“Sorry. This is Strudel. I’m Oliver.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Jacob. Come in.”
Strudel tried to dig her heels in when Oliver led her toward the examination room and he had to coax her then lift her onto the examination table.
“So, what seems to be the problem?”
Now that it was the moment of truth, Oliver felt both foolish and anxious. Recited cold, Strudel’s symptoms didn’t seem that ominous, and he suspected he was about to be given a reassuring chat and sent home with some information brochures. And yet he couldn’t let go of the fear that something really was wrong.
He listed Strudel’s symptoms dutifully, explaining how rarely she threw up and how bouncy she usually was. He even mentioned that Mr. Smith had been concerned, as though a dachshund’s behavior could corroborate his own observations. A definite low point in the conversation.
Jacob hmmed and aahed, listened to Strudel’s heart, then got a curious look on his face.
“Interesting.”
“In a good way or a bad way?”
Jacob held up a finger to indicate he needed silence, shifting his attentions from Strudel’s heart to her abdomen.
“Right. Well, that would do it,” the vet said, slipping the stethoscope from his ears.
“What?”
“Your dog is pregnant.”
* * *
MACKENZIE HAD A SHOWER after Oliver left, then proceeded to do laps of the house—kitchen to study to exercise room and back—anxiously waiting for Oliver’s call.
She had his phone charging and was so eager for his call she pounced on it when it rang, inadvertently taking a call from his brother.
The other man sounded deeply suspicious until Mackenzie explained the situation in detail. Clearly, he thought she’d lifted Oliver’s phone. She did what she could to reassure him, then resumed her pacing.
After Oliver had been gone an hour she started to create excuses to call him, even though he’d assured her he’d let her know as soon as he had any information about Strudel. She managed to sit on her hands for another twenty minutes, then—finally—Oliver’s phone rang and her number flashed on the screen.
“How is she?”
“She’s fine.”
“Really? Oh, that’s great.” She sat in the chair with a thump. “I’m so relieved.”
“She’s also pregnant.”
“What?”
“Tell me, is Mr. Smith still in possession of the crown jewels?”
“Um, yes. He is. I was going to breed him. Wire-haired dachshunds are really hard to come by....” Guilt washed over her. She hadn’t even thought to mention that he was packing heat. Most bitches were spayed these days. And Smitty was very rarely out unattended. With many male dogs, a warning wouldn’t have been necessary since the fact that they weren’t neutered would be readily discernible at first glance. But Mr. Smith was so furry and so low to the ground Oliver could be forgiven for not noticing his small but apparently very efficient man parts.
“I see.”
“I take it Strudel hasn’t been spayed?” she asked, even though she knew it was stating the bleeding obvious.
“No, she has not.” He sounded pissed.
“It might not have been Mr. Smith,” she said. Then she realized it sounded as though she was calling Strudel a strumpet. “I mean, has she been around any other dogs lately?”
“Mackenzie, I caught them in the act.”
“Oh, right. Now I remember.” She and Oliver had even had a fight about it, after he’d deposited Mr. Smith on her side of the fence.
“When is she due?”
“The vet isn’t sure. But if we use the first week we arrived as a guide, she’s due in five weeks or so.”
“Wow. That soon.”
“Yep. That soon.”
He was definitely pissed.
“Are you guys coming home now?”
“We’ll be there in half an hour or so.”
“Good. I’ll see you then.”
Mackenzie winced as she ended the call. Then she went in search of her dog.
“Mr. Smith, you are in so much trouble. Oliver is going to kill us, you know that, right?” she told him when she found him. “Why couldn’t you keep your furry little paws to yourself?”
Mr. Smith looked up at her with his bright button eyes, his mouth slightly open. The picture of innocence. Except she knew better.
“Prepare yourself for some major sucking up, my friend. You need to charm Oliver within an inch of his life.”
She was waiting on the porch of Oliver’s place when he turned into the driveway, her reprobate dog unhappily locked up next door. She wasn’t about to wave a red flag in front of Oliver while he was on the warpath.
“Hey,” he said as he exited the car.
“Hi,” she said, way too brightly. “How was the drive?”
“Uneventful.” Oliver shot her a curious look before letting Strudel out of the car.
“Hey, girl. How are you? You’re going to be a mummy, are you?” Mackenzie scratched Strudel’s chest and fondled her ears. She shook the bag she’d brought with her. “I brought you some rawhides and a couple of pig’s ears to chew on. And a nice warm blanket for you to sleep on.”
She saw Oliver frown out of the corner of her eyes.
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“Well, she’s a VIP now, isn’t she?” While her dog was a VNP—very naughty pet.
“It’s okay, Mackenzie, I’m not angry,” he said.
She glanced at him quickly. “Aren’t you?” She really hoped that was true, because she was painfully aware that they had only a handful of days left and she didn’t want anything to ruin their limited time together.
If it was limited. But now was definitely not the time to broach that subject.
“I was at first. But it takes two to tango, right?”
“I think it must have been more of a pole vault in this case, but yes. I guess it does.”
“I wasn’t planning to breed her, and they are going to be weird-ass puppies, but what the hell. We can’t do anything about it now.”
