Always For You (Always Love Book 1)

by Tawdra Kandle

  “He sounds it.” Maureen sipped the coffee I’d set before her. “Oh, I so needed this. Thanks.”

  “You’re very welcome.” I cut a square of coffee cake and slid that in front of her. “Here, try this, too.”

  She looked at me with the I-couldn’t-possibly protest in her eyes, but when I only stared right back, she took a bite. “Oh. Oh. Yes, yes, yes. This is—it’s better than your cookies, Smith. It’s so good, I don’t want to eat anything else for the rest of my life.” Her eyes were closed again, and an expression of pure, unadulterated pleasure washed over her face. The little noises she was making in her throat made my mouth go dry and my cock go hard. I couldn’t help picturing her making those same noises with her legs wrapped around my hips.

  But it was when she moaned that I couldn’t take it anymore.

  I cleared my throat. “Reen, you need to stop. Or I’m going to pick you up out of that chair, take you to my bedroom and see if I can’t do something else that will make you moan like that.”

  She swallowed, her eyes lifting to my face, and then she set down her fork. She took a deep breath and licked her lips. “Smith, I need to—”

  On the table next to me, my phone began to ring. I swore under my breath when I saw the number for the answering service on the readout. “Hold on one second. It’s work.” I kept my eyes on her face as I answered. “Dr. Harrington speaking.”

  I listened to the crisp voice of the operator as she gave me the information I needed. After thanking her, I pushed back my chair and stood up. “It’s Princess Buttercup. Mr. Garth just called in that she’s foaling now. I need to get out there.”

  Maureen jumped to her feet. “Give me two minutes to throw on clothes, and I’ll go, too. We can take my truck.”

  “You don’t have to do that. I’m the one on call.”

  She nodded. “I know, but I’ve been taking care of Princess Buttercup since she was a baby herself. I really want to be there when she delivers, if you don’t mind. I won’t interfere. You can handle the whole thing.”

  “Not worried about you interfering. Go, get dressed. We’ll hash it out on the way to the farm.”

  I drove Maureen’s truck when she tossed me the keys. We didn’t speak much on our way out to the Garths’ place, the silence broken only by her directions, since I’d only been there once before. As we got close, Reenie reminded me of the particulars of the case.

  “Princess Buttercup is a three-year old maiden mare. Gestation thus far has been unremarkable, though I expected her to go into labor before this. And in the middle of the night.”

  “Maybe she thought a Sunday was the next best thing.” I turned the truck onto the farm.

  “Have you done a foaling since school?” Maureen was keeping her voice calm, but I heard the thread of doubt.

  “Yeah, but only two. We don’t get too much farm work up in Boston, you know. But when I was doing my year in England, it was an almost everyday occurrence. I’m sure it’ll all come back to me.”

  “Just like riding a horse.” Maureen winked at me and swung open the door as I came to a halt.

  One of the principle roles of the vet—and any human observer—in a foaling is watching. Most mares desire privacy for their labors and delivery, and some will even delay giving birth until humans are out of sight. If the birth goes normally, oftentimes a vet won’t even touch the mare or the foal. Letting nature take its course is the desired way of things, and I knew as we approached the barn that I’d only get involved if a problem arose.

  Mr. Garth, an elderly man with a full head of white hair, turned when he heard us approaching. He held one finger to his lips, smiling, and pointed inside the barn.

  “Water just broke. She’s doin’ fine. Real trooper, she is.” He wagged his head. “Reminds me of my Bonnie when she had the babies.”

  My eyes went wide and met Maureen’s, both of us choking back laughter. I wondered how Mrs. Garth would feel about being compared to a foaling mare.

  I moved around the farmer slowly, getting into a position where I had a better view. Princess Buttercup was a beautiful horse, with a shiny black coat and huge brown eyes. Right now, those eyes stared off into the distance as she focused on the matter at hand. I saw that Mr. Garth had already bandaged her tail, to keep it out of the way during the actual birth.

