“I’m just sayin’.” Jess’s smile was pure provocation. “I know you have a weakness for uniforms.” Kate’s deepening glower only incited her to continue. “You’ve got to live while you can, Kate. You can’t let what happened with Jared ruin the rest of your life.”
“My life is not ruined just because I’m not attached to a man. I have a lot to do, and I enjoy what I do. I don’t have time for...wasting my time.” That last came out a little more vehemently than she intended. Jess put her hands up in surrender, then snatched the list and headed for the back door, where she paused for one more volley.
“Sex, properly done, is never a waste of time, sweetums.”
Kate watched the door well after it closed, roundly annoyed by her partner’s final salvo. Jess was fond of making one last crack and escaping before she could make a blistering comeback. Not that she usually could come up with a blistering comeback, but she at least deserved the chance to try. The man thing was a running argument they would likely never settle: Kate believed in stable and serious relationships, while Jess pursued fierce and spontaneous affairs of the heart.
“Doc?” LeeAnn Monroe, their spiky-haired receptionist, poked her head through the double doors that led to the waiting room. “The patients are all gone and I finished the bank deposit, but before I could lock the doors, a man walked in, asking to see you.”
“What about?”
“He said it was about that golden—the one that cop brought in.”
A frisson of expectation ran down her spine. “Is it a state trooper?”
The quirky receptionist shrugged. “No uniform. Big sucker, though.”
“You can go, LeeAnn,” she said, heading for the waiting room. “I’ll see what he wants and then finish locking up.” She took a deep breath, surprised at how her heart was suddenly racing. It might not even be—
Beyond the double doors stood a tall, broad-shouldered man wearing jeans, a T-shirt and cross-trainers. At the sound of her footsteps, he turned, and she stopped a few feet away, and when she looked up into his eyes, her stomach slid to her knees. She hadn’t just imagined how big and male he was or how that affected her.
“Can I help you?” She sounded a little breathless to her own ears as she tried to take refuge in hard-won professionalism. “Trooper Stanton, right?”
Before he could respond, a young boy stepped out from behind him with widening eyes. Beautiful golden-hazel eyes, just like Nick Stanton’s. The trooper laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder to halt him.
“Yes. Nick Stanton. And this is my son, Ben.”
“Are you the doctor who took care of the hurt dog?” Ben asked eagerly. His brown hair stuck straight up in front, and a few new teeth were fighting for space with ones he hadn’t lost yet. He had on a green shirt sporting the number 7, matching shorts and shin guards beneath padded knee socks.
“Yes. I’m Dr. Everly. Nice to meet you, Ben.” She covered her surprise by extending her hand. With a glance at his dad, who nodded, he gave her a very grown-up handshake.
“I told him about what happened to the dog, and he made me promise to bring him to see her.” Stanton released Ben’s shoulder and shoved his hand into the pocket of his jeans. “I didn’t realize your Saturday hours ended at noon. He had soccer practice this morning and—I don’t want to keep you—”
“It’s no trouble,” Kate said, focusing on Ben. “The dog is doing fairly well. Want to see?” She motioned for them to follow her through the doors and into the surgery, where she stooped in front of the boy to match his height and draw his gaze to hers. “Now you have to realize, Ben, she was hurt pretty badly. We had to shave some of her hair in places and stitch her up. And she’s not exactly frisky, okay? She’s still a pretty sick dog.”
Ben looked thoughtful and then nodded. When they reached the shelf where the golden lay, the boy stood for a moment, taking in the dog’s condition. His expression sobered, and she could see his mind working behind his eyes. Edging closer, he instinctively reached for the dog before he caught himself.
“Would it hurt her if I petted her?” He looked at Kate and then at his dad, who remained silent, deferring to the professional.
“I think she’ll be fine with it.” She was aware of Nick’s gaze on her and slid naturally into teacher mode. “Just be gentle. I think she likes people.”
He gingerly touched the dog’s head with a couple of fingers, then seemed to relax and moved closer, using his whole hand. “That’s where you had to do the surgery?” He pointed to the bare lines of stitches on her leg and hip. When Kate nodded, he frowned. “Did it hurt her when you cut her?”
“No,” Kate said, seeing where his logic was taking him, “we wouldn’t let that happen. We put her to sleep, so she wouldn’t feel anything while we fixed her leg. You want to see how?”
He nodded, and she pulled over the portable gas bottle and the mask attached to it. “We put this over her muzzle, and she breathed in gas that made her go to sleep.”
“What kind of gas?” he said, coming to look at the mask and touch it. “Like what they give to kids when they take out their tonsils?”
“Oh, so you know about that.” Kate smiled, understanding a little more about this boy from that statement. “Did you have your tonsils out?”
“No, but Wyatt did, and he told me all about it.” He headed back to the golden, more confident that he wouldn’t hurt her, and gave her a careful stroke that rated a tail thump. Then she raised her head to sniff him and look around. “Look, she’s smelling me!”
“I think she likes you, Ben.” Kate smiled. “That’s the most interest she’s shown in anyone since she’s been here. Try talking to her.”
“What’s her name?”
“Well, that’s a good question. We don’t know. She was a stray—no collar or tags. But that’s a funny thing about dogs—if you love them and are good to them, they’ll start to answer to any name you want to give them.” She knelt beside the shelf to give the golden a few strokes and meet Ben’s thoughtful gaze. Having him give the dog a name might be a bad idea at this point; she still had a lot of recovery ahead of her. “She’s a golden retriever, so for now, why don’t we just call her Goldie.”
He muttered “Goldie” a couple of times, as if getting used to it. “We’re going to get you well, Goldie.” Then he looked up with a determined expression. “Can’t we make her better faster?”
His use of “we” was not lost on her. He was a sensitive kid, and she could tell he was already invested in this dog, for good or for ill. She hoped he would take away a positive lesson from this, and then realized with a mental groan that making it positive was probably up to her.
“Okay, let’s talk about healing.” She sank to a seat on the edge of the shelf beside the dog she had just named Goldie. “We doctors—people doctors and animal doctors alike—can’t make our patients well. Their bodies have their own special systems for doing that. What we do is put things back in place and give them medicines that will help their bodies heal themselves. You know how when you get a cold, it takes a couple of weeks to get better?” He nodded, so she continued. “Well, during that week or two, your body has to figure out which viruses are making you sick, then round them up and lock them away. Your body has a kind of virus police already in place. They just need time to get to work and then repair anything that got damaged.”
She gestured to Goldie. “It’s the same with her. We set her leg bones so her body can knit them back together in the right places, and we stitched her up so her cut will stay together while her body