No Broken Beast

by Snow, Nicole

  He’s not paying attention to me, though. He’s busy stroking his hand down Jake’s back, his long, capable workman’s fingers moving over the dog’s body with a touch so gentle it doesn’t seem to belong to the man looking rather icily at the dog’s owner with his expression completely blank, turning his face into a princely mask of frost.

  I’m so caught up looking at him that I don’t realize when he starts to draw his hand back from Jake – and that hand grazes my jaw.

  Completely accidental, but it sends a jolt through me.

  This time, I jerk back like I did something wrong. Like he’s going to think I leaned into him deliberately and tried to make that happen and I—

  Oh, crud.

  My heel turns.

  My stomach drops.

  And my balance tilts sideways, because I might just be the clumsiest girl on earth and it’s a miracle I can even walk in flats.

  I get half a second of the world flashing by – and Jake staring down at me with an alarmed bark, bouncing up on his paws like he’ll dash to save me, if only he had hands – before I’m dropping, crashing toward the floor.

  But the bruising impact of tile on skin never comes.

  A powerful arm from nowhere hooks around my waist, catching me so firmly I don’t even have a chance to feel the whiplash as Doc captures me in a strong hold and smoothly loops me up so swiftly my head reels. I blink dizzily, clutch at his arm, gasping, my stomach and my heart bouncing against each other.

  For just a second we’re pressed together.

  My entire body molded against his side, like we’ve been melted together by pure heat. It’s like leaning against a stone pillar, only stone doesn’t move with subtle flexions of muscle as he stabilizes my footing like he’s maneuvering a doll.

  Holy hell. I can’t decide whether I’m grateful or if I’ll never live this down.

  I might as well be a mannequin, I guess. I’m not breathing, not moving, my limbs locked with...surprise. Yup, that’s it. Surprise.

  Because the last thing I’ll do is admit I felt anything else.

  Or maybe my bones are just searing to ash from the scorching, hateful glare Arielle gives me, while I stare dazedly up at Doc with my ears burning and my eyes wide.

  “Miss Delwen,” he says coolly, looking down at me with his expression never changing. “Are you all right?”

  I suck in a sharp, cold breath that practically slaps me across the face with its sting, breaking my trance. Oh.

  Oh, God. I nearly just faceplanted the floor right in front of my new boss and a customer.

  I can’t look at either of them. I brace my hands against Doc’s arm and push away, managing somehow to keep my balance – if only because I switch to clutching Jake, hugging the massive dog and burying my face in his warm fur. I’m even grateful for the warm, wet tongue rolling over my cheek reassuringly.

  “I’m fine,” I mumble. “Just tripped.”

  Over empty floor. Right.

  Please, I beg. Please let it go.

  There’s silence then, before Arielle reaches over to scratch Jake’s jaw, making his tail lash so hard it’s a miracle he doesn’t take off like a helicopter.

  “So, what should I do, Doc?” she asks. “Does he need medication?”

  “Ms. Delwen?” Doc asks mildly.

  I swallow what feels like a boulder in my throat. I’m hardly in any mood to talk right now, when I could slink under the exam table and die from sheer mortification.

  I’m not qualified for this after all. I’m not –

  Oh.

  That’s when it hits me – what he’s doing.

  He’s pointedly deferring to me, intentionally, because Arielle here dismissed my assessment as unimportant and turned to him instead.

  And maybe he’s giving me a chance to save face after that little mishap.

  I don’t even know what to say.

  I’m just a tech; he’s the vet. The Menagerie is his practice, and with so much more experience I’d rather defer to him, too. I know my stuff, sure, but not so well that he’s got to be that kind of sadist just to make her uncomfortable for doubting me.

  But I can feel them both looking at me, waiting, so I raise my head from the dog’s flank, turning to face them, and clear my throat, making myself speak.

  Suddenly I’m the uncomfortable one, and I duck my head again, using Jake to hide as I rub my cheek to his ruff.

  At least he’s happy.

  “Everything in the house should be at his level,” I say.

