by K. A. Tucker
“That’s precise.” And listening to Tyler speak so casually about his dogs, as if they’re his children, makes me smile whether I want to or not.
“Every time. Shitty-ass sled dog, but the friendliest guy around. He’s three and basically retired now. He and Sleet don’t get along.”
“Sleet’s the swing dog under the tree?”
“Yeah. And he doesn’t like lazy sled dogs, which Pope is. This one’s good for chasing rabbits, eating more than his share, begging for belly scratches, and not much else.” Tyler leans down to smooth his hand over Pope’s thick midsection before pulling himself back up. “So, there’s your full tour of my kennel.” He folds his arms over his chest. “Anything you want me to change as the veterinarian on my payroll?” The tiny smirk tells me he knows I won’t find one thing wrong.
“Actually, yes. The heat lamp you have set up in the treatment and birthing room, put it in the corner farthest from the door.” It’s a good idea, but it’s also not critical, and yet I feel the need to poke holes in both Tyler’s setup and his ego.
Tyler’s lips twist, and I think he’s going to question my demand. “Consider it done.”
“Also, some sort of video feed, especially once you have puppies out here. And I want access to your full database.” I’ve never had anything like that beyond the information that we collect at the clinic. Secretly, I’m a data nerd.
“I’ll have a camera up by the end of the week, and I’ll have you added to the database by the end of the day. So, does this mean you’ll take me? I mean, my dogs?” he corrects, and a hint of color touches his cheeks that sparks my curiosity.
I set my jaw. “On one condition—that we keep this between us for now. I don’t want whatever issues you and Harry have with each other to impact my clinic in any way.” It’s inevitable that the Hatchetts will find out soon enough, but the longer I can avoid Harry’s resulting fit, the better.
He chuckles. “That’s fine. I don’t talk to that asshole, anyway.”
“Okay, then.” I check my watch. It’s almost nine. I could easily spend the day here. “I should get going. Cory will send you an invoice for my time today,” I say, already moving for my truck. “You can either e-transfer the payment or come in to pay within forty-eight hours. She’ll include our regular operating hours in the email.”
We walk back in an oddly comfortable silence. Tank, free of his grooming session, trots behind me.
“What’d you say that pregnant dog was at? Thirty days?”
“Thirty-two. Frank already did the X-rays. She’s having six.”
“So another month before she whelps.” I can avoid Tyler until then, unless there’s a fight requiring stitches. I climb into my truck and slam the door. “I’ll have Cory send you a detailed fee list so you understand all my rates up front. And they’re nonnegotiable.” I hold my breath, waiting for him to ask if those will be discounted kennel rates.
Tyler settles an arm on my door where the window is rolled down. It’s a strategic move. I can’t pull away without possibly injuring him. “Why do I feel like you’re trying to scare me away?”
“Maybe I am.”
“I don’t scare easily.” His focus wanders ahead of us, over the trees, as if searching for something. “You going straight to your clinic?”
“Yeah. Why?”
Amusement dances in his eyes. “Might want to change.” He nods toward my T-shirt.
I look down to find two muddy paw prints conveniently located on my chest, like well-placed handprints. Which explains why Tyler’s gaze kept veering there all morning.
I sigh as I crank my engine. “At least I didn’t get peed on again.”
“And Marie?” He leans in a touch, as if sharing a secret, and my nose catches a faint but delightful mixture of clean sweat and spearmint gum. “Don’t fire Cory. She meant well.” With a wink and a pat against my door, he shifts away.
My cheeks burn as I drive off.
He did see my calendar.
I spend the long, bumpy driveway considering ways to punish my assistant for that stunt. By the time I’ve reached the end, I’ve decided she’ll be taking on all anal gland secretion appointments for the foreseeable future, beginning with Gladys Burt’s twelve-year-old pug this afternoon.
A familiar truck slows as I’m pulling out of Tyler’s driveway. It’s Bonnie Hatchett, her shriveled face angled toward me.
With a curse under my breath, I force a smile and wave on my way past, not slowing.
Well, that secret didn’t last long.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The familiar clown horn honks outside the clinic at one minute to noon, pulling a chuckle from Cory. “You having lunch with your dad today?”
I peer out the window to see him sitting in the UTV, his splinted leg stretched out the open side—a maneuver I doubt his doctor would approve of. A picnic basket sits on the seat beside him. “I guess I am.” We hadn’t planned on it, but if my father is here with sandwiches, it means he wants to talk.
And I already know what it’s about.
Harry called me yesterday to find out why his mother saw me pulling out of Tyler’s driveway. I’d bet my professional license and a thousand dollars that Bonnie was standing opposite him, coaching him on what to say.
I didn’t lie. I shouldn’t have to.
But that set off a tirade, because Harry also happened to drive out to Linda Cogsby’s kennel yesterday to get an answer, and he didn’t like the one he got—she’s holding out for a dog from Tyler Brady.
Harry delivered an ultimatum to me, I told him he would not be dictating my clients and patients, and he informed me that the Hatchetts would no longer be clients of mine.
