Mai Tai'd Up

by Alice Clayton

Muzzled, he chuffed out a warning when he saw Lucas.

  “Might want to hang back a bit,” the tech said, nodding to Lucas. “Many of these guys come out of rings, which are mostly run by men, so he’s standoffish with males.”

  “I don’t blame him,” I murmured, sinking down to my knees at the front of the cage. He approached, head down, but curious. I didn’t look at him too closely, letting him come to me, allowing the dog to get used to my scent.

  “You good, Chloe?” Lucas asked, and I smiled, especially when I felt the dog sniffing at my hair. I resisted the urge to pet him, knowing that right now I just needed him calm enough for me to get a sense of what he was like. After a moment, I looked at the dog now sitting next to me. Head, wide and regal. Chest, barreled and strong. Beautifully brindled with brown and white, his tail thumping against the floor. His golden eyes weren’t so sad now; they were inquisitive.

  “You wanna come hang with me, mister?” I asked, reaching out with my hand, fingers curled in like a paw, for him to sniff. He sniffed, then he licked through the muzzle, and my eyes filled with tears. I looked up at Lucas, who was nodding.

  Standing slowly, I took hold of his leash. Curious, with tail wagging, he walked with me out of the cage. Stalling a bit when he saw Lucas, he steered clear but remained at my heel, still limping but tail up. And wagging.

  As I signed the paperwork, the woman behind the desk pointed to it and said, “The guys on the night crew gave him that name, but he hasn’t had it very long. You could change it if you wanted.”

  Lucas leaned over my shoulder to read the paper, and we both saw it at the same time.

  “Oh my God,” I breathed.

  Lucas clapped me on the back with a laugh. “That’s fantastic, chickie baby.”

  I looked down at the dog. “Come on, Sammy Davis Jr. I’ve got some records by your boys at home.” Chuckling, I headed out to the truck with the dog in tow.

  Lucas wanted to do a thorough exam before bringing him to the ranch, so we stopped by the clinic on the way home. He’d called ahead, and when we pulled in, Miguel, one of the wonderful vet techs I’d gotten to know, was waiting outside for us.

  “Hey guys, heard you’ve got a new boy for us to take a look at!” he called out. I gestured toward the back of the truck.

  “He’s in the back; I’ll get him.”

  I hopped out and ran around to the back, ignoring the amused looks Lucas and Miguel shot at each other. I wanted to do this; this was my job now. Lucas had put the cab on the truck so the dog wouldn’t be whipped by the wind on the highway, instead resting comfortably inside his large pet carrier. I climbed up into the back of the truck, talking to him the entire time.

  “Hey boy, how ya doin’? Have a good ride back here?” I asked, slowly and quietly unlocking the gate, not wanting to startle him. He’d gotten a bit skittish when we had to lift him into the truck, and I was hoping he’d jump down on his own. Not wanting to further injure the leg he was limping on, I’d asked Miguel to bring out the PetStep, a kind of portable step stool for dogs for instances exactly like this.

  Once it was in position, I reached in and got hold of his leash, gently tugging him forward. Once he understood what I wanted him to do he came willingly, albeit a little slowly. Once more, he stalled when he saw the two men, but after sniffing the air for a moment, he came down the steps one at a time. And when he’d reached the asphalt, that tail was wagging again.

  “Well, look at you!” I was amazed at the resilience of this dog. “Come on, Sammy Davis Jr. Let’s get you checked out so I can get you home. I’ve got a bucket of tennis balls with your name on it.”

  Marge took one look at the dog when we came in and put her hand on her heart. “Well bless my soul, look at this pretty boy!” she squealed, leaning over the counter to see him as we went back to the exam rooms. While she cooed, I took a moment to compliment her on the very festive hot pink vest paired with a pair of lemon-colored slacks. I say slacks because they just couldn’t rightly be referred to as pants. They were from a decidedly slacks-type era.

  “Lucas, honey, I’ll tell your dad you two are here,” she said, then reached into her pocket. “And here, Chloe, see if he wants one of these.”

