Rescued

by L. P. Maxa

  Relief for the pipsqueak’s improved condition flowed through Brian in tandem with the urge to hug Jennifer. He refrained—barely. “He can stay as long as he needs to. Firefighters have been giving me money to help pay for his care.”

  “That’s fantastic.” She smiled and Brian’s heart sped up

  He cleared his throat. “Firefighters have a special bond. We do for each other. I didn’t say a word, but everyone at the station pitched in. The station that worked the fire is helping out, too.”

  She bent and spoke to the pup. “I think you’ve been made an honorary firefighter.” When she straightened, Brian saw a fascinating pair of dimples appear in her cheeks. He felt a bit like a deer frozen in the beam of twin headlamps.

  “Firefighter might be a good name,” she offered. “People will remember him, which will help get him adopted. Networking is the best way to find an animal a home, and it sounds like you’ve got a great network involved in this little guy’s outcome.”

  Brian had been giving a name some thought. It wouldn’t hurt to assign a temporary handle to the little guy. His new family could still decide on his permanent name. “I thought I’d call him Sparky for now.”

  “Sparky? That’s perfect. I’ll put that on his paperwork.” She picked Sparky up and cradled him in one arm. “Hey, Sparky. How cool is that?”

  The next thing Brian knew, she’d set the dog in his arms. He shifted the pipsqueak so his bandaged feet dangled.

  Dr. Jennifer stepped closer, petting Sparky’s head. She glanced up at Brian, and her face turned a soft pink. She looked down and rubbed the space between Sparky’s eyes. The dog leaned into her stroking fingers. That glance had been long enough to see that dark gray rings circled her lighter gray irises. She had powerful eyes. Mesmerizing eyes.

  “You’re a good man to go to so much effort for a stray,” Jennifer said.

  “Wouldn’t you?” Brian asked. Something about this woman, and how she spoke to Sparky, made Brian’s heart too big for his chest.

  “Me? Of course. But I’m a sucker for animals.”

  “Have any at home?” And what about a man? Did she have one of those at home? She wore no rings, but perhaps they interfered when performing procedures and surgery.

  She made a noise halfway between a laugh and a snort. “One cat and two dogs.” She pulled a cell phone from her pocket, a moment later turning it to display the screen. Jennifer sat on a porch step with a gray-striped, one-eyed cat, a black Cocker Spaniel missing a front leg, and what looked to be a Border Collie.

  “I think I see a theme.” He tapped the image of the black and white dog. “Although…”

  “He has seizures,” she explained.

  “Well, aren’t they lucky,” Brian said. “Would you consider taking Sparky? Or would your husband object?”

  “I’m single, and three pets are enough.”

  She and her pets weren’t a potential family for Sparky, but Brian saw all kinds of possibilities for himself. A hum of desire coursed through him, and again he was at a loss—his body had a mind of its own when he was around Jennifer.

  She tilted her head and silver chips glimmered in her eyes. “You don’t strike me as a man who gives up. You’ll find Sparky a home.” The warmth in her gaze and voice turned that hum into a buzz.

  “I’ll do my best,” he assured her. He didn’t want to disappoint her or Sparky, but there were too many animals without homes, and so far, he hadn’t found anyone interested. He’d put flyers up at all the stations, thinking someone with kids would want a dog, but so far, no calls.

  “I’ll talk to the department’s public information officer again. Maybe he can arrange for a follow-up TV spot. Or a mention in the paper.” A wet tongue swiped Brian’s hand.

  “He’s fond of you,” she noted. “Look how relaxed he is in your arms.”

  He liked little Sparks, but he’d never had a small dog. This wasn’t the type of dog you took camping and hiking and fishing. All activities he enjoyed.

  The muted sound of voices came from the other side of the exam wall.

  “I’ve got a patient,” Dr. Jennifer told him. “Stay as long as you like.” She disappeared into the staff corridor behind the exam rooms.

  Sparky gave a tiny woof.

  “I saw her first,” Brian informed the pup, although that wasn’t strictly true. They’d found her together.

