by Susan Wiggs
“Come on, come on, come on,” he said, jiggling her with one hand, pulling out an oxygen mask with the other. The cone-shaped mask was designed to fit over a muzzle, but by pressing down hard, he made it work.
Her eyes flew open. Wide awake, she struggled and cried out. Noah backed away, holding his hands palms out. “Yo, calm down, okay?” he practically pleaded, thinking about the horse tranquilizer in his kit. He wondered what she would do if he said, Don’t make me get out the horse tranquilizer… Bad idea. He was at a loss here. Should he touch her? Soothe her? Or throw water in her face? Touch her, definitely.
“Miss…” He put a gentle hand on her wrist, intending to check her pulse.
Big mistake. She jerked away as though he’d burned her, scrambling to a sitting position and regarding him as though he were Jack the Ripper.
“Miss,” he said again, planting himself in front of her so she wouldn’t fall off the table if she passed out again, “you’re going to be all right, I swear. Please, look at me. I can help, but you need to focus.”
Finally, his words seemed to penetrate. He could see the glaze of fear in her eyes begin to soften. She took a deep breath in a visible effort to calm herself.
“Hey,” he said, resisting the urge to take her hand. “Calm down. It’s going to be all right.” He used his most soothing tone, the one he reserved for feral cats and skunks with distemper. “We’re in my clinic. I’m a—I have training.” Best to hold off explaining he was a vet. “I need to check you out, okay? I swear, that’s all I want to do. Please?”
She began to shake, her face as white as the moon. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, thank you. I…I don’t know what came over me.”
No shit, he thought.
“My guess is you experienced a vasovagal syncope,” he said. “In layman’s terms, you fainted from the sight of your own blood. There’s been some physical trauma, so I need to ask you some questions, check your pulse and blood pressure.”
This time, finally, his words seemed to penetrate. He took a risk, touched his fingers to her chin and studied her pupils. Her skin was velvet smooth, but chilled and clam-my. He felt her effort to stop trembling, saw the resolution on her face. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice still slightly tremulous. “That was unforgivable of me.” She squared her shoulders and tipped up her chin. She seemed to grow in confidence, transforming herself into a different person. The cowering victim disappeared. In her place was a controlled—though clearly shaken—young woman.
“No apology necessary,” he said. “Lots of people freak out when they’re hurt and bleeding.” He shrugged. “Proves you’re only human.”
“What is this place?”
“My clinic,” he said.
“I crashed my car in front of your clinic? That was good planning.” She offered a weak smile.
“Has this happened before?” he asked her. “The syncope—fainting.”
“No. Good heavens, no, never.”
“Before the episode, do you recall experiencing headache, back pain, chest pain, shortness of breath?”
“No. I was right beside you. I felt fine up until…I don’t recall.”
He took off his parka, then remembered his scrubs were stained with blood and fluid from the foaling. He quickly turned away so she wouldn’t see, peeled off his shirt, stuffed it into a hamper for the service, then grabbed a clean lab coat.
His patient was extremely quiet now. He turned to find her staring at his naked torso. Her mouth—a beautiful mouth, even for a crazy lady—formed a perfectly round O of surprise. Her face was still pale though; she was probably still at risk for syncope. And despite his fond wish, it was not over his physique. Something had spooked her, and he hoped it wasn’t him.
“Just need to put on a clean shirt,” he said.
Her gaze flicked away from him and darted around the clinic.
He felt her trust in him draining away. At vet school, they didn’t teach you not to take your shirt off in front of a patient, because as a general rule, the patient didn’t care.
“Sorry,” he muttered to her, and quickly slung a stethoscope around his neck, hoping that might reassure her. “I swear, I just want to help.”
“And I appreciate it,” she said, bracing her hands on the waist-high stainless steel table, the array of supplies and instruments on the counter. “I won’t go into a panic again. That was…it wasn’t like me. And this is all very…Rocky Horror Picture Show.”
Noah instantly flashed on Susan Sarandon in her bra and panties. I wish.
He used a foot pump to lower the table. “You’re still bleeding—no, don’t look.” He didn’t want another fainting episode. “I really need to check out that leg.” He scrubbed his hands at the sink, then plucked a pair of latex-free gloves from a dispenser, eyeing her leg as he drew them on. “I might need to cut your trousers off,” he said, then couldn’t suppress a grin.
“Is something funny?” she asked.
“It’s just that I’ve never said that to a patient before. Have a seat on the table, okay? And scoot back so your leg’s stretched out.”
To his surprise, she obliged, propping herself on her hands as she looked around the exam room, focusing on canine growth charts and a calendar from a veterinary drug company. “You’re not a real doctor, are you?”
“That’s pretty much my favorite question,” he said. “See, if I were a real doctor, I’d only know the anatomy and pathology of one species, not six. I’d only have one specialty instead of nine.”
“I guess you must get that a lot.”
“Just enough to annoy me.” He took a step back, holding his gloved hands up. “Listen, I’m fine with not doing this.”
“If you don’t mind, I’d like you to go for it.”
So much for playing hard to get. “I’ll need to check you out, see where else you’re injured.”
“It’s just my knee.”