  I start off mumbling, but manage to smooth out as I pick up steam, plucking things from memory and trying to think what’s best for Jake. “That’s true even if it’s arthritis and not just old age. Getting up and down from sofas and beds will be harder for him, but you can make it easier by making sure any high places where he likes to rest or play have a special low-impact doggie stair he can climb, and by moving things he needs regularly low to the ground. That way he doesn’t have to strain himself by climbing, or deal with any pain from dropping down.”

  “Very good, Ms. Delwen. I couldn’t have said it better.” There’s not a single touch of bright approval in that husky growl, but he’s got a sort of velvet-chocolate voice that makes your name sound like something dirty even though it’s nearly toneless. I just hide my blush against Jake, and the dog leans on me hard with a content whine.

  Then I freeze.

  For just a second, Doc reaches over to stroke the dog’s fur again and stops just short of touching my cheek a second time, close enough to make my skin shiver, before his hand falls away. Thankfully, I manage not to spin myself into another fall this time, but...

  Nuh-uh. Nope. No.

  I don’t know anything about Doc. Anything about men.

  And the last thing I’m going to do is start getting breathless over my weird, imposing new boss when I haven’t even finished working here one full day.

  Especially when I still don’t understand why he hired me, after nothing but a couple emails and a phone interview that took less than ten minutes.

  Doc tilts his head, regarding Jake’s owner over his glasses. “I’ll prescribe an oral anti-inflammatory that should help Jake’s mobility, and we should discuss changes in his diet. Certain foods, especially foods with grain additives, can increase inflammation of the joints and ligaments.”

  Arielle nods, looking at the St. Bernard worriedly. “O-okay. I didn’t realize...will it be hard to get him to take the pills?”

  I half expect to hear a curt Ms. Delwen, deferring to me again – but instead Doc’s voice softens as he speaks not to the woman, but to the dog, his touch warm as he scratches behind Jake’s ears. “You’ll be a good boy,” he says, coaxing as if the dog can understand him.

  Heck, I’m beginning to wonder if maybe Jake can, when his tail wags twice as hard and makes me shake since I’m still leaning against the massive St. Bernard – and massive definitely isn’t a word that would describe me.

  “With a few pill pouches, you won’t even know any medicine’s going down the hatch, now will you?” Doc rubs the dog’s head briskly.

  Jake answers with a resounding, confident bark, and his owner breaks out in a smile. “Hear that, Jakie? You’re going to be okay,” she says. “You really are.”

  “He absolutely will,” Doc answers with smooth confidence, then extends one arm gracefully toward the door. “Let me talk to my receptionist and write up your prescription. We’ll schedule his X-rays for this week, as well.”

  She nods quickly, then lets Doc shepherd her from the room. He follows her out but pauses for a second, looking back at me.

  Just a sliver of green visible over his shoulder, shadowed by the sardonic arch of his brows. I hold completely still, practically hiding behind the St. Bernard, eyes wide and waiting for him to say something.

  But he doesn’t say a word.

  He just makes a soft “ch” sound under his breath, then sweeps out in a last snapping flare of his lab coat.

  I l
et out my shaky breath and press my forehead against Jake’s. “Well,” I whisper. “That was weird.”

  A wet, warm, raspy tongue slides over my cheek. I laugh, shoving gently at Jake’s oversized, shaggy head. Even if my boss is cold and strange and makes me feel way too jumpy every time he’s around...

  The clients aren’t half bad. It’s just their owners that make this job hard.

  “Come on,” I say, wrapping my arms around Jake so I can help him down from the table without straining his weathered joints. “Let’s get you back on your leash and send you home, boy.”

  Out in the lobby, Arielle waits as I lead him out and hand him over, while Doc murmurs with Pam, the receptionist, over scheduling.

  We’re such a small practice we don’t have much equipment and it’s expensive to operate, so sometimes more complicated procedures have a waiting list. But it looks like we’ll get Jake in again soon. While I’m trying not to be obvious about peering at the screen over Pam’s shoulder, every other woman in the room fixes their eyes on Doc, watching him, waiting to see which name he’ll call next.