  ###

  The next morning Brian drove to the park and located his crew amid the mass of people waiting for the town’s annual organized run to start. His friends were easy to spot, clustered together, each wearing a navy T-shirt with a firefighter’s badge stamped on the left side of the shirt. Brian made his way to Jon Payne and they shook hands.

  “Thanks for coming, Brian,” Jon said. Every off-duty firefighter had volunteered to participate in the five-mile run benefitting cystic fibrosis. They were lucky to have a children’s hospital in the area, where Jon’s daughter received treatment for the disease. The money raised would go toward the hospital’s cystic fibrosis program.

  Once he finished stretching, Brian greeted Jon’s wife and Crissy.

  “Mom and I made a ribbon for you.” Crissy grinned, which exposed a missing front tooth and boosted the blonde, curly-headed little girl’s cute-factor into the stratosphere. “Hold out your hand.”

  Brian obliged and Crissy tied a purple ribbon around his wrist. Running for Crissy had been penned on the ribbon with permanent marker.

  “Hey, I like that,” Brian said. “Thank you. It’s an honor to wear it.”

  Crissy giggled. “Thank you for helping me and my friends.”

  The race organizer began giving start instructions through a megaphone and Brian joined his crew, who all wore Crissy purple ribbons. It was a warm day. He shook out his arms and looked forward to the workout. Any time they ran together like this, the run usually turned competitive by the end. It made for a nice change from his usual workout.

  The start gun went off and they got under way. His mates were all seasoned runners in good shape, which made for a quick pace. A few minutes later he spotted Jennifer Magee in neon green running shoes and tank top. Her top and shorts clung to killer curves, which he was seeing for the first time. Damn. She was more gorgeous than he imagined. And those shorts exposed long toned legs that were setting a pace that almost matched his.

  “I’ll see you guys at the end,” Brian shouted to his crew, and positioned himself next to his favorite veterinarian.

  She turned her head and grinned. “Hey, good morning.”

  “Mind if I keep you company, Dr. Magee?” Brian asked.

  “This is my day off. Let’s make it Jennie.”

  She went by Jennie, not Jennifer, and inviting him to call her by her given name was a significant step in the direction he wanted to go. He was a client, and she was a professional woman. He could be wrong, but he doubted she made that offer often. He hoped it meant she was willing to explore something more personal between them. He recalled that glance and how she’d blushed a little. Maybe she was as attracted to him as he was to her.

  He could only hope.

  Jennie appealed to him more than anyone had in a long time, maybe ever, and he wanted to get to know her. Typically, he dated a woman until either he or she decided they weren’t a good fit, or a permanent match. It had been months since his last relationship, and his need for that connection—on all levels—was pronounced.

  A man running ahead of them caught his eye. A Chihuahua’s head poked out of the backpack the man wore.

  “Look,” Brian said, pointing.

  “You could do that with Sparky.”

  She was right. Sparky weighed next to nothing. He could put Sparky in a backpack and take him camping, fishing, running, almost anywhere. The Chihuahua appeared alert and happy on his owner’s back, looking around with its tongue lolling out to the side. Brian could picture Sparky in a backpack, but Brian couldn’t imagine himself as the owner toting the dog.

  “Do little
dogs play catch?” he asked.

  “Sure. You toss smaller balls, that’s all,” Jennie replied.

  Hunh. As scrappy and smart as Sparky was, he’d probably love retrieving.

  Fifteen minutes later, Jennie slowed. “Do you hear that barking?” she asked. “The dog sounds distressed.”

  She surprised him by darting to a side street that intersected the race’s course. Maneuvering through the flow of runners, Brian followed. She hadn’t gone far. Hands on hips, jaw set, she stood beside a parked car, gazing through a side window.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked. Then he saw. The car sat in the sun, unshaded. One of the car’s windows, cracked an inch, was the only ventilation available to the car’s occupant, a stocky, brown-and-white Bulldog. The dog, which had been standing on its hind legs at the window, dropped down to all four, then sat. Her panting was fast and heavy. She barked at Jennie a couple of times and lay down on the seat.

