Man's Best Friend (The Dogmothers Book 6)

by Roxanne St Claire

  “She can. There’s a full animal hospital at my uncle’s place, almost as big as their vet office in town. In fact, you’d flip if you saw Waterford Farm these days.”

  “I’ve heard your uncle transformed it into quite the canine center,” she said, still stroking the dog’s head and carefully watching Lusky’s eyes, gleaning information like she did. “What a wonderful tribute to your aunt. She was the biggest foster failure I ever knew. That woman could not give up a dog.”

  He laughed, weirdly warmed by the fact that there was no need to explain a thing to Evie Hewitt. She knew his family—immediate and extended. She knew this town, from the best croissants to secret parking spaces. And she knew him, the good, the bad, and the…damaged.

  “I’m surprised Molly hasn’t taken you out to Waterford Farm.” Because then his whole family would have made damn sure he knew Evie Hewitt was back.

  “I haven’t called her yet to let her know I’m in Bitter Bark,” she said, finally taking her gaze off the dog to look at him again. “Usually when I’m here, it’s only to check on Granddaddy, then I have to get back to Raleigh. Like I did that time I worked on Rusty.”

  “I remember,” he said softly, tamping down the understatement of just how much he remembered.

  But she caught the understatement and held his gaze, silent for a few heartbeats, while his chest got tighter and tighter.

  “Here we go!” Linda May yanked them out of the moment, plopping a pink bakery box on the table. “There are a few extras for the wait.”

  “Thanks, Linda May,” Evie said.

  “Thanks for your patience, although…” She regarded one, then the other, a smile growing. “Sure is nice to see two old friends back together.” She gave Evie’s shoulder a pat, then stroked the dog’s head. “And I hope you get things squared away with this guy.”

  She turned away, leaving them both suddenly preoccupied with finishing their coffee.

  “Anyway, great to see you, Declan,” Evie said with what seemed like a little false brightness as they stood. “I’m sure we’ll run into each other again.”

  He nodded, but the voice inside his head was screaming one simple, clear, undeniable word. No. No. No.

  No, don’t leave. No, don’t slip away. No, don’t waste this opportunity. Not again, not this time.

  Outside on the sidewalk, he put his hand on the dog’s head, trying to telepathically beg for help. C’mon, Lusky. Help me out here, bud. Talk to Dolittle for me. Buy me some time and another chance.

  But the dog took a few steps ahead, ignoring the silent plea.

  “I should probably leash him,” Declan said. “But that makes him—”

  “Howl,” Evie finished, her attention riveted on the dog’s backside. A frown formed as she followed, and her head dipped, her concentration complete. “Has he always walked that way?”

  “With that little hitch? Well, yeah, since he’s been at the station, but I thought it was because he’s overweight.”

  She caught up with Lusky, ushering him to the side in front of a store and out of foot traffic. “Hey, bud.” Crouching down, she put her hand on his back and slid it very slowly along his spine, working up from his flank. When she reached a point right above his shoulders, he put his head back and let out a monstrous howl.

  “Now that’s pain.” Declan came closer, his instinct to protect the dog, even though he knew what good hands the animal was in.

  “Wobbler Syndrome,” she said.

  “What’s that?”

  She looked up at him. “The technical term is cervical spondylomyelopathy, a common and not inconsequential spinal problem. I’ve seen it frequently, and I’ve performed surgery for it many times, not that we’d go straight to surgery. But we should start with an X-ray to make sure. Maybe some pain management or physical therapy, depending on how far along the disease has progressed. You don’t know how old he is, do you?”

  “I don’t know a thing about him,” he said honestly, getting down next to her. “Is he in a lot of pain, Evie?”

  “Likely only when he moves his neck a certain way.” She stroked his head again, holding the animal’s gaze. “You’ve figured out how to cover it, haven’t you, buddy? Because you’re beautiful and smart.”

  Exactly like the veterinarian in front of him. “There’s an X-ray at Waterford,” Declan said, a plan clicking into place. “Will you come with me and check him out? It sounds like something we’d want a neurologist for anyway.”