  The mare rose to her feet, panting slightly, and then dropped back down. She repeated the process a few times, but this was normal. I glanced at Maureen, and she gave me a slight nod. I checked my watch, gauging how much time had passed since Princess Buttercup had entered the active stage of labor. If she went beyond thirty minutes, we’d have to move in and possibly intervene, as it was likely there was a complication.

  But mere moments later, she dropped to her side, and we saw the welcome sight of two front hooves, with a small nose in between. The foal was in the right position, and after a few more tense minutes, the entire body was expelled from the mother’s body. The three of us humans standing by let out a collective sigh of relief.

  For the next fifteen minutes, we watched as the new mama became acquainted with her baby daughter. She nuzzled her, removing the birth sac and then finally, nudging the baby to stand. When both mare and filly were on their feet, and Princess Buttercup easily passed the afterbirth, Farmer Garth slapped his thigh.

  “Well, isn’t that wonderful. A pretty little filly, and she come through like a champ, Buttercup did. And we didn’t need no professionals after all!”

  I might’ve been a little bit exasperated at his words if we hadn’t just witnessed a textbook foaling, or if I hadn’t realized Mr. Garth was speaking out of relief and jubilation, not out of spite. His next statement convinced me.

  “Sure am sorry I had to interrupt you folks on a Sunday. Now why don’t you come on up to the house. Ma’s got a celebration dinner waiting on us, and she’ll be tickled to see you both.”

  I opened my mouth to decline, but Maureen caught my eye and gave her head the slightest shake.

  “We’d love to, Mr. Garth. Thank you.”

  As we followed him up from the barn, Reenie slipped her hand around my arm, leaning to whisper into my ear. “They don’t have much, and this is his way of saying thank you to us for coming out. We won’t bill them. We didn’t do anything. But this will make him feel better about it.”

  I nodded, understanding her reasoning. Maureen knew these people and this town. They were part of her, and I’d quickly learned to follow her advice when it came to relating to our patients’ owners.

  Mrs. Garth did indeed have a huge spread waiting for us. A tiny old woman with her long white hair wound around her head, she clapped her hands in delight when her husband shared the good news.

  “Oh, wonderful! Now we’ll have to come up with a name. Well, we’ll talk about it over dinner. Here, now y’all go wash up. Been down at that barn, your hands’ll be filthy.”

  She bustled around the kitchen, seating us all at the wide table and then serving ham, potatoes, biscuits, green beans, pickled tomatoes and too many jams to count. I smiled across at Maureen, and when she looked back at me, something new and different was shining in her eyes.

  I thought it might be hope.

  We stayed for a long time at the Garth farm. After dinner, when I announced I was never going to walk again, Mr. Garth insisted on giving me a tour. We all went back down to the barn to check on Princess Buttercup and her filly, who, over dessert, had been named Duchess. The gangly baby was unsteady on her feet, but that was perfectly normal. And I might’ve imagined it, but Princess Buttercup seemed to wear an expression of serene accomplishment on her long face.

  Dusk was beginning to fall when we finally climbed back into the truck. As we made our way over the country roads, heading back to our house, I reached across the seat and took Maureen’s hand in mine.

  Right now, at the end of this perfect day, there was no need for words. It was enough to ride together in the dimming light of the setting sun, listening to country music
on her favorite radio station, with her warm fingers laced through my own.

  It felt right.

  We’d just stepped through the kitchen door when my phone went off again. This time, the answering service delivered a much more urgent message: a woman in town had called in about a dog she’d found in her front yard. The animal was clearly very ill, panting, with glazed eyes and possible seizure activity.

  I ended the phone call and turned back to Maureen. “Okay if I take the truck, in case I need to transport the dog to the office?”

  “Of course.” She jammed her hands into the back pockets of her jeans, throwing her breasts into prominence, though I doubted she was aware of what she was doing. “Do you want me to come with you?”

  “Nope.” I tapped her cute little nose. “Get some rest. With any luck, I won’t be out very long.”

  “Okay. If you’re sure.”

  “I am.” I slid my arm around her shoulders, wanting with every fiber of my being to kiss her. But I wouldn’t do it while I was on my way out the door, when time was of the essence. I didn’t want to do it if I couldn’t get the job done properly.