  “Thanks, Marge,” I said, pocketing the treat and following Lucas down the hall. Inside the exam room, Sammy picked a corner and huddled into it, keeping his bad side toward the wall. Protecting it? Poor guy. He whined just once, then laid down with his head on his paws, watching us carefully.

  “Hey there, big guy, no one’s gonna hurt you. We just want to get you feeling better, okay?” I said softly, crouching down on the floor next to him. Once more, reaching out with my fingers curled inward, I let him sniff me and was rewarded with a head bump. I smoothed my hand across the top of his head, delighted he was letting me pet him already. I kept my strokes long, smooth, and gentle as I moved down across his body.

  “Hey buddy, think I could take a look at you?” Lucas asked, bending down next to me.

  The dog let out a low growl and backed farther into the corner.

  “He doesn’t seem to like men too much.” I sighed.

  “I can’t blame him for that. He seems to like you, though,” he said, patting me on the shoulder.

  “Want me to try to get him on his side?”

  “Normally I’d get a tech for that, but he seems comfortable with you. Let’s keep the muzzle on for now, though.”

  “You’re in charge,” I replied as I encouraged Sammy to roll over onto his good side, exposing the side he’d been keeping hidden.

  “I disagree. You are very much in charge here,” Lucas said.

  His face darkened as we took in the extent of the dog’s injuries. It was clear that this dog had seen some action. Old scars ran the length of his flank, some still healing, some old and gnarly, healed over horribly. His fur was patchy here and there, where it no longer even grew.

  “Oh,” was all I could manage. Other than that, I kept quiet as Lucas gave him a quick once-over. It certainly would have been easier up on the table, but Lucas seemed content on the floor. His hands were sure and able, with no quick or unnecessary motions.

  Sammy thumped his tail every now and again, encouraging me to keep up my constant head-to-tail petting. He was so trusting, when he had every right not to be.

  “Okay,” Lucas said, slowly standing up and making some notes on a chart. “I’d like to keep him here overnight, if that’s okay with you. I need to clean out those wounds, and under the circumstances, I think sedation is going to be the best way to go. Then I can give him a thorough examination, make sure everything else is okay. Sound good to you?”

  “Sure, whatever we need to do. I want to get this boy running again,” I said, smiling down into those golden eyes. Sammy seemed better already.

  Lucas nodded, then extended a hand down to help me. Just as he pulled me up, I noticed Marge’s face peeking through the window on the exam room door. I rolled my eyes at her, and Lucas turned to see who I was rolling them at. She just smiled at us, making no effort to hide the fact that she was peeking.

  Lucas turned back to me with a look I was beginning to know well. “I really can’t resist,” he said, backing me against the wall, grinning the entire way.

  “What are you up to?” I asked, looking up at him as my back met the wall, just next to the door. I could see Marge trying vainly to peer inside, and as I lost sight of her, I realized she was now out of range. All she could likely see was the navy blue scrubs, the owner of which now caged me in with his arms. “You’re evil, you know that? You’re giving her way to much to think about.”

  He laughed, and leaned a bit closer. “She’s bored; she needs things to think about.”

  The closer he got, the more Sammy Davis Jr. was not having it. Wriggling across the floor, he deposited himself on my feet, laying across them and chuffing out another warning to Lucas.

  “Ha! See, he knows what you’re up to.” I giggled, leaning down to pat Sammy lightly on the head
. “Now, fix up my dog so I can take him home.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he answered, then looked at the door’s window. “Coast is clear; want to head back up front? Sammy can stay here.”

  “Are there any tiny angels out there packing tiny arrows?” I asked, and he made a show of looking again.

  “Not that I can see, but there is a Labrador packing quite a large . . . anyway.”

  I patted Sammy one final time and was rewarded with a tiny lick, and then we headed to the ranch.

  Since we’d ridden together, Lucas had to drive me home before heading back in to start his shift at the clinic. As he pulled into the driveway, he looked over at me. “I’ll call you later, let you know how he’s doing.”

  “Think he can come home tomorrow?”

  “I’m sure he can. I just want to make sure he’s good to go,” he assured me. He looked like he was going to say something else, but then didn’t. He started once more, but still said nothing.