  “This dog needs air,” Jennie near snarled. “Bulldogs are susceptible to overheating, and she’s breathing hard.” Jennie knocked on the window. “Hey, girl,” she called. The dog didn’t move. Its tongue lolled out of its mouth, and its sides heaved.

  “She doesn’t look good. She’s lethargic, and her respirations are labored.” Jennie put her palm on the roof of the black sedan. “Ouch. I could fry an egg on this roof. It could easily be over one hundred thirty degrees in there.” She looked around. “Where is her owner?”

  Brian scanned the people lining the race route. The closest ones stood about one car length away.

  “Hey,” Brian called. “Listen up! I need the owner of this car to step over here.” People turned and looked, but none came their way. Brian wove his way across the street and repeated his call. He went into a number of stores, either asking an announcement be made, or making one himself, then went up and down both sides of the street, calling for the owner of the black Hyundai on Grove.

  “Becker,” a male voice called from behind him.

  Brian turned and saw motorcycle officer Luis Sanchez. Fires and accidents required police and fire department personnel to work together, and Brian knew many of the town’s police officers.

  Sanchez braked his bike a few feet from Brian and put his feet on the pavement. “What’s up?” he asked.

  “Hey, Sanchez.” Brian shook his head. “I can’t locate the dog’s owner, and I need to get into a car.” He pointed toward Grove Street. “She’s stuck inside and is in a bad way. Heat stroke or worse.”

  “I’ll take a look,” Sanchez said.

  “The lady at the car is a friend, Jennie Magee. She’s a veterinarian.”

  Sanchez gave him a two-fingered wave of acknowledgment and rode toward the overheated car. Brian made his way back through the runners and arrived as Sanchez turned off his bike and dismounted. Brian introduced Jennie to Sanchez, who looked in at the dog.

  “She’s become unresponsive.” Jennie grimaced, repeatedly striking the side of her fist against the window as if warming up for a window-shattering blow. The warm silver in her eyes had turned to cold, hard flint. “At this point, lowering her temp might not save her, but it’s worth a try.”

  “I went up and down both sides of the street looking for the owner,” Brian explained, “and I checked inside at least ten stores.”

  Sanchez grabbed his baton, and Brian guided Jennie away from the car.

  “What will you do once you have her?” Brian asked.

  “Submerging her body in a big sink of tepid water would be best. If we can find a fan, that will help.”

  Sanchez expanded the baton and stood beside the window farthest from the dog. The window shattered with the first blow, pebble-like glass fragments raining to the asphalt and inside the car. Sanchez reached in and unlocked the doors.

  Jennie opened the back door, stuck her upper body inside, and examined the dog while the car alarm blared.

  Brian thought about the stores he’d entered. “Let me get her,” he offered, placing his hand on Jennie’s lower back. She moved aside and Brian gathered the hefty Bulldog into his arms. Her drooling head dangled. She felt hot, as if she were steaming. The temperature inside the car would rival a hot oven’s.

  “I’ll call this in and get the SPCA on their way,” Sanchez told them. “The owner will be arrested.”

  “There’s a hair salon three doors from the corner,” Brian said. “We’re taking her there.”

  Sanchez nodded and raised his portable radio.

  “Come on.” Brian tipped his head to Jennie, and then jogged toward the shop.

  When they reached the salon, Jennie held the door open while he carried the dog through. The large room off the reception area was full of stylists and women in salon chairs. Jennie stepped around him and addressed the receptionist and everyone else within hearing. They all went silent and still.

  “Is the manager here? This dog has heat stroke, and I need to get her in a sink.”

  A stylist with a wide teal stripe in her brown hair left her customer and walked into the reception area.

  “I’m the manager.” She looked at the unconscious dog and her face twisted like she’d smelled something noxious. “You can’t bring her in here.”

  Jennie grew an inch. “I’m a veterinarian. If this dog doesn’t cool down, she’s going to die.”