  He still doesn’t say a thing.

  Still.

  He just finishes with Pam, turns around, and walks into the back without looking at anyone.

  A collective sigh sweeps through the room. Shaking my head, I lean my arms against the counter and dip my head to murmur to Pam. “Is it like this every day?”

  She chuckles, reaching up to tuck her graying curly locks back without hardly missing a beat in her machine-gun typing. “Only Friday afternoons, hun.” Her slow Southern drawl says she’s not from this little Northwestern mountain town, but then neither am I. “People get out of work early and, well, single ladies get bored when we’re not exactly a nightclub town and the only entertainment on weekends is Brody’s.”

  I peek surreptitiously over my shoulder at the cluster of hopefuls. “Does it ever work? Bringing their pets in.”

  She eyes me cannily and smiles, pleasant but shrewd. “Are you trying to find out if the good doctor is single, Ember?”

  “No!” I hiss, eyes widening, shaking my head, my heart leaping up into the back of my throat. “And don’t say that so loud!”

  She might as well paint a target on my back.

  I’m not about to piss off every single woman in Heart’s Edge by even pretending to compete for their man of the hour.

  Having Jake’s owner glaring at me was bad enough.

  Besides, someone as cold and restrained as Dr. Caldwell would never look at me, anyway.

  He looks like he’d date...I don’t even know. Some icy, elegant redhead with sultry lips.

  I’m too small, too young, too mousy.

  I’m wallpaper. I blend in, September Delwen style, and people don’t really pay attention to me.

  That’s why I like animals so much. They don’t need you to be spectacular or witty or cute or sexy –

  or able to walk a straight line without tripping over your own toes – to love you.

  They just need you to love them back.

  Still, it amazes me that all it takes is one strange, mysteriously gorgeous man to pull in this many people in a town this small. The cozy size of Heart’s Edge is the whole reason I moved here.

  I wanted to spread my wings, leave the nest, and find a place to start my life without my mother hovering over my shoulder, but I didn’t want the overwhelming noise and press of a big city.

  I just want to find home.

  But let’s be honest, I’m searching for the impossible.

  In my heart, home is a place where Dad never died. A place where things are better when he’s around.

  And that place won’t ever exist again.

  I can’t go back there.

  So I decided to go somewhere else.

  As I watch Pam call the next client, only for the woman to practically launch into the back with her wild-eyed and very confused cat, I stop and wonder.

  What if I’ve wandered into a whole other kind of trouble?

  Nah.

  Dr. Caldwell is just my boss. I don’t have to worry about his crazy dealings with the rest of the town. I just need to show up on time, do my job, and be good to people’s pets.

  Easy as pie.

  Or not.

  My back sure as heck doesn’t feel easy by the time we close up and I’m finishing after-hours cleanup. So many kennels to be scrubbed, and even when I’m done there’s still paperwork to review, prescription call-ins to verify, and records to check against the database entries in our patient tracking system.

  But just as I’m plowing through it at Pam’s workstation to start closing things out, the front door of The Menagerie opens with a faint jingle of the bell. I look up as a woman steps inside with a soft click of heels, a plain tan carrier hanging from one of her well-manicured hands.

  My eyes widen. You know the feeling when someone just totally doesn’t fit?

  Yeah. She’s like a stiletto in human form, and I don’t even have to be a local to know she’s not from around here. The locals dressed to impress.

  She’s dressed to slay.

  All black, her tight black bob framing a severe, model-worthy face graven with the calm authority of creeping age. But just because she’s older doesn’t mean she’s not beautiful, sleek, elegant.

  Kind of like Doc.

  Her stylish black coat, black stockings, and simple heels make her look like she just stepped out of a catalog. She’s smooth. She’s lethal. She’s stunning.

  And just like Doc, she’s got that aloof, careful air around her that spills out into the room, like she’s got a thousand secrets, but she’ll never tell you a single one. Not unless she kills you.