  “Something on your mind, Lucas?” I asked, wrinkling my brow.

  “Yes, actually.” He shut off the ignition and turned toward me.

  And just like that, the mood shifted. I was aware of everything. His salty/woodsy scent. The way his eyes were deepening almost to indigo. The way his arm now draped casually across the back of the seats, putting his forearm within licking distance.

  Luckily, before any licking could occur, my phone rang. “Hold that thought,” I said, then looked at my phone. Fudge. “It’s my mother.” Shaking my head, I turned back to him. “I gotta take this. Call me later?”

  “Deal,” he said, and I jumped out of the car with a wave.

  I’d started to answer the phone when he called, “Hey Chloe!”

  “Yeah?”

  “You did great today.” He grinned, and drove away.

  I could hear my mother in the background. “Hello? Hello Chloe, are you there?”

  “Hi, Mother,” I said into the phone, grinning as he drove away.

  “Who are you smiling at?” she asked.

  “You can tell that I’m smiling?” I was astonished.

  “The same way I know that you’re slouching.”

  “You’re four hundred and fifty miles away. How in the world can you tell I’m slouching?”

  “Your voice changes; it always has. Spine straight, please,” my mother said crisply. “Now, who was that young man you were talking to?”

  I literally looked all around, expecting her to come out from behind a bush. “How did you—never mind. What’s up, Mother?”

  “Can’t I call just to talk to my own daughter?” she asked.

  I stifled a groan and looked skyward for support. The only thing that told me was that it looked like rain. Sigh. “Of course you can. How are you?”

  “Wonderful. Thank you for asking.”

  No one said a word. Usually, I’d try to fill a silence. Not anymore.

  “So how are the gang dogs, dear?”

  “Not gang dogs, Mom: Our Gang. You know very well what the name of this place is; it wouldn’t kill you to say it right every now and again.”

  “Fine. Our Gang. Does anyone have rabies yet?” she asked, her tone icy.

  I groaned. “Honestly, Mother.”

  “You sound like a hippopotamus, Chloe. Why are you groaning? Have you been eating too much dairy? You know what that does to your system—”

  “Mother.”

  She just continued, “—and what it does to your insides.”

  “Mother. Hey. Mother.”

  “No one wants a gassy girlfriend—”

  “Mother!” I yelled, finally breaking through. No slouching now, I was fully at attention and pacing. “I wasn’t groaning because of dairy, for God’s sake, I was groaning because . . . Oh, forget it. What did you need?”

  “What did I need?” she asked, her tone even cooler now that I’d snapped at her.

  “Yes, you called me, remember? I’ve got things to do because we just picked up our first dog today, and—”

  “We? Who is we?” she asked, changing to search mode. Now she was out for intel. “Is that that young man I just heard you talking to?”

  Damn, she was good. “The young man you’re referring to is Dr. Lucas Campbell. And there is no ‘we’; he was just helping me out.”

  “Dr. Lucas Campbell, a doctor? I’m impressed. How did you meet him?”

  “He’s a vet, Mother.”

  “He was in the army?” she asked.

  “Vet as in veterinarian.”

  “Oh.”

  “His family’s animal hospital is one of the local supporters for Our Gang,” I told her, dashing her hopes of a cardiothoracic surgeon son-in-law. “He went with me to pick up my first rescue dog this morning. A beautiful pit bull named Sammy Davis Jr.—isn’t that a funny name?”

  “Well, I’m glad to hear you’ve got a man around to help you, other than that Lou character. But I hope you’re being careful when you’re out crawling the streets, Chloe. You never know who could be out there, just looking for a pretty girl like you to—”

  I laughed. “I’m pretty sure the meanest street in Monterey is the one without a Starbucks. Although there’s a strip mall without a Pilates studio that’s looking a little ragged,” I joked.

  She sighed. “Chloe, Chloe, Chloe.” I could tell she was shaking her head. “What are you doing up there?” she asked quietly.

  “I’m not getting into this again,” I said, trying like hell to keep my voice calm. My mother could irritate me faster than anyone on the planet, but a raised voice from me meant she won. When I was Chloe with the Program, I rarely questioned her. Chloe Who Crawls the Mean Streets of Monterey, however, questioned her frequently.

