Rescued

by L. P. Maxa

  Phee muttered to the dashboard. “I’m here to ask if my dog should have shots now, and what shots, etcetera. I’ve had him only a few days.”

  His silence made her crazy, and anger flowed from her feet clear to the top of her head. Phee dared to look up. She’d been minding her business in a parking lot and a royal, too-handsome jerk plows out of nowhere to ruin her day. She reached to turn on the ignition, and bless all the saints above—none of whom had any reason to come to her aid—the engine turned over without a hitch.

  “Like I said, it’s none of your effing concern.” Who went around deserted parking lots scaring the snot out of people anyway? Phee had no control over the images that seemed to appear out of nowhere, like him standing there without a shirt and a single button of his jeans undone.

  “Take care of that pup, and clear out of this parking lot by nightfall, or the next person at your window will be a cop.”

  Phee puffed up, preparing a barrage of exquisite responses to the threat, but anything she said would have been to the man’s back. He walked away at a clip and disappeared around the corner to the one story building. She stared a moment longer, thinking he might return. Boy did she have some brilliant repartee to toss out, but he didn’t reappear.

  She’d never had a reason to be here before, but she’d seen the complex from the highway hundreds of times. One half of the long, low pre-fab building housed the veterinarian’s office, and the other Wilson’s Feed, Grain & Pet Supplies.

  And who was she kidding about going anywhere? Fuming, she turned the car off again.

  “You’re a bit of a traitor, Reggie.” But she didn’t mean it.

  Absentmindedly, she again took up rubbing behind his ears. Phee struggled to erase the image of Mr. Nosy from her brain. Reminding herself that the gorgeous, deep-voiced creature was a big fat asshole, well not fat, she reached and pushed the button on her Fitbit. 8:52 a.m.

  “We should think about heading in and asking about shots and things. Don’t hate me, Reggie. You have to get checked out. I couldn’t bear if anything happened to you, even if you are a bit of a monster.”

  Phee didn’t believe she’d ever weary of the adoring look, wagging tail, and face licks responding to her dialogue, but then Reggie peed all over her lap.

  “Oh, crap.”

  And why wouldn’t he have to go? She did, that was for sure. They’d been in the car for well over an hour. She could curse like a sailor, but there was nothing to do about all the little things that kept coming at her, so clipping on Reggie’s leash, she reached for her purse. Spying the termination letter on the seat, she hastily crammed it into one jacket pocket and slipped the car key into the other.

  “Courage, Reggie.” With the beep-beep of the car doors clicking locked, she headed across the big asphalt space even as folks began to turn in off the highway for business.

  ###

  Cabe had walked away from the weird color green VW bug concerned about the girl and the puppy. Why he felt anything at all nagged because his conduct toward her wasn’t his norm. He’d been gruff, aggressive—not his style—but something about the situation compelled him to engage.

  He should have let it all be, but curiosity had taken over when he first spotted the car in the far corner of the parking lot just after seven a.m. There was activity at the supply store because ranchers didn’t waste daylight, and Wilson’s opened at sun-up. But the un-ranch-like-looking vehicle was out of place, and it continued to niggle after firing up the computers at the front desk to save his staff the step, and even after he reviewed his email.

  Cabe McCain disliked things that didn’t make sense, so he’d marched out of his office, across the parking lot, and prepared to harass some person living in their car. He’d barked first, judging when he had no right to, and scared a young woman and her puppy. That she intended to become a client made his asinine conduct that much more boggling.

  The after-the-fact analysis of his earlier actions changed nothing, and glancing back over his shoulder, he saw that despite starting the car with deserved anger and in answer to his threatening behavior, she must have decided to stay. Five minutes later, once more in his office, Cabe looked out the window before checking in with staff. The VW was still there.

  If she came in and had the puppy examined, two things could happen. Widower McCain was either going to man up and apologize, or he would act the part of the professional, aloof Dr. McCain, and examine the puppy and move on.