I haven’t told anyone yet—not Cory, not my father—as I try to wrap my head around what this means for the clinic’s bottom line. But my guess is, my father has already heard.
“Joe and I are going up to the ranch to pay a deposit.” Cory collects her purse. “I might be a few minutes late, if that’s okay?”
“Of course. Have fun.” A part of me is envious of my assistant. I remember when Jonathan and I were going through the motions of planning a wedding. It was exciting for a time, despite how it all fell apart in the end. We visited locations around Anchorage, collected quotes, but I kept finding excuses for why none of them felt right. It turns out the location was never the issue. I needed a different groom.
“You want me to lock up?”
“It’s fine. We won’t go far.” Dad still struggles on his crutches on smooth ground. I’d rather he stay put out here.
I flip the Closed sign on the clinic door and grab a light jacket as I walk out. It’s sixty-five degrees Fahrenheit today—the warmest it’s been all month, given the onslaught of rain we’ve had. But I don’t mind, because more rain means less risk of the forest fires that have ravaged the state, year after year.
All three dogs followed my father here, but they’re busy sniffing the bushes for various scents from clinic animals relieving themselves. “I can’t believe Mom allowed this.”
“I snuck out while she was distracted.” He pats the basket. “I thought you’d like to watch me eat, if you’ve got time.”
“I always have time for you.”
He winks. “I knew I was your favorite.”
With a chuckle, I climb into the passenger seat, stealing a glance inside the basket. “Pulled pork?” I was expecting turkey on rye—the healthy choice, and a staple in my father’s diet.
“There’s a lot going on, and your mother’s been stress cooking all morning.” He gives the UTV gas. It lurches toward the nearby picnic table.
“Are you still being difficult?”
“Not me. For once.” He gives me a sideways glance. “I suppose you haven’t talked to Vicki yet, have you?”
His question catches me off guard. “Not since I went over on Monday so she could cut my hair.” A twinge of panic stirs in my stomach. “Why? What’s wrong? Is Molly okay?”
“S
he’s fine. They’re all fine.” His shoulders slump. “Vicki’s pregnant.”
I gasp. “Again?” Molly’s only five months old!
“It’s funny how biology works, huh?” He chuckles. “Clearly those two missed that day in school.”
“She can’t even get a night’s sleep!”
“They definitely found something to do while they weren’t sleeping.”
My thoughts are spinning. “What were they thinking? How can they afford this?”
“They weren’t thinking. And they can’t.” Dad shakes his head. “Hence, the pulled pork sandwiches and the apple pie baking as we speak.”
* * *
“Bonnie Hatchett called me this morning.”
“I was wondering when you’d bring that up,” I mumble around the last of my sandwich. We’ve been too busy discussing Vicki and Oliver’s carelessness that has now put them in a position of having to raise two babies on one meager income and a vehicle that is in the garage every other month.
And yet, despite the panic my sister is surely swirling in, there’s that part of me that envies her for the things she has that seem to have slipped from my grasp.
“Bonnie was upset to learn that you’d throw away a four-decade relationship so easily.”
Of course she’d blame me. “What’d you say?”
“What could I say? I didn’t even know you were taking on Tyler Brady’s kennel until she told me.”
“I know. I should have mentioned something sooner. It all happened kind of fast, and I wasn’t sure I’d agree until yesterday.” That’s not totally truthful. I knew, when Tyler was standing in my lobby, pleading with me, that I was a goner. Tyler transferred money to cover his bill within ten minutes of Cory sending it. That’s a promising start. “It’s good money for the clinic, and you should see the place, Dad. It makes the Hatchetts’ look like a run-down circus show. He knows what he’s doing. More than Harry does, that’s for sure. Maybe even more than Earl did.”
“I believe you. But you had to have known what might happen when you took him on. The repercussions of that.”
“I did.” Especially once Harry heard that all their prospective clients would rather be getting sled dogs from next door. “But they can’t dictate which kennels I treat. They’ve gone too far.”
He holds up his hands in surrender. “You’re absolutely right. I’m not suggesting they can.”
“They’re the ones throwing away a four-decade relationship, all because Harry’s a sore loser.”
“Yup. There’s no arguing that, either.” Dad purses his lips. “Who was Tyler Brady with before?”
“Frank.” Now that I know how tightly Tyler runs the day-to-day at his kennel, I can see why that relationship didn’t work. Frank wouldn’t see the value that I do in all those medical records and databases. Me? I’m a three-year-old tearing through presents on Christmas morning with that level of information.
Dad smooths a hand over his cheek in a slow, circular motion, his signature thinking tic. “I just know you and that Tyler fellow have had your differences in the past, and it seemed to me that day up in Hatcher Pass that they might not all be sorted out.”
“They’re sorted. It’s fine. This is purely a business relationship.”
“Oh.” Dad’s bushy eyebrows arch. “I see. So there was a time when it might have been more than—”
“No. That was a misunderstanding that is now crystal clear. There is nothing else between Tyler and me.” I’m saying that for my father’s benefit, but it’s also helpful to remind myself.
“I’m only bringing this up because I’d hate to see you lose both kennels if things don’t work out with Tyler. That’s a lot of money. And with this new baby on the way …” His words drift, but his meaning is clear.
