Satisfaction Guaranteed(16)

“Thank you. The shelter said he was fine, no heartworm, no visible issues. But I’d love for you to check.”

I head into the room, and both women follow with Jonathan close behind.

“It’s a dog party,” Jonathan says, in a singsong voice.

The copper-colored mutt with white paws and the biggest doe eyes I’ve ever seen burrows deeper into Sloane’s chest, tucking his snout underneath her arm.

Sam pets his back. “He’s scared. He must have had a crazy day. How did you spring him?”

“He’s so sweet, but he was sitting in the corner of the kennel just trembling and looking so frightened and pathetic. I couldn’t resist.”

“Who could resist those eyes? Even my mom wouldn’t be able to turn you away,” Sam says, encouraging the little fellow to poke his head out. Soon enough, the pup does, and somehow I manage the task of examining him while Sloane cradles him against her breasts, and my two employees watch.

Yup, this is platinum-level good-boy behavior now. I’m earning my medal tonight.

“What’s his story?” I listen to his heart rate.

“He was living on the street. Picked up by animal control a couple days ago. He only had one night left,” she says, while I check his teeth, “but I know we’re going to find him a great home.” She drops a kiss to his head, and it is one of the sweetest things I’ve ever seen. “You’re going to be okay, Mr. Fox. I know you didn’t like living on the street. I’m going to find such a good home for you, and it’s going to be wonderful. You’re going to find a person who loves you. I promise.”

She gives him another kiss.

And fuck my focus.

My heart is thumping hard, and I want to wrap my arms around her, kiss her neck, and tell her the little guy will be okay. “Mr. Fox?”

“Well, he looks like a little red fox,” Jonathan says.

“He totally does,” Sam chimes in, and it’s a damn good thing the two of them are here. If they weren’t, I’d have to call my sister and tell her I was ready to cave in two days.

I’m such a sucker for a woman who’s good with animals.

“Do you have a foster home for him yet?” I ask.

Sloane shakes her head. “No. I’m going to keep him with me tonight.”

My heart softens even more. “Let me send you home with some food for him. And I’ll call you a cab.”

She snuggles him closer. “Thank you. I’d appreciate that.”

A few minutes later, I put her, some cans of food, and Mr. Fox in a cab, wishing I was going with them too.





12





The next day is no-hump Wednesday, and the surgery lineup calls for a steady stream of snippety snip snips, both for patients and fosters.

I make my way through the alterations with sharp intensity, moving methodically and precisely through each one. Over lunch, my partner and I grab a quick bite at a nearby burger joint, discussing some of the more unusual ongoing cases I’ve been treating.

He’s aces when it comes to obscure and off-the-beaten-path maladies. We tackle a case of a poodle with some vision issues, and Doug suggests a treatment he heard about at the last conference he attended. When the meal is done, he taps his temple. “See? I’ve still got it going on.”

“You absolutely do. There’s no one better.”

We return to the office, and when he pushes open the door, he says offhand, “But someday soon, I’d like to retire. I have visions of playing golf and enjoying some salsa dancing with my favorite wife. Hell, maybe Sloane can give me grandchildren so I can enjoy them between tropical vacations.”

I cough so loudly and virulently, it turns into a bark.

“Let me get you some water,” Doug offers.

I wave him off. “I’m fine,” I choke out.

But really, I’m not. The thought of her having children is too much because that would require another man to win her heart.

And to fuck her.

The thought of either of those things is like an obnoxious song, grating as it loops in my head.





*



Sloane’s out for most of the day, but after lunch, she pops in my office wearing a huge grin. “Knock, knock?”

“Who’s there?”

She points to herself. “The most kick-ass dog rescuer in the city. I found a foster for Mr. Fox. She picked him up this morning, and she’s already sent me a few dozen photos of him for the rescue’s website. Check it out.”

She struts over to my desk and shows me the shots of the Papillion making himself at home. “One, you’re awesome. Two, he’s adorable. He looks like a Muppet.”

She beams. “That’s what I was saying earlier too.”

As she leaves, I flash back to the conversation with Doug from lunch. Yup, the prospect of her with someone else hits all kinds of wrong notes.





*



As the workday winds to its end, I stroll through the cages for the post-op visits, checking out the kitties and pups we spayed today. All are doing well, and I make my final stop at an orange kitten who hangs his head low.

“Hey, Apricat. You doing okay?”

Meow.

“You’re a little woozy,” I say as the kitty stumbles toward the cage door.