  The only other choice was to kiss her, an idea that hit him like a bale of hay falling from a barn loft.

  The problem with any of the options was something about her had instantly gotten under his skin, and for the first time in maybe fifteen years, at least since he’d courted his dead wife, steel-nerved Cabe McCain was unsure of himself.

  Chapter Seven

  Puppy Shots

  The wait wasn’t long. It turned out the veterinarian had worked in another county until buying this building a year earlier. He was still developing a local practice, which allowed her to slip into an unfilled 9:30 appointment.

  The only painful part of sitting until called was the young assistant. A too-thin girl courageously fighting a nasty case of teenage acne that prattled on and on and on about the doctor’s schedule and the two days a week he spent performing house calls in the ranching community.

  By the time the girl stopped wiggling enough for Phee to read “Junie B” on the nametag attached to purple scrubs, Phee’s thoughts were on different ways to strangle the clerk without getting arrested. The phone rang, sparing her more chatter, and she settled on a red vinyl bench, reassuring Reggie.

  “Oh, don’t sit, Mrs. Kavanagh, I’m going to move you and the puppy to an examining room now.”

  There was little point in explaining she was not a “Mrs.,” and why she felt any trepidation to clarify remained a mystery as she followed Junie B down a clean linoleum hallway, and into an examination room. With the clerk’s promise the doctor would be with them soon, Phee found herself staring at the now closed door, trying to read the backward letters through the frosted glass. mooR noitanimaxE.

  “We’re here now, Reggie.” She clutched the quivering ball of fur to her chest, “I know, baby, it smells scary, but it’s okay.”

  A stainless steel sink occupied the middle of a long counter neatly arranged with apothecary jars. One of the containers held dog treats, and though tempted, Phee didn’t grab one. “This is it, Reggie. You need to be good so the doctor likes you. Of course, he’ll have to because you are the most adorable puppy ever.”

  She walked to one wall and began reading the posters. Heartworm warnings, pictures of fleas blown up in a way that revealed jaws—ugh—visuals of gum disease in dogs and cats, and even the horrors of heat stroke. After a few minutes of self-education, for reasons she couldn’t explain to herself, terror struck, and she wanted to bolt for the door. But then Reggie squirmed, impatient to explore the surroundings. She bent and put him down, watching as he began to sniff around.

  That she should have stuffed a pee-pad in her oversize bag was a good thought, but too late. Reggie peed as if on command. “Oh, puppy, no.”

  A door she hadn’t noticed on the other side of the examining room opened as her not-yet-housebroken-pet squatted a second time and pooped next to his pool of pee. Adorably, he sat directly on top of the spreading puddle. She turned her attention to whoever had entered, planning to apologize, and choked instead.

  Gorgeous parking-lot jerk stood cool, calm, and in control with a crisp file folder in one hand. His pressed white lab coat covered the checkered shirt as well as most of the button-down jeans that had beckoned her through an open car window less than an hour before. Writing stenciled in blue cursive above a single pocket housing one blue pen, one black pen, and a pencil were his name and credentials.

  C. McCain, DVM.

  “Shit.”

  “You said before.” He seemed to study her, and she assumed his expression as one of disdain. “Do you
always state the obvious?” He glanced from the pile of dog poop, and back down at the file label. “Mrs. Kavanagh?”

  Yep. Disdain. Dr. Cabe McCain’s features—sculpted from forehead to chin—settled into a sort of “great-another-idiot-with-a-puppy” expression.

  “It’s Ms., and I’m sorry about Reggie’s lack of control.”

  “No apology needed. Puppies don’t have much sense of the rules at this age. But it’s not too soon to begin training.”

  She blanched at his emphasis. “Well, I have started training. But we sat in the car for over an hour because I wanted to be here when the doors opened so we…” Phee bit her tongue; she hadn’t intended to bring up the parking lot.

  “Right. The parking lot.” He turned his back to her, setting the file on the counter and opening one of the jars.

