by L. P. Maxa
Caleb McCain, you need a shrink.
Within seconds of this self-diagnosis, the pup and Ms. Kavanagh came into view, walking toward the beat-up VW. He couldn’t help a smile. She had her head buried in a bag twice the size of any purse he’d ever seen. One arm rummaged for something—probably the car key—and the other struggled to keep the bag open during the process. The puppy, wedged between the top of a shoulder and her neck, nibbled at her ear. Adorable ears. He felt a pang of longing in his gut, figured it for hunger and continued to watch.
Her method of balancing seemed destined for a total system failure, and he was right. Within moments of taking up his surveillance, the satchel slipped out of her hands, one shoe stuck in a small pothole, and down she went. Hard. It was evident she took the brunt of the fall to keep the puppy safe.
Reminding himself to follow up on his apparent unheeded request of three months prior, to repave potholes in the parking lot, he laughed aloud as Reggie immediately resumed the nibbling and licking despite protests from the sprawled Ms. Kavanagh. Cabe felt an urge, followed by a feeling that led to a film reel in his head, with him, not the puppy, licking and nibbling Fiona’s long neck.
Nobody else seemed to notice the nasty fall she’d taken. But he sensed that she would be offended if he ran across the parking lot and assisted her.
So he watched.
She was laughing, laughing with her legs cattywampus to the asphalt and getting drenched with puppy saliva. She placed the little mutt in the carry-all thing, then tugged at the hem of her skirt, revealing a bloody knee.
Ouch.
After studying what must be gravel-pecked skin covering her patella, she picked herself up, then the handled bag with the puppy, and once more headed to her car. But then she pulled up again as if she felt a sudden pain, and Cabe felt compelled to run out of the building and rescue her, all misgivings about the idea tossed aside.
Helping her, or saving her, either way, his appointment schedule would go down the tubes. Not an M.D., he was still a doctor, and that knee needed the kind of medical attention even a DVM could manage.
Unsure what to expect, he shoved any confused feelings aside, telling himself he would go out there to confirm she was okay. But somewhere in his brain, the truth buzzed, even if he stumbled over the admission.
Cabe McCain, widower, lonely guy, almost bitter guy, had nearly kissed his patient’s owner in an examining room not twenty minutes ago.
Chapter Nine
Accidental Disclosure
Fiona must have pulled herself together quickly because when Cabe made the spot where she’d fallen, she was gone. The VW was already pulling onto the highway.
“Dammit.” He looked down to study the pothole, determine how best to repair it before anyone else hurt themself, or maybe even sued. A crumpled paper sat near the uneven asphalt, some uncaring idiot obviously dropping it without concern. “Trash.” Disgusted, he picked it up, but for some reason, the plan to flip it into one of the receptacles outside the building lost out to curiosity, and he unfolded the note.
###
Oh hell. It wasn’t anywhere. The letter of termination wasn’t in the car, even under the seat, not on the floor of the cottage, not in a trashcan. Nowhere. She’d read it in the car, that much Phee remembered.
“Did you eat it, Reggie?”
The puppy padded to her feet, peed and then licked her ankle. “Outside or on the pad, baby.” No scolding. It wasn’t Reggie’s fault that he didn’t quite connect the dots being nature’s call, the outdoors, and her hardwood floors. It struck Phee as perfect irony. In a couple of years she would be starting to potty train a child. Her child. “Shit.”
Bending, she gently put Reggie’s nose in the puddle and said no. Then she moved him to a training pad. Expensive little buggers those, and soon enough Reggie would need to signal to go outside, learn to use the dog door that by some turn of fate had been installed before she rented the cottage. At least his tail wagged in response to the modest scolding. “You love me back, right, Reggie?” An answering yip filled the air.
She scoured the cottage again, checked every cranny of the car one more time, and plopped down on the front porch, tears threatening for the umpteenth time that day. A warm wet nose nudged her elbow from behind, and she picked up the puppy, indulging a face lick.