  And her smile? It’s almost knowing as her sharp, dark grey eyes land on me. “Good evening. Is the doctor in?”

  I blink, shaking myself from my bewilderment and telling myself to stop freaking staring.

  Offering her an apologetic smile, I fold my hands together. “I think he’s already gone for the day, and we closed about half an hour ago. Unless it’s an emergency, you can come back in the morning or make an appointment for–”

  “I really don’t know if it’s an emergency,” she replies coolly, even if that smile remains. All teeth. Sharp. “I’m not a veterinarian. I do think the doctor could tell me if my Baxter needs emergency medical care.”

  Baxter, I realize, is the cat in the carrier – as jet-black as her clothes and hair, this little midnight inkblot whose only distinguishable feature is a pair of wide, curious golden eyes peering through the wire mesh door.

  I bite my lip. It’s after hours, but what if her furry little munchkin needs help?

  I can’t turn this woman away. If she really, really wants to see Doc, though, taking a look at Baxter might be enough to placate her until she can come back tomorrow.

  So I stand.

  Catch my foot in the spokes of the chair.

  Wobble.

  And catch myself on the desk.

  Awesome.

  Clumsy me might just be my natural state.

  Honestly, it’s a miracle they ever let me handle sharp objects in veterinary school.

  Acting like nothing happened, I drag a smile up from the last dregs of energy I have left after an insanely long day. “Go ahead and bring Baxter in the back,” I say. “I’ll have a look.”

  Her eyes narrow. She watches me cautiously, considering – I don’t know what.

  I don’t really think I’m much to look at, so I don’t know why she’s staring at me that way, but after a moment she deigns to nod.

  “Thank you,” she says, and sweeps past me toward the exam room without a second glance.

  It’s then that I notice she’s wearing gloves. Long black leather gloves, when it’s late spring and getting hot out. Too hot for that long black coat, too, with its feathery fur collar.

  But she’s still as cool as ice.

  Weird.

  I follow her into the back, where she’s set the carrier on
the exam table. Slipping my fingers through the carrier door, I let Baxter sniff them gently.

  He – or she? – is almost too big for the kitten-sized carrier but doesn’t seem bothered. The cat just smells my fingers before butting its head imperiously against them.

  “So what’s wrong with Baxter?”

  “She started throwing up everywhere,” the woman says. She’s quiet, distracted, looking around the sterile examining room with a thoughtful, critical eye. “I haven’t changed her food or her treats, so I’m worried she ate something poisonous.”

  I carefully ease the carrier door open. Baxter eyes me, but then takes the opportunity to slink out, immediately thrusting her head against my palm and making no attempt to escape the table as some pets do when they feel threatened in a strange place.

  It’s not hard to tell she’s a social kitty. The way she purrs and relaxes for me even though my scent is new gives it away.

  Even if this woman doesn’t know enough to get her cat an adult-sized carrier, she’s clearly spent a lot of time giving Baxter affection and care. Which is hard to imagine.

  It’s also pretty clear there’s nothing wrong with this cat at all.

  Weirder.

  Is this stranger another one of Doc’s hopefuls? She’d make unlucky number thirteen today.

  I’m not even going to contemplate how fitting that is, considering how she looks like the Grim Reaper’s latest Tinder date.

  Still, I make a point of looking the cat over. “Hm...do you have any lilies around your house? Any flowers at all?” I ask, checking Baxter’s eyes. Dilated pupils often indicate animals are poisoned, but Baxter’s are perfectly normal and react like they should, contracting and expanding as I flick my little pocket pen light over her face. “Lilies are the most common troublemakers, but azaleas and tulips are close runners-up. A lot of people don’t realize until they get a bouquet and the petals start falling off, and one of their pets gets curious and eats them.”

  “No,” the woman says tonelessly. “I don’t keep flowers. Too high maintenance.”

  “And I doubt anyone’s sent you any, have they?” A voice drifts across the room, echoing coolly from behind us.

  Uh-oh.

  I suck in a breath, pivoting quickly. The woman stays calm, turning, like she just expects to find Doc standing there in the doorway.