  Phee wished the floor would swallow her up rather than stay another minute, except she wouldn’t leave Reggie. The little monster was now padding about with pee-covered feet, leaving paw prints in his wake.

  The examination room door opened to Junie B, who stood as if summoned telepathically. “I’ll get that, Dr. McC.” And within minutes, the girl scooped up Reggie’s poop into a container. Pulling a mop from a bucket outside the examining room, she made quick work of any remaining mishap.

  All Phee could think to do was mouth the words “Dr. McC,” mimicking Junie B. She had to stifle an urge to laugh. “Junie seems efficient. I suppose that helps in your practice.”

  Dr. McC stared at Phee again, this time resting his gaze here and there as if assessing her attributes. She might have been incensed, except there was no lechery in his study. It resembled curiosity, and she wondered if her shirt was on inside out. Then she remembered the puppy’s incident in the car.

  “I’m a mess. I know. We had a similar accident in the car a little earlier, but I didn’t want to go home and change because…” And why hadn’t she simply put the appointment off and cleaned up? “Well, I’m not sure, really, and after all, Reggie pees just about anytime, anywhere, but we’re working on that too, the peeing thing. Besides, I wanted Reggie examined and to be certain he had the right shots. I don’t even know how old he is.” She hated her transcendence into insecure-babbling-nut-case-Phee.

  “He’s a stray?”

  “More like abandoned, I think.”

  “And you found him when?”

  “He found me.”

  “Where?”

  “Along the riverbed by the swimming… You know, doctor, what’s the point of all of this? You’re making me nervous. I love this little guy, and he must need shots. That’s it.” Tears threatened, which thoroughly pissed off Phee. She gulped down the lump in her throat since she’d be damned if she shed a single solitary drop in front of all Dr. McC’s self-assurance. He scooped up her puppy and set him on the examining table without any protest from the dog. Did you forget the part about biting people on my behalf, Reggie?

  “I’m sorry, Dr. McCain. It was good of your staff to squeeze me in, but I’ll take Reggie and come back next week.” She made a useless lunge for her dog, but he was quicker and stepped around the table’s edge, putting himself between Phee and Reggie. His left hand—a steady hand that seemed capable of playing a part in any girl’s doctor-patient fantasies—secured the pup on the shiny stainless slab. Distracted by her thinking, Phee barely pulled up short of a physical collision.

  “And what if the dog belongs to someone else?”

  She bit down on her lip, trying even harder than before to stem the tears. She would blame it on hormones, but it was more than the physical changes taking over her body. And more than the thought of having Reggie plucked from her life. It was his direct stare, his closeness, that put her over the edge, and Phee knew it.

  “He doesn’t. He’s not anyone else’s. You should have seen how he crawled out from under some bushes, dirty, scratched, bruised, but brave. So brave.” Swallowing as if somehow the act of it would bolster courage, “And he came right to me. He hasn’t left my side since. Nobody wanted him. Somebody tossed him out. I’m sure of it.”

  Somewhere in her speech, Dr. McC stepped even closer, the gap that separated them diminished to inches. Beneath the sound of blood rushing in her ears, Phee heard his steady breathing. She smelled aftershave, nothing too hey-babe-I’m-amazing, its scent more akin to confidence. Once again she found it impossible to look at him directly. Instead, she stared at her toes and tried to ferret out the blend of scents that threatened to tug her closer still. It was a myriad of smells that suffused into one indescribable aroma and reminded Phee of a walk along the river’s edge.

  Maybe it’s that he showers with a simple but good soap. A thought that almost blasted Phee’s thinking in an entirely unacceptable direction. Showers, soap, the man inches from her—naked.

  If her mind continued to wander, who would blame her? The alternative was to look up at what she now knew was a strike-her-mute-handsome man with stunning blue eyes. Like visits to the pond, she understood without further analysis that a tumble into the watery blue gaze would feel like floating away beneath a hot summer sun, cool water healing every cell of a girl’s battered heart and spirit.

  “Ms. Kavanagh?”