It was the dog in her arms that answered the question of the missing termination letter. “Damn.” Reaching into her pocket for the last place it could be, Phee blanched. “No, no, no. It has to be here. I know I put it in my pocket. Then we went to the vet’s office,” looking down at Reggie’s upturned face, “and then we took that stupid fall in the parking lot.” She closed her eyes and visualized the walk from Dr. Cabe McCain’s office to her car.
“Damn. That effing parking lot.” As if to taunt, the banged-up knee started hurting again, reminding her not only of the road rash, but of the man who had preoccupied her thoughts for the rest of the day.
Apparently the folded paper had somehow fallen out of her pocket. Bad enough word would get out that she got canned from Hillside, but she had some dignity, and anyone else reading the words and phrases in that letter would also learn of her pregnancy.
“We should have torched it, Reg.”
###
Oscar didn’t think torching anything was a well-reasoned idea, although he had no clue why. Something instinctive sent up a warning to tread carefully around the idea of flames. Still, Phee was miserable, and he needed to make things better. He licked her elbow in part to make her laugh and also to apologize for peeing on the floor again.
As he was becoming accustomed, she swept him up and rubbed his belly, holding him in her lap. At moments like this, Oscar didn’t want to get bigger, ever, although he knew that to keep her safe he needed to grow into his paws, bark deeper, and prevent bad things from darkening their door.
At least Dr. McC wasn’t a bad thing. Something happened between his new doctor and the woman holding him tight. As it turned out, there was much to learn, and this morning he discovered that his nose was capable of remarkable things. When the doctor and Phee had been close to one another, their smells changed. So even when it seemed they were angry, there had also been a connection drawing them closer to each other. Oscar’s senses told him this was essential to how these creatures came together.
Oscar also remembered the letter. She had put the paper that made her cry into her jacket pocket, and it disappeared after the visit to the vet. Oscar had captured the smell on the letter. A bad smell, one that frightened Phee. He had made a promise to keep her safe, and he wanted to stop the endless flood of tears, so Oscar hatched a plan.
When Fiona fell asleep, he would sneak out and retrieve the horrible note from the effing lot.
###
Cabe balked, seeing the name of the sender and, more importantly, the addressee. He had no business reading her mail, so he folded it back up, but not before keywords had jumped off the page. They’d fired her, and for what? Her pregnancy. Not being married. Something absurd about the integrity of the congregation and safekeeping of the children. As if being unmarried and pregnant was a talisman of evil.
What little he read was a load of BS.
Figuring out what to do with the information or the letter, Cabe also worried that his first vet bill would deplete Fiona’s finances. And if it did, how would he approach helping her without disclosing that he knew the contents of the letter in his hands? Hell, something would come to him. In the meantime, it would be wrong to leave her mail where he’d found it. And he shouldn’t throw it in the trash because of names and accusations in the document.
Of course, her phone number was in the puppy’s file, so Cabe could call and mention his staff found a letter that appeared to be hers when cleaning the office. And he could reassure her that the contents had not escaped the privacy of her purse, or pocket, wherever it had been.
In other words, McCain, lie.
Any further thought of solving the dilemma had to wait because
Junie came out of the office and, as if landing a plane, began furiously waving both arms from the front steps. Patients. He must have at least three if not four scheduled exams now officially backed up. Frustrated with himself, he decided to blame Ms. Kavanagh. What the hell got into him anyway?
But he knew.
Jade green eyes, her fierce instinct to protect a stray, the swell of her breasts beneath the cotton shirt, and those tears expressing fear for the mutt. Cass was right. Caleb McCain was a rescuer. And since that was the case, he’d best accept it because if anything ever needed saving, it was Ms. Fiona Kavanagh.
Cramming the letter into his lab coat pocket, he raced back to his office.
Chapter Ten
Lost
Oscar tried to pretend he wasn’t petrified, but each noise in the woods haunted him. Convinced every sound behind a tree or under a bush belonged to a creature that would as soon eat him as help, he bit his tongue not to yip aloud.