  She opened her mouth to respond, and he was positive she would say yes. There wasn’t an animal in the world she wouldn’t help. It was like breathing to her.

  “Molly can do the X-ray and email me the pictures. I’ll be happy to give a diagnosis and recommend treatment.”

  “Evie…” He stood and took her hand to guide her up, knowing that one of them had to do something to break this pattern. Lusky helped, but Declan had to close the deal. “That dog needs you.” And so do I.

  She held his gaze with the same expression she’d used on the dog, her eyes full of warmth and hope and caring. A look he remembered on the darkest nights when he went down to that emotional basement and unpacked all the baggage.

  “Okay,” she whispered on a sigh. “I’ll take the croissants to Granddaddy and meet you there.”

  “Thank you.”

  She got down again and let the dog give her a swift lick on the cheek. “And we’ll do what we can to get you out of your misery, mister.”

  And maybe, just maybe, she could get Declan out of his misery, too.

  Chapter Five

  As Evie neared Waterford Farm, she admitted the truth to herself. There wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell that she was going to walk away from that handsome creature making such a valiant effort to hide his pain.

  Either one of them.

  Lusky had Wobblers, she’d bet her professional reputation on it. And Declan? He had…something. Deep inside, she could see the spark of the boy she’d spent so much of her childhood laughing with, clawing to get out of a cage of his own making. He didn’t laugh quite as easily as he used to. He didn’t tease her with playful observations and inside jokes. He didn’t even talk as much as she remembered, not that he was ever that talkative.

  Exactly like the dog, she could see that shadow of distress when he swallowed his thoughts and tried to hide them, and she could hear the ache in his voice when he tiptoed around tough subjects the way Lusky limped on his back paws.

  And Evie had only one mode when it came to animals in pain—fix them all.

  On a sigh, she forced herself to focus first on the one she understood. If left untreated, Wobblers could make a dog’s life absolutely wretched. And, except for a professor at Vestal Valley, there wasn’t a highly qualified veterinary neurologist for miles in any direction. So she might have been wary about Declan’s invitation, but she couldn’t actually let that dog far from her sight.

  As she drove through the white gates of Waterford Farm, she let herself sink back to the moment when she’d looked up and seen Declan Mahoney at the bakery. Her first thought?

  Good God, did the man simply get better every year?

  He’d always had that smoldery, understated appeal that had made him such a cute teenager and attractive young firefighter. But maturity, experience, a few silver threads at his temples, and a body honed to perfection by his physical work had notched him up way past attractive. Now he was…

  Declan.

  She still didn’t know why he’d iced her out of his life—not exactly, anyway. Maybe it was time she did. Maybe he was ready to let go of some of that pain and grief and blame and ice. Maybe he could do a little explaining.

  Then, could she trust him not to disappear emotionally again? His pain, unlike his dog’s, wasn’t something she could slice away with a scalpel or mitigate with medicine.

  But, of course, Evie Hewitt would try.

  She followed the long, winding drive onto the property, not surprised when the tree line broke and ope
ned up to a gorgeous vista that spread like an emerald blanket to the horizon. Waterford Farm had always been a picturesque homestead outside of town, teeming with family and more than a few dogs.

  She’d been here dozens of times with Declan, for dinners and barbecues, four-wheeling with his many siblings and cousins, and she’d come to visit Molly not long after her sweet mother, Annie Kilcannon, had died suddenly.

  But Waterford hadn’t been anything like this even as recently as four or five years ago. No longer a “homestead” in the country, this was a professional and welcoming paradise for four- and two-legged creatures. The old handmade outdoor stalls Dr. Kilcannon had built for his wife’s constantly growing pack of foster dogs had been replaced with a cream-colored clapboard kennel building that stretched around a grassy pen she assumed was used for training and exercise.

  Several other outbuildings dotting the landscape included grooming facilities, the vet office, and what appeared to be a small dormitory for trainees.