  He did nothing to end their closeness, so Phee continued to be intrigued by her not so fascinating shoes.

  “I’m not taking the puppy away, Ms. Kavanagh. These questions are more or less my duty.”

  “How can one have a more,” braving a direct look, gulp, “or less duty?”

  A clean white handkerchief appeared from thin air, and he handed it to Phee before turning his attention back to Reggie. The infinitesimal part of a second when their fingers made contact sent a wave of heat from the tips of Phee’s fingers, up her arm to a point behind one ear, causing a fuzzy sensation to settle in her shoulders. Dabbing at her no doubt wreck of a face to regain composure, she grimaced at the mascara residue that now stained the crisp square of fabric.

  He remained businesslike, the jerk, even to the thermometer he placed carefully in the puppy’s rear end. After reading it, he returned the device into a canister filled with what must be alcohol. For some weird reason, watching as he gently examined Reggie calmed Phee, and she could see the man had the same effect on her puppy.

  Opening the door from which he came, Dr. McCain seemed to have second thoughts and returned to the chart on the counter, jotting down a few more notes. Without looking up he called for another assistant, a name Phee didn’t recognize and, thank God, not Junie B. Thinking he would leave without further comment, instead he swiveled toward her and shocked her breath away with a pointed look. Phee’s fingers gripped Reggie’s little red collar like a life preserver.

  “Your puppy is about eight weeks old. We will administer the vaccines that carry Reggie up to four months, but then someone needs to bring him back for the final set of puppy vaccinations. Also, unless you know other dogs he might come in contact with as having had all of their shots, been cleared for heartworm, giardia, and the usual diseases, you may wish to avoid socialization until Reggie’s follow-up visit.

  “If you want him chipped, which we recommend, my staff can do that on any Thursday between nine and eleven in the morning. It’s one hundred twenty-five dollars, and then you register online with the company listed in the brochure. Those are in the lobby. Otherwise, he’s fine, healthy. His heart sounds are strong and normal.” He paused to review the chart. “Oh, and since these floors are cleaned rigorously and often, we’ll use the feces sample he left to confirm no worms or any pesky bacteria lurking within that might wreak havoc on his system. Any questions?”

  Yes. Didn’t you feel the heat between us, Doc?

  Phee’s mouth wouldn’t move. Her brain had no connection to any words, rendering the master’s of English degree she’d earned meaningless. She couldn’t even spit out the words “No” or “Thank you” before he closed the door on her dumbfoundedness.

  She had his hanky, but he was gone.

  Mayb
e it was hormones. Admittedly her emotions had run a gamut over the last several months—her mom’s sudden illness, the funeral, being pregnant, getting fired—but Phee didn’t think it was her imagination.

  She could have sworn that in the one single moment she and Dr. C. McCain stood inches apart that he was about to kiss her.

  Staring at the closed door, she finally found her voice.

  “Shit.”

  Chapter Eight

  To Rescue or Not to Rescue

  Cabe made an excuse to his staff and ducked into his office before entering another examination room. He wouldn’t stay long. He couldn’t hazard any big breaks between back-to-back appointments. Practicing in such a fashion resulted in long waits that irritated people—even pet people.

  The fact was, he’d already put himself behind by telling Junie to offer an opening that didn’t exist to the woman about to come through the door with a puppy. He’d described the dog only, concerned that although his clerk might be fresh out of high school, she’d read his interest if he provided a detailed description of the new patient’s owner.

  But he could. Every detail. And it worried him. Green eyes, nothing like the stuff of poetry, no precious stones, like emeralds or sapphires fit the description. No, her eyes were more like a soft jade, dulled by soap and water. And yet, when she’d reacted to his harassment, the only way to describe his behavior in the parking lot, sparks flew from her irises. Cabe wasn’t sure why he needed to get under the girl’s skin, but he’d done so intentionally.

  It dawned as he stood to the side of his office window waiting for Reggie and his owner to come into view that, since Cassie’s death, he categorized all available women as “girls.”