“You might have an internal injury.”
“And you can tell this.”
“You’re exhibiting signs of shock. I need to examine your chest and belly for bruising and palpate your abdomen.”
“You’re not kidding, are you?” She stiffened, folding her arms tightly. “I’ll pass. I didn’t hit myself on anything. I don’t hurt anywhere. It’s just the knee.”
He wasn’t about to push her. The situation was already bizarre enough. “I could call EMS, but on a night like tonight, I’d hate to call them for anything less than a life-threatening emergency,” he said.
“This isn’t life threatening,” the woman said. “Believe me, I know the difference.”
“Okay. Just the knee for the time being. But if you feel anything—double vision, dizziness, anything—you need to let me know.” He checked her blood pressure. It was in the normal range, a good sign. An internal bleed caused the pressure to drop. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s have a look at that knee.”
She lay back and covered her eyes with her forearm. “You’ll understand if I don’t watch.”
“I noticed you’re not fond of blood.” He selected a pair of bandage cutters and started at the hem of the dark wool trousers, cutting upward. The thin, expensive-looking leather of her boot was drenched in blood. He kept cutting upward, hoping he didn’t have to go so far that he’d look like a complete perv. The cut was arc shaped; she must have sliced it on something under the dashboard. “You’ve got a gash here, just above the knee.” The laceration probably hurt like hell. It wasn’t a bad cut, but it appeared to be a bleeder. “You need sutures,” he said.
“Can you do it?”
“I’m no plastic surgeon. Whatever I do is bound to leave a scar.”
“Then can you stop the bleeding and I’ll find a surgeon in the morning?”
“It can’t wait that long. The risk of infection is too high. The maximum any doc would allow is seven hours. Roads’ll still be closed in the morning.”
“Then stitch it up, and I’ll live with the scar.”
For a woman t
his good-looking, it was an unexpected remark. “All right. I can numb the area…it’ll probably need a dozen stitches. If I make them really small, it’ll minimize the scarring.” He considered offering her a tranquilizer to calm her down, but wasn’t sure of the dosage. She probably weighed about the same as a Rottweiler, so 80 mg should do it. Then again, maybe not. He’d stick with a local anesthetic.
“I’ll hold still for the novocaine,” she said.
“It’s lidocaine, one percent.” And he hoped it didn’t take much to numb the area. It was strange, having a patient that didn’t need restraining. He injected the local and she didn’t flinch.
“That’ll go numb in a couple of minutes,” he said.
“I’m counting on it.” She took her forearm away from her eyes, turned her head and stared at the counter. “If I’m really good, do I get one of those biscuits from the jar?”
“You can have as many as you want,” he said, making a slit in the sterile wrap of a suture tray. “They give you minty-fresh breath and whiter teeth.”
“We can all use that,” she murmured.
He changed gloves and got busy with the cleansing and suturing. Many animals had skin that was more delicate than humans. He chose 3-0 nylon with a skin-cutting needle, standard equine external suture material.
He put on a pair of magnifying glasses and angled a task light at the site, working with as much delicate precision as he could to avoid a zipperlike scar on her pale, delicate skin. He felt her starting to tremble again and wondered if he should be making small talk to ease her nerves a little and, please God, make her hold still. With his regular patients, a few sympathetic clucks usually did the trick.
“I didn’t get your name,” he said.
“It’s Sophie. Sophie Bellamy.”
“Any relation to the Bellamys that have the resort up at the north end of the lake?”
“Sort of. I was married to Greg Bellamy. We’re divorced now.”
But she still used the guy’s name, Noah observed.
“I’ve got two kids here in Avalon,” she continued.
That probably explained the name, then. What it didn’t explain was why the kids didn’t live with her. Noah reminded himself that it was none of his business. People were complicated, with a mind-boggling array of emotions and issues. Nothing was simple with this species. He found working with animals to be much more straightforward. Dealing with humans was like crossing a minefield. You never knew when something might blow up in your face.
Small talk, he thought. Distract her with small talk. “So are you here for a visit? Or just getting back from a trip?”
She paused, as though considering what to say, which was odd, since it was not a challenging question. She said, “I landed at JFK this afternoon. There were no commuter flights to Kingston-Ulster Airport because of the weather, so I rented a car and drove up. I suppose I could’ve taken the train, but I was just so anxious to get here.”
Landed at JFK from where? He didn’t ask, expecting her to fill him in. When she didn’t, he focused on his task. Human skin was remarkably similar to canine or equine, he noted. “And you’re staying with the Wilsons across the road?” he prompted.
“Not exactly. I’m using their house. It’s a summer place. Alberta—Bertie—Wilson and I have known each other since law school.”
“Oh.” His hands stilled. “You’re a lawyer?”
“Yes.”
“A real lawyer?”
“Okay, I deserved that,” she said.
“You couldn’t have told me this before I stitched you up with equine sutures?”
“Would you have treated me any differently?”
“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “I might not have treated you at all. Or I might have asked you to sign a treatment waiver.”
“That’s never stopped a good lawyer.” She quickly added, “But you don’t have a thing to worry about. You rescued me and made the bleeding stop. The last thing in the world I’d do is sue you.”