“No.”
“I’m going to set her up in front of the fire,” he said, moving past her and climbing onto the porch.
“Sure. Okay.”
“You want to come in?” Oliver’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled at her, waiting for her response.
Relief washed over her. They were okay.
“I’ll go get your phone.”
“See you in five, then.”
She crunched her way up the driveway, inordinately relieved that Oliver’s sense of humor extended to animal husbandry. She wasn’t sure that she would be quite so understanding in his position. Mr. Smith jumped on her the moment he walked in the door, balancing on his hind legs, letting her know in his special way that he was glad she was home—even though she’d only been gone give minutes.
“Yes, yes, you’re very cute, but you’re still in big trouble,” she told him.
He sat and looked at her with such a wounded expression she almost believed he understood her. She bent and rubbed his chest.
“I know you were only doing what comes naturally. But if you tell Oliver I said that, you’re in big trouble.”
Stars skittered across her vision as she straightened. She closed her eyes briefly and they continued to dance behind her eyelids.
“Shit.”
In the months immediately following the accident she’d suffered from some skull-splitting migraines. They’d tapered off as she recovered, however, and the worst she’d had in recent months had been bad headaches that she’d been able to keep at bay with over-the-counter medicine. The stars were not a good sign, though. If they presaged a migraine, within thirty minutes she would be in her own personal hell, nauseous and in pain and unable to endure light.
Please let it be a false alarm.
She walked carefully to her bedroom and into the en suite, keen to do an inventory of what pa
inkillers she had on hand. To her dismay, she quickly discovered that she was out of the prescribed migraine medication she’d been given when she left rehab. Panic fluttered behind her breastbone. An over-the-counter painkiller wouldn’t even put a dent in a migraine. She returned to her bedroom and did a quick rifle through the prescriptions in her bedside drawer. Sure enough, she had one for the medication she needed. The problem would be filling it before the migraine set up camp in her head. Already she could feel her neck becoming stiff, and the stars danced every time she moved too quickly. If she drove into town, there was every chance she’d be stranded there.
There was really only one option. Prescription in hand, she made her way next door.
“If Mr. Smith has come to grovel and beg for forgiveness, he’s more than welcome,” Oliver said the moment he opened the door.
“I need a favor,” she asked.
Pain stabbed behind her temple and she pressed her fingers to her forehead.
“Hey. Are you okay?” He stepped closer.
“I think I have a migraine coming on. I thought I had some meds, but I’m all out and I need to get a prescription filled....”
His gaze dropped to the piece of paper in her hand.
“You need me to go get it? Not a problem.”
“Okay. Thanks. That would be great. Listen, I need to go lie down.”
“I’ll walk you home,” Oliver said, stepping onto the porch.
“You don’t need to do that.”
His arm came around her as they started down the steps. “Yeah, I do.”
They slowly traversed the driveways, his body warming her side, his arm strong around her. He didn’t say anything, a gift for which she was supremely grateful because she was starting to feel as though she was going to lose her breakfast any second and every fiber of her being was focused on walking and not throwing up.
He walked her all the way to her bedroom, helping her undress and slip between the covers.
“Can you take anything else until I get back?”
“I don’t know if I should mix things. I’ll tough it out until you get back.”
He brushed the hair from her forehead, his expression concerned. “I’ll be back in ten. Hang in there.”
“Okay.”
He was so worried for her she couldn’t help but be touched. She reached out and caught his hand. “I’ll be fine. It’s just a headache. Believe me, I’ve survived worse.”
“I know, superwoman. But that doesn’t mean it’s fun to see you in pain.” He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed her palm. “Be back soon.”
She closed her eyes as he left the room. The pain was starting to build, but she knew that he would be returning soon and the knowledge that she could rely on him, that he had her back, took the edge off her panic.
It was a novel feeling, knowing that someone else was looking out for her, even in the smallest of capacities. In three years of marriage, she’d never felt that way with Patrick. He had a childish fear of illness or disability in any form—witness his abandonment since her accident. Oliver, though...Oliver was solid. Oliver was real and generous and lovely.
To think, if she hadn’t had her accident, if he hadn’t caught his wife cheating, if she hadn’t decided to isolate herself at the beach to go hard on her rehabilitation and if his aunt hadn’t left him her house...if it hadn’t rained like a demon and if their dogs hadn’t fallen for each other...she might never have met him. She might never know what it was like to kiss and make love and to hold and be held by him.
Pain made her breath hiss between her teeth. Nausea washed over her. She rolled onto her side and reminded herself that Oliver would be back soon.
Any minute now...
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
THERE WERE TWO traffic lights between his place and the only pharmacy in town and Oliver was tempted to run them both when they changed on him at the last minute as he drove. He resisted the impulse—just—then scared the hell out of the pharmacist when he insisted she fill the prescription on the spot rather than make him kick his heels for ten minutes in long-standing pharmacist tradition. He made it to Mackenzie’s place in fifteen minutes and didn’t bother to knock before letting himself into the house.
She was on the bed where he’d left her, curled on her side, eyes closed, forehead creased with pain.
