.”
    Celeste added, “They told me the basement wasn’t affected by the fire, so the root cellar should be fine, too.”
    Nic stared toward the house. “I can make a quick—”
    “I’ll do it,” Gabe announced. “Somebody give me a flashlight.”
    “Thanks, Gabe.” She darted a smile. “Two sets of hands are better than one when working with wild animals, and I suspect she saw a coyote rather than a puppy. Let me grab my bag.”
    He nodded, accepted the offered flashlight, and headed for the root cellar entrance he’d noticed while fighting the fire. She caught up with him halfway to the house. “I’ll go in first. If the animal needs sedation, you’ll need to stay out of my way.”
    Gabe respected her professional abilities, but no way he’d let a woman take point position. At the root cellar door he met her gaze and said, “Dr. Sullivan? Sit. Stay.”
    She narrowed her eyes and said, “Careful, Callahan. I bite.”
    He switched on the flashlight and stepped down into the inky blackness. The air smelled musty and smoky. He stood still for a moment as he listened for puppy sounds. Nothing.
    “Quiet as a tomb,” he muttered, playing the light across the floor from left to right. He saw burlap bags and wooden shelves, two wooden barrels, and … a caved-in section of a brick wall.
    He muttered a curse.
    “What is it?” Nic called, descending the stairs. “What’s wrong?”
    The beam from Gabe’s flashlight held steady on the skull revealed by the crumbling brick.
    Behind him, Nic gasped. “Gabe? Tell me that’s fake. It’s a Halloween prop, isn’t it?”
    Nope. Sure wasn’t. “Go back outside, Nicole.”
    “It was in the wall? Bricked up?” Instead of exiting the root cellar, Nic Sullivan moved forward. “This is so Edgar Allan Poe.”
    “Careful,” Gabe warned as she approached the crumbled wall, pulling a flashlight of her own from her medical bag. She reached out and dragged another row of loose bricks away, then another. Realizing she wasn’t about to quit, Gabe stepped up to help her.
    They tore the wall halfway to the floor and stepped back. Nic let out a long, shaky sigh. “That’s the saddest