  So instead I pressed my lips to her forehead and touched my fingers to her lips. “Later.” I whispered the word, hoping she understood it was a promise. When her mouth curved and her cheeks went pink, I kind of thought she got the message.

  The answering service had texted me the address of the woman who’d called in about the dog. She lived on a side street behind Burton High School, and when I pulled into her driveway, she was standing in her front yard, wringing her hands.

  “Hey.” I climbed out of the truck. “I’m Dr. Harrington. What’s going on?”

  “Oh, thank you for coming so fast. I didn’t know what to do. I came home from being in Savannah over the weekend, and I found this guy right here, on my grass. He’s not my dog.” She said those words with emphasis. “Not that I don’t like dogs, but my landlord is a stickler. No pets at all. So I tried to get him to move on—the dog, I mean—but then I realized he was in trouble. He’s panting, see, and look at his eyes. And a few minutes ago, he started shaking all over, like uncontrollably.” She hugged her arms around her body. “What’s wrong with him, do you think? Is it rabies?”

  “Let me take a look.” I approached carefully. Dogs who were sick or in pain could react violently, and I’d had my share of bites. But this fellow only followed my movements with imploring brown eyes. He didn’t react when I ran my hands down his body, checking for broken bones or lacerations. And he only whined softly when I pressed on his stomach.

  “Do any of your neighbors keep poison out? Like for pest control?” I frowned, watching the dog.

  “Not that I know of. Most of them have pets, so they’re pretty careful, I’d say. And we don’t really have a problem with mice or rats or anything like that.”

  “Hmm.” I thought for a minute. “How about pools? Anyone have a pool?”

  Her face lit up. “Oh, yeah! The Reddys next door.”

  “Ah. I’m thinking the dog could’ve gotten into the pool chemicals. I’m fairly certain he’s ingested poison of some kind.” I petted his soft fur. As far as I could judge, he was a purebred Australian shepherd. “You’re sure you don’t who he belongs to?”

  “Oh, absolutely sure. I asked around while I was waiting for you, and like I said, I know most of my neighbors’ pets.” She stroked his head, too. “He doesn’t have a name tag on his collar, but there is some kind of charm.”

  I checked it out. “Yeah, that’s his rabies vaccination. It’s only a few months old, so he’s up-to-date on that.” I patted his heaving shoulder. “I’m going to take him back to the office, see if I can induce vomiting and maybe get him on some charcoal.” I pulled out my wallet and handed her a card. “Here’s my number. If you find out who his owners are or anything else, give me a call, please.”

  “I will. Oh, Mrs. Reddy.” The woman jumped to her feet, greeting an older lady who was making her way across the lawn. “The vet—Dr. Harrington—says this dog may have been poisoned. He may have gotten into your pool stuff.”

  The older woman looked stricken. “Oh my goodness, Claire, you know, I forgot and left the lid off the shock tablets yesterday. And Mrs. Milward said something about seeing a dog running around the neighborhood. I just feel terrible.” She clasped her hands together under her ribs.

  “I think we got to him in time. Don’t worry.” I glanced up at the woman who was apparently Claire. “Do you happen to have any old towels or blankets? I’d like to wrap him up to make the move to the truck a little easier on him.”

  “Sure. Let me grab them.”

  When I had the sick dog safely in the cab of the truck, I turned back to the two women. “Thanks for calling. You probably saved his life. If we can find his owner, I’ll bet he’s going to be really grateful.”

  “I’m just glad you came. Oh, by the way, I’m Claire Fullerton.” She stuck out her hand, smiling. “And this is Mrs. Reddy, if you didn’t figure that out.”

  I shook the older woman’s hand. “I’ll keep you posted on his condition, if you call into the office on Monday. Thanks again.”

  As we made our way through the quiet night toward the office, I rubbed the dog’s soft neck. “Well, buddy, let’s get you taken care of. I know you’re feeling bad. Don’t worry, we’ll make you better.”

  He lifted his head, regarded me with interest and then dropped back to the seat with a long doggy sigh.

  “YOU THINK HE’S GOING TO be okay, though?” I ran my hand over the shepherd’s fur. “You got the charcoal on board in time?”