“How are you doing?” he asked quietly.
She didn’t open her eyes. “Not great.”
“Do you need water to take these?”
“Yes, please.”
He went to the kitchen for a glass of water. He helped her sit up, more than a little alarmed at how hot her back felt and the fact that she still hadn’t opened her eyes.
“Thanks—” She lurched forward suddenly, trying to scramble out of bed.
But it was too late—she threw up on herself and the bed, her small body bent almost double. When the spasm had passed, she cracked her eyes to survey the damage.
“Did I get you?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Shit.”
“I think you’ll find that’s usually a different color.”
Her mouth twisted unhappily. “This is not a laughing matter. I just threw up on you.”
“But you mostly didn’t. Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”
He hooked an arm beneath her shoulders and helped her out of bed and into the bathroom.
“Could you stand a shower?” he asked.
“Yes. But can I have my tablet first?”
“Yes. God, sorry. Will you be able to keep it down?”
“I’ll have to.”
He made sure she was steady on her feet before grabbing the glass of water and handing her a tablet. Then he helped her strip and got her into the shower.
“You all right in here for a few minutes?” he asked.
She was very pale, her slim body hunched as though she could protect herself from the discomfort if she could make herself compact enough.
“Yes. Thanks, Oliver. I’m sorry to be dumping all this on you.”
“Shut up,” he said gently.
She smiled faintly before resting her shoulder against the shower wall and letting the water run down her back. He returned to the bedroom, working quickly to strip the bed. He found clean sheets in the hall cupboard. By the time he heard the shower fall silent he’d remade the bed and kicked the soiled linen into the hall.
“You shouldn’t have,” Mackenzie said.
She stood in the bathroom doorway, a towel wrapped around her torso. More wet than dry, hair plastered to her skull, her eyes clouded with pain. A surge of protective affection rose inside him. Mackenzie was such a fighter and fiercely independent, but right now she was intensely vulnerable and he was humbled that she was so willing to put her trust in him.
“Come to bed.”
She walked obediently to his side and he toweled her dry. She stood placidly, her brow slightly furrowed.
“How we doing now?” he asked.
“Bearable. If I can lie down for a while, I think I should be okay.”
“Where do you keep your pajamas?”
“Second drawer down.”
He found a T-shirt and a pair of pants and helped her dress, then helped her into bed. She sighed as the covers settled over her.
“Oh, that’s nice. Clean sheets.” She opened her eyes and touched his knee. “Thank you for taking such good care of me, Oliver.”
Something jabbed him in the chest as he looked at her. Something painful and sharp and sweet and good, all at the same time. The urge to take her into his arms was almost overwhelming.
“Would it disturb you if I stayed awhile?” he asked.
“No. That’d be nice.” Her words were a little slurred and he guessed the meds were kicking in.
He toed off his shoes and took off his jacket, then lay down beside her. She curled on her side and he wrapped his arm around her middle.
“This okay?”
“Yes.”
&nb
sp; She wriggled a little closer. They lay snuggled together for what felt like fifteen minutes and slowly he felt the tension ease out of her body.
“Feeling better?” he guessed.
“Yes. Thank God.” She sounded drowsy, almost as though she was tipsy.
“Let me guess. You’re not supposed to operate heavy machinery on those pills, huh?”
“Something like that.”
He tightened his grip for a moment, pulling her closer. Unable to help himself. She felt strong and fine and infinitely precious cradled against him.
“Can I ask you something?” Her voice was slow and lazy and contemplative.
“Sure.”
“You can be honest, because I probably won’t even remember this tomorrow. Do they ever bother you? You never look at them, you never say anything, but it’s not as though they’re not obvious. They must register. Right?”
It took him a moment to understand she was talking about her scars. It hit him that this was something that had been playing in her mind for a while, even though he suspected she would never have raised the subject if she wasn’t dopey from the pills.
He hated the thought that she’d been worried about something so trivial, that beneath her surface confidence and assurance this had been eating away at her. If he had known, he would have said something long ago. Mackenzie’s scars were a part of her, testaments to her grit and courage. He couldn’t imagine her any other way. It was that simple.
“They don’t register, for the most part,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “You have to understand how the male brain works. When there’s a naked woman in the room, there are better things to focus on, if you know what I mean. But I do wonder sometimes if they hurt.”
“They don’t hurt. Not anymore. My hips hurt, sometimes. And my back. And I can’t lift my left arm past shoulder height. But otherwise I’m good as new.”
He pressed a kiss to her shoulder. “You’re better than new.”
“So are you.”
Her hand slid over his, squeezing warmly. Words—affectionate, committed, emotional words—filled his head. Crazy and impulsive. He opened his mouth, but common sense stopped him before he could say what was in his heart.
It was too early to even be thinking like that. He needed to take a deep breath and remind himself that there was no need to rush into anything. They had time. Even though he would be returning to Sydney soon, Melbourne was only an hour’s flight away. He could visit every weekend if he wanted to. Or Mackenzie could come to him. His returning home was not the end of this. Of them.
The Other Side of Us (Harlequin Superromance) Page 21