During dinner Phee had talked—a lot—about the big clouds forming over the mountains, explaining that such things happened this time of year and that thunder and lightning were nothing to fear. If, she warned, he stayed within the cottage walls.
But that command was one Oscar could not obey and keep her safe.
As he’d adapted to being called Reggie, he occupied his fear wondering what she would think of calling him Oscar, because no matter how hard he tried, he would always be, well, Oscar. And he wished there was a way to tell Phee, except that would take magic. Of course, he would answer to Reggie, but tonight he needed to be the Oscar that had been courageous enough to walk away from his mother two weeks before, and head purposefully into the same forest that enveloped him now.
Something crashed to his right, and he jumped. The rain, a light drizzle when he left Phee’s cozy cottage, now fell in earnest, and despite cover from the trees above, he was drenched to the bone. His coat no longer insulated him from the cold, and even urged forward with the desire to save Phee from the agony brought on by a piece of paper, his fur proved useless against a deep chill that settled under his skin.
Though his nose told him he continued in the right direction, he had no way of being sure. The cottage bordered the woods, the parking lot did the same thing, and watching the sun move through the day, he believed he could find his way. But would it do any good? If he recovered the letter, whatever its contents, it had made a permanent and unhappy change in his owner’s life. At the same time, her discovery of its loss seemed to make things worse. One way or the other, the goal remained the same. Find the letter and let Phee figure out the rest.
A thorn punched through his left paw, but he didn’t yelp. He wouldn’t risk discovery by some nocturnal creature that no doubt considered Oscar a meal. Disheartened and feeling as empty and alone as he had that first night in the woods, he bowed his head against the pelting rain and kept going.
###
Phee, wakened by a clap of thunder, flopped back on the pillows, wondering at her unease. She loved storms. The small cottage was well built, and she felt safe here. With her eyes closed, she tried to fall back asleep, but something wasn’t right.
“Reggie?”
Her hand sought the place he’d adopted the first night. She’d become accustomed to his falling asleep at her side, only to find he’d moved to the end of the bed near her feet sometime after she dozed off.
But the puppy wasn’t anywhere on the mattress. Lightning flashed, and in that instant of illumination, she didn’t see him anywhere. “Reggie?” Maybe he hid under the bed or the dresser. Hanging over the side of the frame, she called his name again. Nothing. In a new flash of lightning, all she noted were errant dust bunnies. “Yech.”
Panic settled. “Okay, Phee, he’s a dog, and he’ll be fine.” But he wasn’t just a dog, Reggie was her dog, her puppy, and he was scared and alone. Again. Until this moment, Phee hadn’t known she could feel this deeply for another creature outside of humans. “Reggie, puppy, where are you?” Another pulse of light, and in less than a second, a clap of thunder so loud her ears started ringing, jump-starting Phee into action.
She hopped off the bed and raced to the far wall only to be exasperated when she flipped the switch. The power was out. “Damn it.” She had never been a Girl Scout, but living under the constant threat of earthquakes while an undergrad in California had educated her to be prepared. She had candles, matches, water, and flashlights. Blessed flashlights. The one in her nightstand drawer brought the room into enough focus to confirm Reggie had not come out of hiding to sit wagging his tail near her feet.
Ten minutes later, she was near hysteria. The puppy was nowhere within the cottage walls. Of all nights for Reggie to brave the doggie door, and it appeared he had, there was no other explanation regarding his whereabouts.
The thermal t-shirt she slept in would do, so she tugged on jeans, boots, and grabbed the raincoat, which hung in the mudroom. Screw a bra. Even if she met Prince Charming while out searching for Reggie, it wouldn’t matter if her puppy wasn’t safe. She’d long ago decided she didn’t want Prince Charming or some superhero type to sweep her off her feet anyway.
What Phee wanted, what she needed, was a handsome veterinarian with a rough bedside manner and galaxy-deep blue eyes. Stop it. Thoughts of him were hindering her mission, so she kicked her impossible fantasies out.
What mattered now was Reggie.
