It's a Christmas Thing (The Christmas Tree Ranch #2)(6)

“I can set her up in the laundry room.” Tracy glanced at her watch. “I’m due in court at one thirty. It’s barely eleven o’clock now. That should give me plenty of time for a run to Shop Mart.”

Rush released the cat on the floor. She slunk back under the bed. “Now that she’s eaten, she’ll be ready for a long nap,” he said. “You shouldn’t have to worry about her for a while.”

“What about the kittens?” Tracy looked anxious. “What do I do when she . . . what do you call it? Goes into labor?”

“Relax. Cats are good mothers. She’ll know what to do. You won’t even need to be there, unless you want to.”

“What if something goes wrong?”

“It shouldn’t. But if anything worries you, you’ve got my number. Don’t hesitate to call me, even if it’s in the middle of the night.”

She laughed. “You may regret making that offer.”

Try me, lady, anytime. Rush knew better than to voice that thought. He stripped off his gloves and pulled on a fresh pair. “Now what do you say we check your dog?”

The aging pit bull mix was asleep in the living room, where they’d left him. At the sound of voices, he opened his eyes and thumped his tail.

“Hello, Murphy.” Kneeling, Rush stroked the dog to get him comfortable before the exam. “How old is he?”

“I don’t know for sure,” Tracy said. “Steve had him before we met. Murphy was the ring bearer at our wedding. But even then, he wasn’t a young dog. I’d guess he’s at least fifteen or sixteen.”

Rush gazed into the old dog’s eyes. “He’s got cataracts. From the look of them, I’d say he’s almost blind. Does he bump into things?”

“Sometimes. But the house is familiar. Most of the time, he manages to sniff his way around. But if anything unexpected gets in his way . . .” She shook her head, a lock of blond hair falling loose from the clip that held it at the crown of her head. “Is there anything you can do? What about cataract surgery, like they do on humans?”

Tears were welling in her eyes. Damn, this isn’t going to be easy.

“It’s been done on animals. But Murphy’s an old man, close to ninety in human years. Even if he were to survive the surgery, he’d be miserable afterward. As long as he can find his way around the house, that’s about the best you can expect.”

“Oh.” The word was a whispered sigh.

Rush gently pried open the dog’s mouth. There were just a few teeth. At least one of them looked infected. No way to pull it without anesthesia, and Murphy was too old to sedate safely. “Can you get him up and walking?” Rush asked.

Tracy backed off a few steps. “Come here, Murphy,” she coaxed. Murphy hauled himself to his feet and hobbled toward his mistress while Rush studied his labored gait.

“That’s far enough, old boy.” Rush’s hands explored the old dog’s arthritic joints and bony body. There was no sign of a lump that might suggest a tumor. That, at least, was good news. “How’s his appetite?”

“Fine. He doesn’t eat a lot, but he always eats something.” Tracy sounded defensive, as if she might be bracing herself to deny bad news.

“His arthritis is pretty bad—something you’d expect in a dog his age. I can tell he’s in pain. I’m going to write you a prescription for a joint supplement called Cosequin. It won’t cure him, but it should make it easier for him to get around. I’ve got some samples at home. I can drop them off later for you to try before you spend the money.”

“Thank you.” She looked so hopeful that Rush was tempted to leave things like that. But if he didn’t tell her the whole truth, he wouldn’t be doing his job.

“The medicine should help him feel better,” he said. “But he’s an old dog. Life isn’t much fun for him anymore. Sooner or later, you’re going to have to face the—”

“No!” Tracy’s voice quivered. “I won’t stand for having him put down! Don’t even talk to me about it.”

“Tracy, you can’t stop time—”

“Don’t you understand?” The tears in her eyes spilled over.

“Murphy was my husband’s dog. Steve loved him, and so do I. He’s all I have left of our time together. When he’s gone—all those memories—”

“I understand.” From where he stood, Rush could see the photo on the mantel—the all-American couple on the beach with their dog. Tracy was an appealing woman. But Rush had gotten the message loud and clear. She was strictly off-limits.

“Don’t worry, I won’t bring it up again,” he said. “At least not until you’re ready.”

“Thank you.” She swallowed hard, wiping away tears with the back of her hand.

Rush handed her the prescription he’d written. “I can drop off the Cosequin samples when I come back to town this afternoon. Would that work for you?”

“I’ll be at the courthouse until five o’clock. You can leave them there, with the receptionist. There’s no need for you to come by the house.”

“Fine.” Rush glanced at Murphy, who’d hobbled back to his bed again. “Any more questions before I leave?”