She Found Him

by Cranford, B.

  She didn’t want to hurt Kassi’s feelings, though, something that became a non-issue with Kassi’s next words. “Nah, I have no time. And I’d be terrible at it. But you definitely should though.”

  Rose nodded, closing the paper and moving over to the coffee machine and wondering if it was a coffee or tea kind of morning. “I’ll think about it.”

  * * *

  Liam woke to the early morning sun practically blinding him. Squinting his eyes closed against the harsh rays, he was just starting to roll over when his head protested.

  Loudly.

  “I might be dying,” he muttered, lifting his hand to gingerly touch the lump that had doubled in size overnight.

  “You might be overreacting.” Sasha swept into the room with a glass of water and a bottle of what he assumed was ibuprofen, setting them on the small chest of drawers beside his bed, before correcting herself. “Actually, you’re definitely overreacting.”

  She was already dressed in the scrubs she wore to work, her job as his vet tech given to her not just because she was his sister, but because she was the best. “And you’re also going to be late if you don’t get your ass out of bed.”

  “I have a head injury,” Liam protested, blinking his eyes at her like he might just win some sympathy. He should have known better. He might be the big brother and the new owner of Pupp’s, but she was—and always would be—the boss.

  Not that he needed to admit that out loud in her presence.

  “You have a new client coming in this morning, plus three messages from overnight, of various levels of importance. You’re the one who wanted to be a small business owner.”

  “Where’s your compassion?” He sat up, wincing again at the flicker of pain that shot through him. If he was honest with himself, the pain actually wasn’t that bad. He had a pretty hard head, and although the sound of bat meeting head had been sickening, the woman who’d hit him hadn’t actually got him that hard.

  He pictured the moment again in his mind—the way she’d turned back then faced the front before whipping around again. It probably looked pretty funny to anyone who wasn’t on the receiving end of a bat to the brain, her panicked spins and his startled yelp.

  “I only have compassion for a certain type,” Sasha said, interrupting his thoughts.

  “And that type doesn’t include big brothers who recently suffered debilitating head injuries.”

  “Nope. Sorry.” She tapped her finger on the side of the glass. “Take the tablets, drink the water, then get up. You don’t have a concussion—”

  “That you know of,” he interrupted.

  “—and yes, okay, she hit you. Twice. But the second one was more of a love tap, because she panicked and sort of spun-dance-whipped away and then back toward you. I don’t think it counts.”

  “You were worried enough to stay overnight with me,” he pointed out, smirking at the thought of his logic derailing her no-nonsense dismissal of his woes.

  She didn’t answer. Well, not unless you counted pursed lips and a raised eyebrow as an answer, which Liam didn’t think he did.

  “Fine. Leave me alone, and I’ll get ready.” He made to move out of the bed, muttering, “I nearly died,” as he did.

  The loud sigh that comment earned him was par for the course when it came to his sister, and he smiled at the thought of getting a rise out of her.

  “I’m going to make coffee. I’m only going to say this one more time: drink the water, take the tablets, get dressed. You have ten minutes.”

  It took twenty minutes for Liam to get dressed and ready, and as a consequence, he felt like he’d been ten minutes behind all damn day.

  On the one hand, that meant that he didn’t have time to think too much about his pretty attacker. But on the other, it meant that by the time his last patient was about ready to trot out on four paws, his head was pounding.

  Crouching down to give the overexcited beagle a treat and a rub behind the ears, he said, “Sasha or Tanzi should be up front, ready to check you out. Make sure you bring Debbie back if you don’t think she’s improving.” He smiled up at the owner, an older man who acknowledged him with a nod. “And you,” he directed at Debbie, whose tail went into hyper-drive when he turned back to her, “be a good girl, okay? No more eating socks.”

  Giving her one last pat, he forced himself to stand up and watch them walk out. God, he was exhausted.

  And suddenly plagued by thoughts of his Babe Ruth. Feeling a kind of regret at having let her leave without talking to her, he tried to pinpoint what it was that he’d found so fascinating.

  Her accent.

  The carefully cute way she’d waved that kitten’s paw.

  Her laugh as she’d brushed past him in the crowd.

  “What’s your story, Babe?” he asked aloud as he walked into his empty office, shaking his head at his own stupidity. He didn’t need to be wondering about her—he didn’t expect to see her again, unless she came wandering into his practice. And besides, even if he did see her again, it wasn’t like he was in the market for a relationship.

  He had a business that was barely a year old and a plan to see through. And that plan didn’t include a girlfriend until he’d added another vet and couple more support staff to his fledgling clinic.

  No matter how beautiful or interesting or lethal with a baseball bat that girlfriend might be.

  “You’re not going to stay here all night again, are you?” Sasha’s voice drifted in, breaking his thoughts, and he looked up at her with a frown.

  “We have a couple of overnighters who need observation and—”

  Sasha shook her head, holding up a hand to interrupt him. “You need some time away from this place, too, you know.”

  “Sash,” he started, only for his sister to talk over the top of him.

