‘We’ll look out to sea and set the world to rights. Without the complication of women,’ Nick said.
Melinda stared at the computer screen in dismay.
Bramble was on her list of patients for the late afternoon surgery.
And although she adored the dog—she’d been the one to rescue the flatcoat retriever in the first place—right now she had a major problem with the dog’s owner. He was being so pig-headed, and even though she could understand why he was behaving that way, it drove her crazy. Half a dozen times the previous night she’d picked up the phone and started to punch in his number. But every time she’d stopped part way through and replaced the receiver. Pushing him would only make him more determined. Maybe he needed time to miss her as much as she missed him—so much that it physically hurt. He’d talk to her when he was ready.
She just about managed to get through the first three cases on her list. Check-up and first vaccination for a kitten, followed by an annual booster and a check-up for a springer spaniel called Rusty who had a slight heart murmur.
‘I can hear it,’ she said when she removed the stethoscope from her ears, ‘so I think it’s upgraded to a three rather than a two, as it was last time.’ Heart murmurs fell into six classifications: anything up to three was fine, but more than that needed medication.
The owner looked dismayed. ‘But he hasn’t seemed ill. I would’ve brought him in if I’d noticed anything different. He pants a bit in the evenings, but no more than he used to.’
‘Any coughing?’ Melinda asked.
‘No.’
‘OK. Just keep an eye on him—if he’s panting more or he starts coughing, then we know he’s struggling. You can help relieve some of the strain on his heart by keeping him on the lean side.’
‘I know our last spaniel was overweight, but we’ve been careful not to give Rusty any snacks between meals.’
‘You’re doing fine,’ Melinda said. ‘He’s not overweight at all. But being a little tiny bit lighter—say a kilogram—will make it a lot easier on his heart.’ She checked the dog’s teeth and ears, then made a fuss of him. ‘Well, Mr Beautiful. You can take your owner home now.’ She smiled up at the owner. ‘You’re doing a great job with him. He’s a lovely, lovely dog.’
Next up was a dog who’d been limping. She showed the owner the claw that had almost curved back into the pad of the dog’s foot.
‘What’s happened here is that this tendon doesn’t work properly, so his toe’s lifted up and the claw doesn’t come into contact with the ground when he walks,’ Melinda explained. ‘You’ll need to keep an eye on the toe and either bring him here for clipping, or do it yourself when you check his dew-claws.’
‘Is it going to hurt?’ the owner asked.
‘No, it’s like clipping your own fingernails—though obviously if you go too far you’ll hurt him. Most of them don’t like it, so I’d suggest it’s a two-person job. And give him lots of praise and a reward afterwards.’ She talked the owner through the procedure. ‘Slip the nail into the opening here, keep reassuring him, try to distract him a bit, and—there. Done. He might limp for a day or two, but that’s because he’s sore from the claw going into his pad—having the nail clipped hasn’t hurt him. But if you don’t like the idea of doing it yourself, you can always bring him in. Just keep an eye on the claw because it needs cutting before it starts to touch the pad.’
‘Thank you so much.’
And then she had to face Dragan and Bramble.
It was a real effort to be professional when all she wanted to do was run into his arms and tell him how much she missed him, how much she wanted him back.
‘How are you?’ she asked.
‘Fine.’ There was a pause. ‘You?’
‘What do you think?’
He didn’t answer, but he looked incredibly embarrassed. Obviously he realised she was ‘fine’ in the same way that he was. As in not. Melinda wasn’t sleeping, she wasn’t eating, and she was as miserable as hell.
She forced herself to be professional. Bramble was, after all, her patient. ‘How’s Bramble? I see she’s not limping as badly.’
‘No.’
‘Still lifting her?’
‘To be on the safe side.’
Bramble’s leg had been slow to heal, and then the dog had chased after a rabbit. When Dragan had called her back, she’d skidded, twisted slightly, and then had been in such obvious pain that Melinda had X-rayed the dog and discovered the movement had loosened the pins in her leg and the bone had cracked again.
‘Would you like to lift her up onto the table?’
He did so, and Melinda felt the dog’s leg. ‘No flinching or guarding—that’s good. And the wound has healed nicely.’
Bramble licked Melinda’s face, and Melinda swallowed hard. ‘Ah, bella ragazza, I miss you, too. I miss going for walks along the harbour with you. I miss having you curled on the sofa with me while a certain person is doing paperwork. I miss feeding you scraps of chicken in the kitchen when I’m cooking and he can’t see me sneaking you a treat.’ She gently stroked the dog’s head. ‘I wonder, does he miss it, too? Does he find the bed’s way too wide, that the seconds drag, that the sun’s stopped shining?’
‘Melinda.’ Dragan’s voice sounded tortured. ‘Don’t do this.’ So he missed her, too.
Good.
With any luck, he’d come to his senses soon and stop making both of them so miserable.
‘One more X-ray, I think,’ she said. She ruffled Bramble’s fur. ‘I know you hate needles, carissima, but this is just one tiny, tiny one to sedate you for the X-ray and make you comfortable.’
A second later it was done. She carried Bramble over to the X-ray area. ‘I’ll have the results back tomorrow.’ And it was a brilliant excuse to talk to him.
‘Hopefully she’ll be fine and the next time you see her will be for her booster vaccination,’ Dragan said.
‘The next time I see her in a professional capacity, you mean.’ The words were out before she could stop them. She rubbed a hand over her eyes. ‘Sorry. But I miss her.’ And she missed him. ‘Dragan. We really need to talk about this.’
‘Not here. You have a queue of patients building up.’
‘After surgery, then. Are you on call tonight?’
‘No. Are you?’
‘Yes.’ She walked over to her desk and pressed it hard. ‘But, touch wood, we’ll have at least some time to talk. Is half past seven good for you?’
He nodded. ‘Your place or mine?’
‘Neither. Let’s escape from the paparazzi. You know that little pub we used to go to?’ The one just outside Penhally where they’d met up in the early days of their relationship, when they had still been keeping things quiet from the village grapevine.
‘OK. We’d better take separate cars,’ he said. ‘In case you’re called out.’
‘And if we both take different routes, it should put the paparazzi off our trail.’
‘Fine. I’ll see you then.’
For a moment she thought he was going to kiss her goodbye. He even swayed towards her. But then he pulled back without touching her. ‘Thank you for seeing Bramble.’
‘Prego.’ She bit back her disappointment. She couldn’t expect