  Overlooking it all, the yellow farmhouse, with its sunny wraparound porch and festive green shutters, perched on a rise that afforded breathtaking views of the Blue Ridge Mountains.

  The homestead where Declan’s cousins grew up and now worked had aged gracefully and managed to look even better than she remembered. Kind of like…

  Declan.

  He stepped off the porch toward the driveway, most of his face covered by a ball cap and sunglasses. The warm afternoon called for a T-shirt and worn Levi’s, and from this distance, she could really stare, like she’d wanted to at the bakery.

  His chest was broad, his shoulders strong, and his waist narrow.

  And Evie Hewitt had no place ogling her former best friend like he was featured in a firefighter calendar. Which he surely had been by now. Mr. August.

  Because it was hard to look at him and not remember that hot summer night when they’d fallen into each other’s arms and made the journey from best friends to lovers. Thinking about it kicked up her heart rate, but she tried to will herself not to go there. It would be foolish to think he’d forgotten, but it would be crazy to fantasize that it could ever happen again.

  He reached her car as she pulled behind a van she could have sworn his aunt had owned when they were younger, opening her door as she turned off the ignition.

  “Thought you might chicken out.” A half smile pulled at his lips, drawing her gaze there and her memory back to that night she was trying not to think about.

  “Chicken?” She brushed his body as she got out of the car, then poked his chest to move him out of the way. “Nah, I’m here for a dog.”

  He chuckled, stepping aside. “Should have seen that one coming.”

  “You handed it to me,” she said, looking around. “Wow, they’ve really transformed this place.”

  “It’s the biggest canine training and rescue facility in the state.” There was no small amount of pride in his voice.

  “Speaking of canines, what did Molly say about our patient?”

  “She’s with him now, along with my uncle. In the vet office.” He gestured toward a small building to the right of the kennels, leading her there. “Come on, I’ll take you.”

  “Let me grab my bag from the back.” As she opened the hatchback, she said, “Before I left, I poked around the NC State online library to get the very latest on Wobbler Syndrome, including a study that was recently completed by a few of our best grad students.” She reached for a leather messenger bag, but he held out his hand to carry it for her. “Oh,” she said as their fingers brushed. “Thanks.”

  “Molly and Uncle Daniel seem to agree with your diagnosis,” he said. “And they also agree you’re the expert.”

  “Which is kind of funny, since Dr. Kilcannon gave me my first vet job.” As they reached the wooden porch of the standalone veterinary hospital, a sleeping setter raised his head from the corner.

  “Is that Rusty?” She went straight to the old red dog, kneeling to greet him. “How’s that beautiful brain of yours, big guy?”

  “Better since you removed the tumor,” Declan answered.

  She ran her hand over the spot, remembering the surgery and the week this awesome setter had spent under her care back in Raleigh.

  “Hey, baby,” she said softly, a familiar feeling welling up as he looked at her with brown eyes that she could have sworn held appreciation. “Do you remember me, fella?” She bent over and kissed his silky red head. “’Cause I sure remember you.”

  He poked his wet snout against her cheek, making her laugh.

  She stood up slowly, unable to wipe the smile from her face as she turned to Declan. “There’s nothing like it,” she whispered.

  “Like seeing an old friend?”

  “That, too.” She smiled, her heart relaxing a little at the warmth in his eyes. Maybe the Declan she’d known wasn’t completely MIA, after all. “But seeing a dog you saved?” She glanced back at Rusty. “Honestly? It makes my fingers itch to do surgery again. I miss it so much.”

  “My uncle said your work on Rusty was…masterful, I believe was the word he used.”

  She tipped her head at the compliment, but just then the door popped open, and Molly stepped out, her mahogany curls bouncing, her hazel eyes bright, her arms wide open.

  “There’s my favorite TA!”

  Evie hugged the other woman, adding a squeeze of affection. “And my favorite student, Dr. Kilcannon.”

  “It’s Bancroft now. The real Dr. Kilcannon is back with Lusky.” She slipped an arm around Evie and led her into a cozy little reception area with a fish tank and a wall full of photos of Irish setters much like the one snoozing on the porch. “Only you could diagnose something as complex as Wobblers while standing on the street.”