  “Yeah. Look how perky he is already.” The dog’s tail thumped against the table, and Smith grinned. “Reen—I wanted to talk to you. Can we go out tonight? Maybe go some place nice for dinner, just the two of us?”

  I frowned. “I’d really like that, Smith, but I already promised Tim I’d go to the Road Block with him tonight.”

  Smith’s eyes dropped. He growled low under his breath, and the dog cocked his head. “This is the same old dance, Maureen—every time I think we’ve taken two steps forward, you take another one back.”

  “What’re you talking about?” My heart sped up a little.

  “I’m talking about you and me, and the fact that you’re not into old Tim at all. You don’t want him. And yet you keep going out with him.”

  “For your information, I like Tim a lot. He’s a nice guy.” I paused. “And tonight I’m going to tell him that I can’t see him anymore, because you’re right. I’m not interested in him that way. But I’m not doing it over the phone or by text. I promised him I’d go out tonight, and I am.”

  “Fine.” Smith wheeled around, stopping just short of the door. “What time are you going?”

  “He’s picking me up at six. Why?”

  He shook his head. “No reason. Just curious.” Without turning back around, he stomped down the hallway.

  “Men.” I petted the dog, who licked my hand. “No offense to you, boy, but human men are the most confusing species out there.” I swore the dog nodded. “You need a name, don’t you? We can’t just keep calling you the shepherd.” I pursed my lips, considering. “How about Jack? Jack Shepherd was one of my favorite characters on television. I totally think you look like a Jack.”

  Millie came into the room with a file for me. “No bites on the lines I’ve cast, looking for this fellow’s owner. Can’t imagine someone wouldn’t want him back.” She stroked his silky ear. “If I didn’t know Boomer would kill me dead, I’d say I’d take him.”

  “Well, let’s hope we find his home.” I flipped open the folder Millie had given me. “Hey, Millie, can I ask you something?”

  “Sure, honey. Anything.”

  “Did you always know you were in love with Boomer?”

  She laughed. “I did. From the time we were nine years old, and he threw a frog on my head. I told him I’d hate him forever, but truth be told, I knew that day I’d end up married to that man.�
� She leaned toward me. “And don’t think he doesn’t still pay for the frog throwing, too.”

  “I bet.”

  “So when are you going to put that poor thing out of his misery?” Millie crossed her arms over her chest.

  “What? No! He’s fine. He’s going to recover.” I laid a protective hand on the dog’s shoulder.

  “Oh, honey, no. Not the pup. I meant Smith. When’re you going to admit you’re sweet on him so he can stop looking so tortured? He watches you all the time . . . looks at you the way my Boomer looks at my pecan pie.”

  I felt my face warm. “You’re imagining things.”

  “I am most certainly not. I think I know love when I see it. And don’t try to tell me you don’t feel the same way. You’re ooey-gooey over him, too. Just admit it, let him kiss you but good, and let’s get on with things. You should hyphenate your name, though. Dr. Evans-Harrington.”

  “Millie!” Eyes wide, I stared at her. “Are you having a senior moment? Are you out of your mind? Shhh, don’t go around staying stuff like that. People will think you’re serious.”

  “I’m dead serious. Life’s short, honey. Get on with it.” And with that, she turned on her heel and marched out of the room.

  I glanced down at the dog. “Great help you were. And here I was thinking about taking you home with me.”

  Jack grinned his doggy-grin and waved one big paw over his face.

  Smith left work a few minutes early that afternoon, telling me vaguely that he had an errand to run. Millie and I closed up together, and then I hurried home to get ready for what I hoped would be my final date with Tim.

  As always he was right on time, meeting me at my front door with a kiss on the cheek. He held the door to his car for me, and we headed to the Road Block. On the way, he chatted about his day at school and the weather before he politely asked me how my day had gone.

  “Nothing special. Oh, except we had a new patient brought in last night. A dog accidentally got into someone’s pool chemicals and was poisoned. He’s going to be okay, but we can’t find his owner. He’s a beautiful Australian shepherd.”