  “I know you want to be able to add more staff to this place, but working yourself into an early grave—especially after what happened yesterday—isn’t exactly conducive to expanding the clinic. Think about it, okay?”

  He nodded, aware that she would just keep talking if he didn’t agree with her.

  “And it would be nice if you went out on occasion. Maybe with your favorite sister?”

  “You mean my only sister?”

  “You might meet someone. And by someone, I mean, a woman.” She wiggled her eyebrows.

  He lifted a hand to his aching head. Cinderella might’ve left behind a glass slipper, but Babe Ruth’s legacy was a bruise and a sizeable lump instead. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Oh, then let me clarify. I’m talking about you forgetting about Pupp’s for one night and having some fun. You never know where it might lead.”

  “Whatever. Look, I appreciate you worrying about me—as always—but I don’t need to go out with my ‘favorite sister’ to meet a woman.”

  Not when I already have.

  Chapter Six

  One Week Later

  It was already starting to get cold when Kassi dropped Rose back home after a long day of work, and all Rose could think about was getting inside and making a cup of tea.

  It had been a tradition of hers and her mum’s for almost as long as she could remember—a cup of tea at the end of a long day—and she wasn’t ashamed that she’d brought the tradition, along with her luggage, to the States.

  Sometimes a girl just needed to feel close to her mother, okay?

  The whimpering that caught Rose’s attention was low at first, which made her think that maybe she was imagining things. She’d been rumbling through her oversized handbag for her keys when it started, and by the time she’d set the bag down to uncover the source of the noise, it had gotten louder and more insistent.

  “Hello?” she asked, tentatively and a little stupidly. She was ninety-nine percent sure that the whimpering was a dog, so why she was acting like it was an intruder, she didn’t know. “Come out here, baby,” she called, a little louder but still gently, wanting to get the animal’s attentio
n but determined not to scare it.

  She walked the length of the spacious porch, thinking not for the first time that she should take advantage of having such a great place to sit and people watch. Months and months of living in the place, and she hadn’t sat out there once.

  Following the noise, she stopped in front of the small table that sat in the far corner, the whimpering now quite obviously coming from underneath.

  With slow movements, she crouched down, aware that a cornered, injured dog might lash out in fear—and who could blame the little guy?—and tried to see what she was dealing with.

  The ball of fur was brown and white and small. Really small.

  Not just a small breed, but most likely an undersized puppy. Her heart raced in her chest as she eased a hand out, wanting to start to build trust with the frightened little thing. In a near whisper, she said, “Hey there, cutie. Wanna come out?”

  The dog kept whimpering, but turned big, sad eyes on her.

  “Oh, baby.” Rose could feel tears forming, the dog’s floppy ears and puppy face overshadowed by the way it shivered. It wasn’t just scared, though. It looked . . . sick. Small and unwell, and Rose had the sudden thought that she wasn’t strong enough to deal with this.

  She couldn’t stand the idea of seeing the puppy hurt.

  But neither could she stand by while it clearly needed her.

  She rearranged herself so she was sitting on the porch, instead of the crouch she’d been in, and continued to hold out her hand. Making soothing noises and occasionally telling the dog it was okay, she waited.

  And waited.

  And waited.

  She didn’t know how long she’d been sitting there for when the dog began to move closer. Best she could tell, it was some kind of small spaniel. Its coloring and the floppy ears reminded her both of a cocker spaniel her neighbors had owned when she was a kid and of a small dog she’d seen running around at the March for Animal Rights. When the animal got close enough to give her hand a soft, tentative lick, she carefully scooped it up, taking care to telegraph her movements so the dog knew she wasn’t out to hurt but to help, and brought it to her lap.

  A boy. It was the first and most obvious thing about him.

  Second, a long scratch that ran the length of his underside. It was dirty and a little scabbed over, but the redness and puffiness she noticed made her wonder if the animal had some kind of infection.

  Very possible.

  “Where did you come from, little man?” she asked the dog quietly, double-checking that she hadn’t overlooked a collar that proclaimed him the property of some poor soul, frantic at losing their new friend. Because there was no way this dog could be anything but new to an owner—even if it were the biggest of a litter, it couldn’t have been more than eight or so weeks old.

  Too young to be shivering under her outdoor furniture.

  Carefully shifting her body to standing, Rose held the dog in soft arms and made her way to her bag, determined to retrieve her phone and call for assistance. Though she and Kassi worked together at the non-profit run by Kassi’s parents, Kassi also held a second job. She’d left to go to a meeting for said second job, but maybe she could skip out and come help Rose get the dog to a nearby vet?

  Or she could call for a Lyft, which was probably a better idea.

  Vacillating between her two options, Rose forced herself to make a decision. A quick search for a nearby vet with late or emergency hours yielded one result. Pupp’s Vet Services looked like it was a new-ish business or had maybe recently changed hands, but the handful of reviews it had proved to be positive, and neither she, nor her new charge, were in the position to be too picky.