  Evie glanced over her shoulder to see Declan right behind them. “Lusky was letting you know,” she said. “I’m sure you would have figured out that something was wrong when you checked him out today.”

  “We’re in here.” Molly guided her into an exam room, where Dr. K stood over the dog lying on the table, holding a tablet with an X-ray image on the screen.

  “Evie Hewitt.” The tall, handsome country vet reached out both arms for a hug. “The woman who saved my Rusty.”

  She returned his embrace. “I just saw him. He’s still glorious.”

  “He’s got a lady love named Goldie and a new reason for living.”

  “I heard you have one named Katie.” She beamed up at him. “Congratulations.”

  “She’s definitely a reason for living.” Laughter deepened the crinkles around his blue eyes, which were exactly the color of his mother’s, little Gramma Finnie. “And you met Katie when you did Rusty’s surgery. I hope you’ll stay and see her again.”

  She had an excuse—Granddaddy—all ready to go. She could handle running into a random Mahoney or Kilcannon, who were always gracious. But the last time she’d seen Colleen Mahoney was at her husband’s funeral, one of the saddest days of Evie’s life. She wasn’t quite prepared to see Declan’s mother today.

  “Well, let’s start with our patient,” she said, shifting her attention to the exam table, where Declan stood with two strong hands cradling the big dog’s head.

  Declan leaned over to whisper in one pointy ear, “Brought in the big guns, bud.”

  “He’s doing better now,” Dr. K said. “I gave him a little feel-good shot. Especially after I saw these.” He handed her the tablet. “You can swipe to see them all.”

  “Yeah, whoa.” She slid her finger over the screen to get to the lateral shot of his spine. “Severe compression. Jeez. He’s likely had this for a while.”

  “Can you tell this layman exactly what his problem is?” Declan asked.

  “Of course.” Evie shared the image with him. “See those two vertebrae kind of crushed together? This disease is essentially compression on the spinal cord, which can, in certain positions, cause excruciating nerve pain.”

  He made a face and glanced at the dog. “Damn. We th
ought that howling was just a breed thing. I’m sorry, big guy.” He looked back to the X-rays. “What causes it?”

  “We don’t know,” Evie answered honestly. “Wobbler Syndrome has been misunderstood for so long, I think it has at least fourteen different veterinary terms. Usually, it’s cervical spondylomyelopathy, which translates to…neck vertebrae smooshing the spinal cord.”

  Evie gave the dog a look of sympathy, but everything she’d seen now fit together in her brain and compelled her to place a soothing hand on his furry head. “Lifting his head too high can be agonizing,” she explained. “And he’s adopted a clumsy gait to accommodate that. Isn’t that right, baby? You’re trying to fix yourself.”

  “Oh, no wonder he whines and trips over himself.” Declan turned back to the dog. “And one of those knuckleheads at the station called you an oaf. I’m sorry, bud.” After a sigh, he asked, “So what do we do for this boy?”

  She liked that Declan took ownership of a very sick dog he’d known for only seventy-two hours, especially when she suspected the cost and trouble associated with the treatment were why Lusky had been abandoned in the first place.

  “Normally, I’d start with a program of pain relief and physical therapy, but that should have been done a long time ago. We can certainly dull any pain, but it won’t solve the underlying problem.”

  “Surgery?”

  “He’ll likely need it,” she said. “But I’d love to take him over to Vestal Valley and do an MRI, which will tell us so much more.”

  “Whatever you suggest,” Declan said. “Is he suffering?”

  “Not as long as he stays on a low-dose pain med,” Dr. K said. “And, like Evie said, he knows how to manage his pain by not moving in certain ways.”

  “His activity has to be restricted, though,” Evie added. “Only short walks. A collar’s fine, but no leash, and we should limit his movement. He should be with someone as much as possible.” She looked into Lusky’s eyes, feeling the connection as their gazes met. “He’s a people guy, I can tell.”