  The manager stuck her hands to her hips. “This is a place of business, and we’re required to maintain a sanitary establishment. I’m sure you’ll find someplace else.”

  Jennie’s eyes flashed. “Salon sinks are twice as large as a typical employee restroom sink. I’m not going to run around looking for a sink she’ll fit into when there’s one right here.”

  “You’ll upset everyone and make a mess,” the manager stated. “We can’t shampoo customers next to that. It might even be dangerous.”

  “Oh, let them use a sink,” a woman sprouting foil from her head urged.

  “Yes, let them. You’ll still have sinks for customers,” another woman said. Half her head was covered with what he thought were perm curlers.

  Toting the Bulldog, Brian strode past the manager into the stylist area. Foil-head pointed to a half-wall. He headed there and found a bank of shampoo sinks.

  He put the Bulldog in the closest one. The sink wasn’t quite large enough, but he thought the spray attachment would be a big advantage. Jennie took over, turning on the water and adjusting the temperature, and a moment later she began spraying the dog. The manager stood watching, jaw clenched.

  “You can’t do that,” she grunted. “I’m calling the police.”

  Brian stepped to the corner, where a fire extinguisher hung on the wall. He examined the extinguisher’s inspection tag and shot the manager a smile.

  “Did you know your extinguisher’s out of date?” he asked, using a kill-her-with-kindness voice.

  Her eyes widened. “What?”

  “I’m a Dove County firefighter,” he said, pointing to the badge insignia on his T-shirt. “I’m afraid it’s been more than a year since this extinguisher was inspected.” He flashed her a fast smile. “That’s not good.” He strolled deeper into the salon, then retraced his steps to the styling area. After a slow look around, he addressed the irate manager. “There’s less than eighteen inches clearance between the fire sprinkler and the top shelf of your supply rack. It’s obstructing the sprinkler.”

  “You can’t be serious.” The manager shook her head.

  “Some of your stylists have plugged curling irons and blow dryers into extension cords, and plugged the extension cords into power strips.” Brian shrugged and gave her a regretful smile. “From what I can see, you have multiple fire code violations.”

  The manager drew in air so intently, her nostrils contracted. She waved her arm toward the sinks. “Be my guest.” She spun on her heel.

  “Do you have a fan?” Brian called after her.

  She stopped, turned back the way an arthritic centenarian might, and stared as if she couldn’t quite believe h
e was real. “No.” She paused, rolled her eyes, then said, “But I think the used bookstore next door might.”

  “Thanks.” Brian turned to Jennie. “I’ll check on the fan. You okay?” he asked, putting his hand on her shoulder.

  She glanced up and nodded, eyes brimming with gratitude. Then her eyes seemed to darken, and her mouth flattened. “There’s a tag on her collar. Her name’s Useless.”

  Damn. He gave Jennie’s shoulder a squeeze and headed out.

  The bookstore owner turned out to be a nice guy, and Brian was back a couple minutes later with a pedestal fan. He plugged it in and positioned it so the air blew directly on the Bulldog.

  “That’s perfect. I’ll keep her wet, and you keep the fan on her.” Jennie had positioned the animal so as not to block the drain and was maintaining a constant spray of tepid water to the dog’s back, chest, and belly.

  “How is she?” Brian asked.

  “No way to tell how high her temperature is or if it’s dropping, but she’s breathing a little easier.”

  “I know you want her to wake up, but what’ll you do if she wakes up here? Couldn’t she be confused or frightened and become difficult to manage or dangerous?”

  “She could. But it’s also possible she’ll be too weak and sick to make a fuss. I don’t want to tie her mouth closed unless I have to, but maybe you could find something and have it ready, just in case. Hopefully, we won’t need it. I don’t want to do anything that might impede her airway. When the SPCA arrives, they should have a muzzle.”

  Jennie had propped the dog’s head on the sink edge. She aimed the spray on the top of the dog’s head, then wiped water drops from her eyelids. Jennie’s confidence and compassion were evident in every word she uttered to the dog, in every stroke and pat of her hand. She was calling the dog baby, not Useless.