Running Wild(Wild #3)(85)

“It has. We’ll see how long it lasts. How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay. Tired. More because I cut out caffeine than anything.” Her lips twist with a sour expression. “You don’t realize it’s going to be the last time you have a cup of coffee for nine months until after you’ve had it. Hey, so, how old is this picture of you?” She points to the wall.

I school my expression, fighting my urge to laugh. She can’t let it go. “A few years, maybe?”

“You know, it’s always good to keep these things updated. I have a pretty good camera. I could come by and take a few new headshots for you. Something fresh and …” She searches for the word.

“Less like she belongs on the six o’clock news for a meth-induced string of murders?” Cory chirps, ending her call.

Finally, Mabel’s face cracks with a smile.

“It’s okay.” I laugh. “I know how bad it is. It’s more a joke than anything at this point.”

“Oh, thank God,” Calla mutters under her breath, frowning at the framed picture. “But still, Marie. Okay, let’s make plans. Soon.” She hesitates. “And I was also thinking, I could update your website, if you want?” It’s a tentative question, her nose wrinkling as if afraid she’s overstepping. “I was skimming it last night and, I don’t know, it could use some—”

“Yes, please,” Cory pleads, nodding vigorously, first to Calla and then to me. “I meant to spend some time on it this summer, but I’m swamped with wedding plans, and now this”—she gestures at the phone—“we don’t even have the right hours listed.”

“It won’t take me long.”

Cory doesn’t understand what Calla means when she says “update.” “Thank you for the offer, but I can’t sink money into that now.” I looked into design costs once after flipping through Frank Hartley’s professionally built website. I could stock my shelves with syringes and gauze for months with that amount.

She waves my words away. “Consider it payment for all the times you’ve come by to check on Bandit and Zeke. We owe you.”

And I’m certain now that Jonah has told her everything.

She looks around my lobby. “You know, a plant might look nice in here. It doesn’t have to be real.”

She says plant, but she’s already picturing different chairs and wall art. Probably new flooring, too. This is what Calla does when she walks into a neglected space, whether it’s by passion or compulsion. She somehow even managed to get her creative hands past Muriel and on the Ale House, and now its wayward personality is stylized with some semblance of intention. Small details, like harmonizing vinyl tablecloths, frames to replace the thumbtacks on the photographs, lanterns on windowsills, and montages of kitschy signs rather than a clutter of them. It’s still the same bucolic watering hole, just with more charm.

I will be the first to admit Calla’s wildly talented, as I’ll also admit my clinic lobby fits the profile of a neglected, zestless space. But I can’t spend money on a remodel.

The clinic’s phone rings.

“Ten bucks says it’s a new patient,” Cory drones as she reaches for it. “Lehr Animal Care, Cory speaking …” Cory frowns as she listens. “Yeah, she’s here. Hold on a sec, okay?” She covers the receiver rather than putting it on hold. “Tyler’s brother is on the phone? Sounds like there’s something wrong at the kennel, and he can’t get hold of Tyler.”





*



The rain falls in sheets against my windshield as I slam my foot against the brakes. My truck skids to a halt in front of the gate blocking the driveway. I’d thought Reed would come out on his ATV to open it, but I realize now what a foolish expectation that was. With how frantic he sounded, there’s no way he’d leave Nala’s side. He probably didn’t think about this obstacle.

I grip my steering wheel and consider my options. The driveway is a mile long. It’ll take me at least ten minutes to jog it—likely more, with stops. That, plus the twenty-minute drive here, speeding along the dirt roads, and if I have to take her to the clinic to operate …

I could still call him and have him come out …

But all I can think about is Reed’s shaky voice as he described the lodged puppy and how helpless he sounded, and how Tyler might react to one of his lead dogs—one of Mila’s dogs—dying during labor if complications persist.

I throw my truck in Reverse and back down the road, and then, giving myself all of two seconds to reconsider, I jam my foot against the gas and grit my teeth.

The hinges on the aluminum farm gate snap on impact, the pieces flying out of the way. I speed down the driveway, hoping I’m not already too late.





*



Nala licks my fingertips and then dismisses me to lie on the fresh towels as five puppies burrow into her underbelly. The body of the sixth puppy—the first to be born and the one that got lodged sideways in the birth canal, prompting Reed to call me in a panic as Nala’s struggle dragged on—is wrapped in a towel and set in a box until Tyler comes home and decides where he’d like to bury him.

It always pangs my heart to hold a lifeless creature in my palm, but all things considered, I’m content to sit in this little room in the barn, listening to the rain pelt the roof while I steep in my relief.