I can’t afford to miss any rent payments to them, because some of that will inevitably be going toward helping my sister. I can already see that the extra cash I was planning on giving them to recoup their Mexico savings account will never get them there. They’ll stick it in an envelope and leave it on Vicki and Oliver’s kitchen counter without a word the next time they visit, to help ease this new burden. And how much can I say? They’ve done it for me once or twice while I was in school when money was especially tight.
“Tyler and I have worked out our issues, and he begged me to take him on, so I don’t think he’s going anywhere. And as far as the Hatchetts go, Harry’s going to learn quickly how good he had it. I wouldn’t be surprised if he comes crawling back.” I say that with more confidence than I feel. “But Dad, you guys can’t keep throwing money at Vicki.” If my parents have made any mistakes with us, it’s being generous to a fault. Other parents would not be so quick to try to solve their adult children’s financial problems for them. “I know you think you’re helping them, but you’re not. They need to figure this out on their own.”
“How’s she gonna do that with two babies in tow and a husband who’s always working? They’re struggling to pay their rent for that apartment as it is.”
“So, they move in here until Vicki finishes school and gets established. The room in the attic is big enough, and Mom will help take care of Molly.”
“We’ve offered. More than once. You know your mother loves having a house full of people, and Oliver wouldn’t mind. Knowing Eleanor, she’d be sending him off to work with packed lunches every day. It’s Vicki who doesn’t want to move back in.”
“It’s not about what she wants at this point. It’s about what she has to do, and as long as she knows you guys will cover them, she has options.” I love my little sister fiercely, but her lack of responsibility and feeble work ethic infuriate me to no end, as does her ability to take our parents’ money without showing a shred of guilt. “Maybe moving in with you will make her follow through with the hair design school thing.” That I know my parents paid for, just like they paid for her semester in college and her real estate license.
What can I say? They fronted a giant chunk of my veterinarian college fees. My parents have never wanted their daughters to miss an education because of financial strain. But in Vicki’s case, maybe they have been too open-handed.
He sighs. “We never have been good at the tough-love thing. I just can’t sit back and watch my kids, and my grandkids, fall on hard times when I can help them. But maybe you’re right. They could save their money rather than us handing them more. Vicki could finish school and start building a real career. Eventually, they might even buy a house.”
“That won’t ever happen if they don’t start making smart decisions. And stop having babies they can’t afford.” And selfishly, I will admit, if Vicki moves back here, this idea that Mom and Dad sell and move to Eagle River will vanish, at least in the short term. Liz doesn’t need help; Vicki genuinely does.
I’m going to have a frank conversation with my little sister about how this option makes the most sense for her family.
I check my watch and then the parking lot in the distance. Cory’s not back yet, and my afternoon appointments will start rolling in soon. “I should get going. Sarah Mickle’s coming in with Stitch.”
“Oh, that feisty little dachshund. I remember when he was just a pup.” Dad frowns. “He must be getting up there now?”
“Fifteen.” I give my dad a look. There’s nothing more I can do to ease Stitch’s aches and pains, other than make his last moments as comfortable as possible. This is the part of my job that I will never get used to. It’s going to be a long, draining afternoon.
Dad’s frown grows deeper. I always knew the days when he had to put pets down. His shoulders would be sagging when he walked through the door. “Give her my condolences.”
I climb from my seat at the picnic table as the dogs take off barking toward the house. My mother’s hollers carry on the breeze. She’s standing in the doorway, waving us over.
Dad scratches at his chin. “Wonder what that’s about?”
“Maybe the pie’s ready.”
His eyes spa
rkle. “We should get over there, then, before she calms down and doesn’t let me eat it.”
Dad hobbles on his crutches toward the UTV, settles in, and cranks the engine, and I hop into the passenger seat. We coast along the narrow dirt lane.
The closer we get, the clearer my mother’s shocked expression becomes. Her hands are busy wringing a tea towel.
“I don’t think this is about pie,” my dad mutters.
“I think you might have pushed her over the edge.” I call out, “Is everything okay, Mom?”
“Yes, it’s just …” She has a bewildered look on her face. “We’re going to be grandparents again.”
“I know. Dad told me.” And once her worry ebbs, she’s going to be ecstatic. My mother lives for her grandchildren.
“No.” She shakes her head. “I’m not talking about Vicki.”
If not Vicki, then …
“I just got off the phone with Liz. She’s two months along.”
My jaw hangs open for the second time in this lunch hour. “Liz is having another baby?” Liz, who has openly said she didn’t want any more kids? Who booked and drove Jim to his vasectomy appointment? “With whom?”
My mother shoots me an exasperated look.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“You guys have been busy.”
“And you’ve been a ghost,” Jonah counters with a pointed glare.
“I’ve been busy too.” I take in the structure. When I last stopped in at Calla and Jonah’s in early spring, Jonah was cutting down trees on this spot with his chainsaw. Now there’s a two-story log cabin overlooking the lake, its tin roof and windows matching the green of their home across the water.
I guess it has been a bit too long since I’ve been by.
