Waiting Out the Storm. Ruth Herne Logan

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СКАЧАТЬ She didn’t make eye contact with Craig. “Gino. From Sofia’s last litter.” She emitted a half sigh, half shudder as the dog whined. She stepped forward, crooning, her melodic tone soothing the animal much as a mother would a small child.

      Julie watched as if expecting him to do—what? Scream? Shout? Berate the woman before him for her genealogy and refuse to treat her dog?

      He wouldn’t do that. But his medical duties didn’t mean he had to go out of his way to be nice, either.

      There was a reason he avoided Slocums. A real good one. The thought of the criminal history between their families tightened Craig’s jaw. Sarah’s older brother had pioneered a Ponzi scheme, bilking a fair share of locals out of their hard-earned money, including his grandparents. Grams and Gramps Macklin had invested everything in Tom Slocum’s guaranteed-returns package, and lost it all when Tom’s misappropriation was discovered. Gramps had passed on over a year ago, but Grams was living out her later years dependent on others’ kindness, with nothing but small Social Security checks to call her own. A tough old bird, Gramps used to call her, and he was right, but strong people have a hard time accepting handouts. Charity. Grams was no exception.

      A true craven, Tom spared New York State the cost of a trial by taking his own life, leaving a wife and three young kids to sweep up the remnants of his actions.

      Sarah had established a farm nearby. Goats? Sheep? Something wool-bearing, cleft-footed and ridiculously stupid. In Craig’s estimation, the description applied unilaterally. Al though he treated a wide range in a country animal practice, he’d developed favorites. Cattle. Horses. Dogs. Cats. Even pigs were a step up from sheep. At least pigs were intelligent. Sheep? Other end of the spectrum, entirely. No one in their right mind ate mutton, did they?

      Hank Townsend, the senior veterinary partner, generally handled Sarah’s veterinary needs, allowing Craig a wide berth. But he wasn’t there, and Craig couldn’t ignore the besieged dog. He glanced at Sarah. “You squeamish?” The question came out harsher than intended. A lot of people handled their own pain better than that of a loved one, including pets.

      Julie stepped forward. “I can stay, Craig. I’ll just call Glenn. He’ll understand.” Julie had a date tonight. Craig knew that because she’d chattered about it nonstop. Ralph, the other vet tech, had left over an hour before. And Maremmas…

      Craig kept his gaze on Sarah, noting her lowered eyes. The dark sweep of lashes against honey-toned cheeks. High cheeks, at that, smooth and unblemished, not a freckle or mole in sight. “I know you’d stay, but Maremmas are singular creatures. They’re bred to identify with their owner. They don’t shift allegiance readily.”

      “I’ll help.”

      Sarah’s lack of inflection offered nothing. He eyed her, appraising, noting the air of capability belying her small size, then jerked his head toward the door. “Head out, Julie. We’ll be fine.”

      “You’re sure?” At his nod, Julie moved back. “Thanks, Craig. I owe you.”

      “No problem.” Craig prepared the anesthetic as he spoke, studying the animal scale. “Ninety-six,” he observed, glancing up.

      Sarah nodded, jaw set.

      Julie turned, then swung back. “Bagels in the morning?”

      “With garden vegetables cream cheese.”

      “Can do.” She shifted an uneasy glance from Craig to Sarah, then left, her footsteps soft against the tiled floor.

      Turning full attention to the suffering dog, Craig bent. “Sorry, fella. I’ll be quick.”

      As Craig administered the medication, Sarah eased small, capable hands down the dog’s ruff, her tawny skin a contrast to the dog’s white coat. She whispered to the dog, occasionally dropping her face to the thick fur, nuzzling. She seemed oblivious to Craig, which was probably best. Small talk options were limited. Her family?

      No.

      His?

      Ditto.

      Her farm?

      Not if he wanted to be anything construed as sociable. The finer points of sheep were lost on Craig, and lamb wasn’t a dish his Irish mother offered except at Easter.

      That left the weather. Or…

      “Beautiful dog.” Craig eyed the Maremma with a hint of envy, remembering his Lab’s youth. Rocket was nearing fifteen now, slow to rise, and mostly deaf. Old age didn’t go easy on big dogs, and his barrel-chested chocolate Lab with a graying muzzle was no exception. “Yes.”

      She wasn’t giving him much to work with, but maybe a quiet surgical intervention was better than empty words. Head bent, Craig snipped the quill ends with surgical scissors. Seeing her look of question, he explained, “Cutting the ends releases air pressure, making removal easier. Less painful.”

      “But he’s under.”

      Her stoic tone caricatured Native Americans, her deep voice calm and unemotional. Craig nodded. “He wouldn’t feel it now, but withdrawing the quills with the pressure would make the punctures more painful during recovery. The holes have to get larger to withdraw the spines if I don’t cut them.”

      “Oh.”

      Silence stretched again, the passing seconds marking time from the old analog wall clock. Tick. Tick. Tick. “How old is Gino?”

      Sarah’s long, dark braid fell across her cheek as she soothed the dog. Her mother had been a Native American mix, Craig remembered, though he’d never met her. She’d died, when? Twelve years back, give or take. Long enough to have her self-absorbed stepsons grown and gone, while Sarah would have been a teenager.

      At least Peg Slocum hadn’t lived to feel the shame of Tom Jr.’s crimes. Craig thinned his lips, concentrating on the sensitive mouth of the Italian guard dog. The uncomfortable recovery could enervate the young dog, but he should be fine in the long run.

      “Ten months. Nearly eleven.”

      Her answer took so long, Craig nearly forgot the question. “Did you rebreed his mother?”

      “Next time.”

      “Must make it interesting during heat cycles.” Craig eyed the dense mass of Gino and envisioned his sire. Substantial, like the son, and probably difficult to discourage when a nearby female was in heat.

      “Neighbors take him.”

      “I see.”

      His cell phone vibrated. He glanced at the numerical page and bit back a twinge of guilt when Maggie James’ number flashed in the small display.

      He’d dated the local nurse several times over the winter, making her what? The third nurse he’d dated? Fourth, he realized. Amy, Kayla, Brianna and Maggie. Hadn’t his buddy Marc joked that the hospital installed a new warning system designed to alert the female staff when he was on site? Very funny.

      He’d ended the short-lived relationship after the Maple Fest. What should have been a fun late-winter day had been relegated to shopping indoor craft booths because Maggie hadn’t dressed warmly enough for the outdoor festival, more СКАЧАТЬ