  I’ll go and if it looks terrible, I’ll leave, she thought, nodding in agreement with herself. In her arms, the dog gave a small whimper, then nestled in closer. Her heart lurched, the small show of trust enough to make the urgency of the moment grow.

  She knew that she needed to do something for this dog, and she needed to do it soon, or she’d spend all night worrying about him.

  Besides, there was nothing in her house for a pet—even if the dog didn’t have a scratch and the shakes, she didn’t have food or water bowls or a bed for him. Sure, she could MacGyver her way through it, but the fact was, the dog needed to see a professional.

  So, she would find him one.

  * * *

  Liam was tired.

  Again.

  Seemed to be par for the course lately, with the long hours he was putting in to ensure his takeover of Pupp’s was a success. An unqualified success.

  His shoulders felt heavy after he’d had to help a family say goodbye to a beloved pet, and his feet dragged because he’d been awake since 5am and had barely stopped.

  It was a good thing, he reminded himself, the fact that his business was growing. That he was so busy he couldn’t hardly stop. It was what he wanted, but that didn’t make the tiredness just up and disappear.

  If he was honest, it almost made it worse. He just wasn’t quite sure why.

  Turning left to right in an effort to stretch his back out, he absently touched his now-healed head. It had become habit in the days after the march to prod at it, remembering the look on the woman’s face when she’d yelled at him about giving someone “what for.” Even though the lump had dissipated—the bruising having gone from black to blue to green to yellow before disappearing entirely—he still found himself poking at it.

  Not to mention poking at the memory of the beautiful dark-haired woman responsible for it.

  Shaking off the reminder, he took another look at the papers scattered on the desk in front of him. Account keeping was not his strong suit and though he hoped to one day be able to hand this side of Pupp’s off to someone else—someone trusted—for now, the burden was his.

  His yawn was interrupted by the ringing of the bell at the currently unmanned front counter. He hadn’t heard anyone come into the clinic, but he also hadn’t been listening, which was a mistake. Sasha, he knew, had left for the night and Tanzi, the woman who managed the office, had ducked out to grab a bite to eat, which left him alone.

  Pushing back from the desk, he stood and grabbed the white coat from the back of his chair, calling, “One second!” as he did so.

  As he rounded the open entryway that led from the hallway which connected all the rooms and offices of the clinic, he had a sudden flash of her.

  His Babe Ruth—the girl with the baseball bat sign.

  Which is why he thought maybe he was hallucinating when he stepped up to the reception desk and saw her.

  “Babe Ruth?” he asked, blinking a couple of times to try and clear the vision away. Tilting his head, he catalogued her face, which was showing the same raw surprise that he was feeling. “Have you come back to have another shot at me?”

  Her face paled and her hand flew to her mouth, a noise that was a mix of whimper and squeal escaping before she uttered the same three words he himself was thinking.

  “Oh my God.”

  Liam smiled at her, trying to show her he was harmless.

  Not angry about the blow to the head.

  Not upset that she’d run away—although now he was standing face-to-face with her—and without the searing pain of a head injury—he felt another pang of regret that he hadn’t chased her down.

  He opened his mouth to speak when she held up a small dog—tiny, in fact—and said, “I found him on my porch and I don’t know where he came from.”

  An accent. He’d detected an accent first at the march and now again, though she hadn’t said enough yet so he could place it.

  British, perhaps. Or Australian?

  Pushing those thoughts aside, because he was a vet and the dog she held was clearly in distress, he nodded, pointing down the hall and saying, “Take him to the first room on the right. I’ll meet you there and we’ll have a look, okay?”

  He waited only long enough to see her turn to head in the direction he’d indicated, before making his own wa
y toward the exam room.

  I can’t believe she’s here.

  And holding a small animal that had, at the very least, gotten lost—and had, quite possibly, been neglected or dumped.

  Happiness and something like relief warred with anger inside him. She was here, and even knowing she wasn't something he’d planned for, it felt important. But until he knew the dog’s story, he didn’t think the simmering anger would subside.

  Pausing outside the room, he spied on her through the small window inlaid in the door. She leaned casually against the wall, still holding on tightly but gently to her charge. If he didn’t already like her, seeing the way she held the animal, saying something to him he couldn’t hear, would have done it.

  She cared.

  Smiling at the thought, he placed a hand on the door and quietly pushed it open.

  Chapter Seven

  Rose paced back and forth, back and forth. It seemed like it was taking him forever to come into the exam room and her gut was churning.

  He’s here. And not just here, but the vet she’d come to see about the dog who was still tucked in her arms. Just the thought of it made her want to groan again, but she settled for sagging against the wall opposite the stainless steel table. It would support her while she freaked out about the fact that the man she’d hit at the march—and the one she’d been unable to stop thinking about for some unknown reason—was here.

  “What are the chances?” she whispered into the quiet, looking down at her canine burden and smiling softly. He was scared, she knew, but he also seemed to be coping a whole hell of a lot better than she was. “Bugger.”

  Standing up straight and determined to face the man head on when he finally came into the room—what is he doing that’s taking so bloody long?—she resumed her pacing when another minute passed.