I almost groan at the nickname, but it’s the confidence in his voice that amazes me. Aside from volunteering in the Iditarod, I’ve done little more than inspect his kennel. Where is all this faith coming from? It seems almost fraudulent, like he’s lying to this girl.
And yet my heart swells with gratitude.
“The only thing I hate more than amputating a dog’s leg is not doing it when it needs to be done. Another vet might tell you that they can try to save it. I’ve seen it happen before. But I can promise you’ll end up right back in this position, after spending double the amount, and Beau will be suffering. The leg has to go.” Sometimes I can be too bullish when it comes to sharing my opinion on an animal’s care, something my father has cautioned me about.
I take a deep, calming breath. Please don’t be a fool, Rachel. “It’s a major surgery, but I am a surgeon. I have all the equipment here, and I’ve done these types of procedures before. I don’t foresee any issues. But, if you prefer, we can call your clinic to see if they can fit you in. I can bandage him up, and we can help you get him into the car. I can even give him some pain meds to make him a bit more comfortable for the ride—”
“No, no … Do what you have to do.” She nods with steely determination. “Just fix him.”
“Good call, Rachel.” Tyler’s heavy sigh echoes my relief.
She falters. “But will he be able to walk?”
“Yes. He’ll have three other legs to keep him going. He’ll have to find his new balance, and for big dogs, it’s a bit harder to lose a front leg than a back one, but you’ll be surprised how quickly he adapts.” I stand. “If you’re good with this, then we’re going to prep him for surgery, and I’ll want to keep him overnight for observation. Cory will be out in a minute to get all your information and figure out a plan.” That she hasn’t asked how much it’s going to cost yet—a question that normally comes up immediately—is surprising, but maybe she has resources. It’s probably the bank of Mom and Dad.
Tyler is up now, too, answering a dispatch call on his radio with a quick code as he trails me. “I have to get a few details from them and then head back to the park to figure out who the hell set that trap and when.” He asks quietly, “You good here? He’s a big guy.”
A hundred and two pounds, according to the scale. “Yeah. Cory and I can manage him.” She’s in the back, keeping Beau calm on the surgical table.
“Okay.” He bites his bottom lip in thought.
The move drags my mind back to the Ale House parking lot. It’s clear to me now that things between us have changed, at least from my perspective. Can he feel it, too? Did he go home, laden with regret for following me out to my truck? If he did, he must’ve worked through it already, because he’s not giving off awkward vibes.
“Thank you.” He reaches out to give my elbow a gentle squeeze.
Even such a simple, innocuous touch has my blood racing, my body craving more. But I don’t have time for this. “Yeah, yeah, I have work to do,” I mutter, trying to squash the distraction. “You’ll see yourself out?”
The crooked grin he flashes, dimples and all, tugs at the corners of my mouth despite my efforts.
I feel his gaze on my back as I march to the surgical room, shifting my focus to the grim task ahead.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Molly’s tired wail drifts over on the evening breeze as Vicki loads her into their truck. My sister has been next door every day this week, moving truckloads of belongings and readying the attic between bouts of vicious pregnancy sickness.
Their landlord let them out of their lease at the end of this month without any penalties. Oliver thinks it’s because the man lives on the first floor of the duplex, and he can’t handle Molly’s crying anymore. He wants them out as soon as possible.
Whatever the reason, my parents have had a spring in their step—or in my father’s case, in his crutches—that they’ll have another daughter and a granddaughter back home soon.
On the off chance that Vicki checks her rearview mirror and sees me perched in my red Adirondack chair on my porch, where I often am in the evenings, I throw up a wave. A horn tuts in answer.
I smile through a sip of my Coke. I’d kill for a cold beer, or maybe something stronger after the day I’ve had, but a three-legged Bernese mountain dog is resting in the clinic. It’s going to be a long night.
My task is mostly done. Rachel has a lot of work ahead of her. I feel terrible for the girl. Her only error was allowing Beau off his leash, something everyone does from time to time. That could’ve just as easily happened to Bentley or Yukon. There should never have been a trap set anywhere near that trail and especially not in July.