“Good to know.” Noah removed the surgical draping from her leg and gave the wound a final washing with povidone iodine topical solution. “Although you should probably take a look. It’s not real pretty.”
She braced her hands behind her and sat up. The stitching formed a thin black curve in her pale flesh, now painted amber with the disinfectant. “You stopped the bleeding,” she said again.
“It appears so.” He laid a gauze patch over the wound. “I have to bandage this. You’ll need to be careful, not mess with the stitches or let them pull. If you were one of my usual patients, I’d fit you with a lamp-shade collar to keep you from chewing at the bandage.”
“That won’t be necessary.”
“You need to keep this area dry if possible.”
“I think I can handle that.” She held still while he finished bandaging her. He checked her blood pressure a second time. He studied the meter. “No change,” he said. “That’s good.”
“Thank you. Really, I can’t thank you enough.”
He held both her hands as she gingerly let herself down off the table. She swayed a little, and he slipped his arm around her. “Easy now,” he said. “You’re going to need to keep that leg elevated as much as possible tonight.”
“All right.”
The shock of holding her in his arms struck him. His chin brushed over her silky hair. She smelled like crisp winter wind, and she felt both soft and light.
She seemed equally startled by his touch, and a small shudder went through her. Fear? Relief? He couldn’t tell. Then, very gently, she extracted herself from his arms. He led the way to the reception area. Mildred’s workstation was as meticulously neat as his assistant herself was. Noah’s desk was cluttered with journals and reference books, toys and little figurines, cards from patients’ owners. There was a small bulletin board entirely devoted to notes from kids and photos of them with their pets. Noah was a complete sucker for kids.
“Thank you again,” she said. “You need to let me know what I owe you.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“I never kid. You performed a professional service. You’re entitled to charge for that.”
“Right.” Spoken like a true lawyer. If he’d performed the same procedure on a Doberman, he would’ve charged a few hundred bucks. “It’s on the house. You should be seen by a doctor as soon as possible.”
“Well. You’ve gone above and beyond the call of duty,” she said. “My hero.”
He still detected a subtle vibrato of fear in her voice, so he suspected she was just trying to show him some bravado—or irony. “No one’s ever called me that before.”
“I bet some of your patients would if they could talk.” She looked away, and he was glad to see a bit of color in her face. And damn, she was one good-looking woman. “Anyway. I should get down to the cottage now—”
“That’s not going to happen,” he said. “Not tonight.”
“But—”
“The roads are worse than ever. I know there’s a driveway down to the Wilsons’, but it’s buried under feet of snow. The place is probably freezing. Tonight, you’re staying here.”
She looked around the clinic. “So you’re going to put me in a crate in the back?”
“Right next to Mrs. Levinson’s Manx cat.” He gestured at the Naugahyde bench in the waiting area. “Have a seat and put your leg up. I need to check on my patients, and then we’ll go over to the house. It’s not the Ritz, but I’ll give you something to eat and a place to sleep. I’ve got tons of room.”
“I’ve already troubled you far too much—”
“Then a little more won’t matter.”
“But—”
“Seriously, it’s no trouble.” He went in the back, where dim bluish night-lights illuminated the area. Toby the cat was alert but seemed content in her crate. She had plenty of water. Brutus, the beagle, was sound asleep and snoring loudly. The other cat, Clementine, sat methodically grooming itself.
; Noah detached its nearly empty water bottle. “Did you see her, Clem?” he whispered. “Can you believe my luck? I won the girl-stuck-in-the-ditch lottery.”
The cat blinked at him, then lifted a forepaw and started grooming it.
“Yeah, high fives to you, too,” Noah said. Sure, an accident had brought Sophie to him. But maybe fate had a hand in it, too. The most gorgeous woman in the galaxy, a woman who called him “my hero,” was going to be moving in across the road from him.
All right, so he was probably reading too much into a chance encounter. But what the hey. Han Solo wouldn’t hesitate to make the most of the situation. She was beautiful and had made a point of telling him she was single. And she had kids. Noah loved kids. He’d always wanted a houseful. His last girlfriend had left him over the issue of wanting kids. Now here was a woman who already had some.
He washed up at the sink, reminding himself not to get ahead of himself, something he had a habit of doing. Fate had dropped a golden opportunity in his hands. Now it was up to him to see what this might become.
Noah was pretty sure he’d never met anyone like Sophie Bellamy. He wondered who she really was, besides some guy’s ex-wife. He wondered where she had come from and what had driven her here in the dark, in the middle of a snowstorm, and if the desperation he glimpsed in her eyes was something that should worry him.
Part Two
One month earlier
Epiphany
An epiphany is a sudden realization, insight or rebirth, often brought on by a life-altering event.
Originally from the Greek for “appearance” or “manifestation,” Epiphany is a Christian feast, also know as Twelfth Day, as it is the twelfth day after Christmas. Traditionally, this coincides with the visit of the Magi. The day is marked by feasting and celebration.
Gougères
Gougères are airy French cheese puffs that originated in France, and are traditionally served this time of year with champagne dry, not brut.
1 cup water
1 stick unsalted butter, cut into small pieces
1/2 teaspoon salt