Checking accessories, flashlight and leash, she shoved a small towel into one pocket of the coat. Her hair didn’t matter, but rain hampered visibility, so she smashed an old Dodgers baseball cap on her head. The way things had been going in her life these days, she figured no matter how prepared she might be, she’d probably get hit by lightning. Regardless, no way she was leaving Reggie out there alone.
“Dammit. I didn’t plug my phone into the charger.” She checked it—sixty-three percent. It would do. Racing to begin her hunt for the dog, she jammed the phone in a baggie and shoved it in the remaining empty pocket.
With the front door locked behind her, Phee adjusted the baseball hat tighter and angled it against the direction of the rain. “I’m coming, Reggie. Stay under the bushes and watch for me.” Head down, she stepped off her stone pathway and walked to the woods.
###
Cabe had no clue as to why, but Maggie had taken to acting crazy in the last hour. The storm had grown in intensity, but unlike her pups—all safe in the indoor pen behind his office—she barked and smashed against the door until he let her in, where now she paced and scratched at the other entrance to go out in the storm.
“No, Mags. You can’t go out there. Let’s put you back in the kennel with your brood.” But she snapped at him, and he knew enough about animal behavior to accept that something, someone, needed help. Cabe rubbed her ears and told her it was okay, and still, Maggie flopped down, whimpering.
So far he’d ignored the office phone. He could hear it from the back room, where he’d settled in using the puppies as an excuse since he had no reason to go home. This area was designed like a small studio apartment because sometimes surgeries meant he needed to check on an animal late into the night. He guessed someday he’d have staff for that chore, but now it was his business, which included a complete commitment to his patients.
His past overnight experiences in the studio had been relatively quiet, so the incessant calls signaled trouble. And with Maggie acting weird, Cabe decided to answer the phone.
“Hello.” Hearing himself forced a grimace because anytime he answered a call, no matter the reason, coming across angry was terrible for business.
“Dr. McCain?” The voice on the other end was too garbled to note anything familiar in the caller’s tone. “Cabe. It’s Phee. The puppy’s gone. My puppy’s missing.”
Although louder and now understandable, he still didn’t recognize the voice. “Phee, who? What puppy?”
“Sorry, Fiona Kavanagh. Reggie, my puppy, Reggie.”
Damn. “Ms. Kavanagh, I remember.” And th
at was a lie. He more than remembered the woman on the phone, he’d thought of little else since this morning. “Slow down. Where are you?”
“In the woods, I think about a quarter of a mile from your office.”
“Shit.”
“Like I said.”
Cabe almost laughed at her reference to their first meeting. She was funny, sarcastic—but funny all the same. “Not funny.”
“Yeah, it is. But right now, I’m freaking out. I’m soaked, near frozen, an easy target for a lightning bolt, and my puppy is missing. I didn’t know where else to turn.”
“Okay, okay.” He was thinking fast, but no ideas popped up with an answer to the problem. “Why do you think he’s coming this way?”
“I don’t know, but these are the woods that border where I found him, maybe he wasn’t abandoned, maybe he hated me and wanted to go home. I scolded him, I don’t know, but he’s gone, I can’t…”
Cabe recognized that she’d disintegrated into sobs. “Fiona, stop.”
“Phee.”
“Okay, Phee. Okay.” He didn’t have time to ponder saying Phee into her ear on a different occasion, experiencing her reaction to his touch. “You’re breaking up.”
“It’s my cell phone. I think the battery’s about to be officially dead. I’ve been hitting re-dial to your office for the past hour.”
“Do you have a flashlight?”
“Uh-huh.”
He took her response as a yes. “Then keep heading in one direction with the flashlight pointed toward where you think the parking lot is. I’ll head out and meet you.”
“Cabe?”
She’d used his abbreviated first name twice now. All his business cards said Cabel, so he didn’t know how she got to the shortened version.
“Cabe?”
“I’m here. Sorry, Phee.”
“Hurry.”
As he was about to drop the phone in the cradle, something fired in his head. “Wait. Phee, don’t hang up.”
“I didn’t. What?”