  I admit, I’d been the one to let her manage things in my life longer than was probably healthy. It wasn’t her fault that her tiara princess had course-corrected and “rebelled,” but it was her fault if she refused to see that I wasn’t coming home anytime soon. And it was my fault if I continued to allow her to affect me so. It was a balancing act—one that we were both learning.

  “I saw Charles at the club yesterday,” she said. “He brought a woman there—a date. We barely spoke, though he usually asks questions about you. He’s moving on.”

  “That’s good. He should move on. That’s what I’m trying to do too—and your mentioning Charles every time we talk isn’t helping,” I said, feeling anger heat my cheeks. “I’d love it if you never mentioned him again, okay?”

  Silence. Well, partial silence. Remember, her eye rolls are audible.

  “Fine,” she allowed after a moment.

  “Fine,” I agreed.

  More silence.

  “Did I tell you Molly Adams is getting married? To a congressman, can you believe it! I ran into her mother at the market the other day.”

  I listened for another few minutes until I begged off the phone and paced around the house, thinking about my mother being happy there was a man around to help me. Pffft. I was grateful to Lucas, of course; he was a huge help. But the way my mother said it, it was like I couldn’t do a thing without needing some help. Pffft.

  Pffft.

  As I was pfffting, I looked out the front window, my gaze settling on my car. A gift from my parents when I graduated high school, I’d driven it ever since. Sporty, fun, fast, and a little preppy—I loved that car.

  But it wasn’t right for me anymore. I couldn’t have picked up Sammy Davis Jr. this morning without Lucas and his truck. As it was, I couldn’t even haul more than two industrial-size bags of Dog Chow. The car was perfect for San Diego Chloe. But Monterey Chloe needed something different.

  Grabbing my keys and my purse, I jumped into the car, dropped the top, and headed down the hill for my last joy ride.

  “You did what?” Lucas said, when I came sailing in through the front door of the clinic that afternoon.

  “I bought a new car! Come see, come see!” I pulled him through the waiting area by the hand. “Hiya, Marge!”


  “Hiya, sugar!” she called back, smiling big when she saw me holding Lucas’ hand. I dropped it quickly, holding the door open for him instead.

  “I don’t understand. Why did you get something new?” he asked, his face curious.

  “The convertible wasn’t practical anymore—not with what I’m doing now. And I didn’t want to have to call you every time I needed to go get a dog. Not that I don’t appreciate it, but I needed something bigger. Something more in line with my new life here, more outdoorsy,” I explained, practically skipping through the parking lot.

  He couldn’t help but laugh at my excitement, and followed me through the cars toward the back. “You went by yourself?” he asked.

  I shrugged. “Sure, why not?”

  “I would have gone with you, you know.”

  “Why would I need you to go with me?” I asked, then did my best Ta-Da Pose. “Ta-da!” I sang out, pointing to my new car.

  “That’s why,” he sighed, looking at what I’d bought.

  A 1989 Suburban. Blue with white paneling. It was a thousand feet long, a thousand feet wide, had actual carpet on the floor, and smelled liked pine.

  “Oh, Chloe,” he said, his mouth quirking up at the edges as he struggled not to laugh.

  “What? It’s great! Wait until you see how it handles,” I said, tugging at the driver’s-side door, which tended to stick a little.

  “So what did you pay for this car?”

  “Nothing! I got a great deal on my trade-in and—”

  “You traded in your convertible?” He was no longer laughing. “Can I please see the paperwork?”

  “Hey, I handled it, it’s no big deal. I looked online at the trade-in value before went in, on that Carrie Blue Book site? And this car was priced at almost exactly what my car was worth! And the best part is, I even talked the guy into giving me free car washes for the entire year. I was all wheely dealy,” I said proudly, climbing into my new car. I slammed the door shut, and then rolled down the window. “Look, manual windows! How cool is that!”

  “Very cool. Did you happen to notice it’s leaking under the engine?”

  “The guy said it did that sometimes, but was perfectly normal for a car this old. What color is it?”