Second Chance For Love. SUSANNE MCCARTHY
words were interrupted by a sharp ring at the doorbell. He rose swiftly to his feet and crossed the room, to admit a tall, ruddy-faced young man, still in his muddy wellington boots. In his arms he was carrying a drooping bundle, wrapped in an old blanket.
‘I’m sorry to barge in like this, Tom—I know it ain’t your surgery tonight. But it’s our old Shep,’ he blurted out, agitated and upset. ‘He was perfectly all right this morning, but when the missus came in from fetching the kiddies from school he was like this—couldn’t move, couldn’t get up, wasn’t even interested in his bone. Daft old mutt, he is, and getting on a bit now, but the kids love him. I don’t know if there’s anything you can do.’
‘That’s fine, Bob,’ Tom assured him swiftly. ‘Bring him through to the clinic.’
‘Do you…think he’s going to be all right?’
Tom hesitated, casting a doubtful eye at the bundle in the young farmer’s arms. ‘I’ll do my best,’ he promised.
DRAWN by an instinctive concern for the little dog, Josey followed them. The veterinary clinic was through a thick oak door at the end of the passage. A cluttered office led into a much larger room, with a rubber-topped table in the middle of it and all manner of important-looking equipment stowed neatly around the walls.
‘Put him down, Bob,’ Tom instructed, gesturing towards the table. ‘You get off home now—I’ll have a look at him, and see what I can do.’
‘Right.’ The farmer’s voice was suspiciously thickened, and Josey noticed him surreptitiously wipe a tear from the corner of his eye. ‘Well, I’ll leave you to it, then. Maybe I’ll give you a ring in a couple of hours to see what’s what.’ Reluctantly he turned away from the table, barely even noticing Josey as he stepped past her.
She moved over to the table. The dog was a medium-sized black and white mongrel, with thick shaggy fur and a tail just made to be wagged. But now he was still, and even Josey could see that he was tense with pain. ‘Do you think he’ll be all right?’ she asked, unconsciously echoing the farmer’s words.
Tom was bending over his patient, his sensitive fingers gently examining the small, trembling body. ‘I don’t know,’ he admitted wryly. ‘I’ve a nasty feeling he’s got peritonitis—maybe from a ruptured appendix or a punctured intestine. I’m going to have to open him up and have a look.’
He didn’t sound very hopeful, and Josey felt tears rise to prick the backs of her eyes. Some children were going to be very sad if their pet didn’t make it. ‘Is there…anything I can do to help?’ she asked.
‘Just sit there by his head and keep an eye on him,’ he instructed as he deftly slipped a needle into the dog’s vein, and hooked it up to a plasma drip. ‘I’ll have to try and get his fluid balance right before I can operate. Make sure he’s breathing steadily, and tell me if the colour of his gums changes.’
She nodded, glad to be able to contribute if only in a token way, and, pulling over a stool, she sat down. ‘Come on, Shep,’ she coaxed, stroking the small shaggy head. ‘Keep fighting, boy. Just think of all those lovely bones waiting for you if you get well.’
As Tom worked, Josey watched, fascinated by the skill in those beautifully made hands. Gone was all trace of that cynical, short-tempered man of so brief a time before; he had turned on the radio, and to the soothing strains of a Rachmaninov violin concerto he was performing the delicate operation on the small furry body that slumbered in anaesthetised bliss on the table.
He seemed so deep in concentration that she was taken by surprise when he sat back. Glancing across at her, he caught the unguarded expression of admiration in her eyes, and a smile of mocking amusement flickered across his face.
‘Well, I think that should do it,’ he said, flexing the muscles in his wide shoulders to ease their tension. ‘How’s he looking?’
‘Fine,’ Josey confirmed, feeling a surge of embarrassed colour in her own cheeks at having betrayed herself. ‘Will he be all right now?’
‘Well, it’s still touch and go, but if Bob hadn’t brought him in when he did he wouldn’t have stood a chance. We’ll know in a few hours whether he’s going to pull through. I’ll just get him settled in the sick-bay, and then we can see how he gets on over the next couple of hours. Come on, old feller.’ Gently he stroked his hand over the dog’s shaggy head. ‘Just hang in there a bit longer.’
With infinite care, he lifted his small patient and carried him through to a back room. There was already one occupant—a young tabby cat, who hissed viciously to show her resentment of being confined in her cage.
‘All right, Tuppence, I know it’s time for your dinner,’ Tom remarked to her soothingly as he passed.
Against one wall was a low wooden bench, divided into individual pens, and Shep was laid gently on a cosy pad of fibre bedding, his head arranged so that his tongue wouldn’t obstruct his breathing. Josey bent to look at him.
‘He…he’s twitching a bit,’ she remarked anxiously. ‘Is he all right?’
Tom laughed. ‘He’s dreaming. He’s probably out in a field somewhere, chasing rabbits. That’s a good sign—it shows he’s starting to come out of the anaesthetic.’
‘Oh.’ She managed a reasonably steady smile. ‘I didn’t know dogs dreamed.’
Those intriguing hazel eyes slanted her an enigmatic smile. ‘Everybody dreams.’
He was very close to her, and the faint, evocative muskiness of his skin drifted across her senses. She felt her heartbeat accelerate in response, and turned away quickly, afraid that he might pick up signals that she didn’t want to transmit.
‘Would you…would you like a cup of coffee?’ she offered, to cover her confusion.
‘That seems like a good idea.’
‘Right.’ She hurried away to the kitchen before he could notice that her cheeks were flushing a deepening pink.
But it proved far from easy to manage the simple task of filling the kettle with only one good hand, and she splashed water all over the place. Then trying to unscrew the lid from the coffee jar, she split the granules all over the scullery floor.
Her overwrought nerves seemed to snap in frustration, and she swore fiercely, tears springing to her eyes. From the doorway came the sound of Tom’s laughter, low and husky. ‘Having trouble?’ he teased gently.
‘I couldn’t get the lid off. I’m sorry, I…’ She knew she was dangerously close to making a complete fool of herself.
‘Hey…!’ To her surprise, he came over, and took her gently in his arms, drawing her against him. ‘Come on—it isn’t that important,’ he soothed, stroking his hand over her hair. ‘It’s only a bit of coffee.’
She couldn’t help it—she knew it was meant to be no more than a comforting gesture, but the impact of being held so close to him, feeling the warm strength of his arms around her, breathing the evocative male muskiness of his skin, fuelled the fires of that fantasy she had been dwelling in, and she lifted her head, her lips softly parted, as if half expecting him to kiss her.
There was an arrested expression in those deep hazel eyes, as if he too had been taken by surprise, and for one timeless moment they hovered in uncertainty…and then with a faintly sardonic smile he let her go.
‘I’d better wipe it up,’ he said.
‘Oh…no, I’ll do that,’ she offered quickly, her heart pounding in painful embarrassment.
‘Perhaps you’d better not,’ he advised in mocking amusement. ‘You seem to be seriously accident-prone’