"Oh, you poor boy,” Pat said as she stared at the nasty wound. "What happened? How did you get in such a mess?" Pat slowly moved around among the brambles in an effort to get a better look at the wound. It was a nasty one, deep and dirty. There was no doubt it would need a vet's attention.
Keeping her eyes on the stray, she carefully removed her belt from her jeans. There was no question she'd take care of the poor fellow. Pat had spent most of her life around animals, and it never occurred to her to abandon one in such obvious need. At the same time, she knew how dangerous an injured animal could be, and she wasn't interested in starting on this trip with a nasty bite.
She eased up closer to the retriever again and was relieved to see him wag its tail at her. The soft whimper did not turn into a growl. It was as though he was telling her he was ready to be helped out of his dilemma. Pat gently stroked the dog's head and scratched behind his ears for a few minutes, building his trust. She then slipped the belt around his neck, through the buckle, and then around his nose.
She'd have to pick him up and carry him to the car. If she moved the leg the wrong way, it could hurt him and his instincts would be to bite first and ask questions later. Still talking soothingly to the dog, she moved deeper under the bush and gently eased one arm under his belly. Still holding onto the belt with the other, she placed her knees well under her body and lifted up, being thankful for the many hours on the exercise machines that gave her the strength to help an animal in need. He was lighter than he had at first looked.
"You're nothing but a bag of bones, boy,” she said to him as she adjusted his weight close to her body. The dog struggled for just an instant then relaxed in her arms.
"That's a good boy. We're going to take care of that nasty wound. Don't you worry. We'll get some food in you as well." She carried him back to the Cherokee and placed him in the back compartment.
"I wonder if Waynesboro is large enough to have its own vet?" She asked herself as she shut the rear hatch and smiled as the Retriever spun around once or twice then lay down.
Waynesboro had grown, Pat noticed as she drove through the outskirts of the small town, but not enough that anyone living there every day would probably have noticed. She stopped at the first filling station and asked for the directions to the nearest veterinary hospital and was relieved to learn the town did indeed have its own. Two in fact. She asked if either one specialized in pets and was again surprised to learn Waynesboro had its very own small animal vet — Dr. Allan Pritchard. The gas station attendant said it with pride.
"He's my vet. I take all my dogs and cats to him. You won't find a finer one around. He’s a little on the expensive side but worth it. Lets most people pay as they can, though I don't know about a stranger. You tell him Jake from the station told you about him. It might help."
As Pat pulled into the parking area of Waynesboro Veterinary Hospital, she was surprised for the third time. The building, although smaller than most veterinary hospitals she was accustomed to, was of a contemporary design and well manicured. She pulled into the parking spot in front of the clinic door. There was only one other car in the area, a gray and black Blazer which she hoped belonged to the vet himself. She glanced at the lettering on the door, which gave the hours the clinic was open, and frowned. The clinic closed at one and it was already past two.
She glanced back to the Blazer, deciding it was the kind of car a vet might drive in a small town like Waynesboro. Leaving the engine of her car running to keep the cab cool, she walked to the front door and found it unlocked. She strolled into the small but impeccably clean waiting room. Along two walls were cushioned benches, the pastel blue of the cushions matching the small squares in the wallpaper. The corner between the benches was taken up by a small table, a set of recent dog and cat magazines neatly fanned out for display.
Set up for the next business day, Pat thought. Someone runs a pretty tight ship here. As the door closed behind her, she heard the muffled sound of a bell somewhere in the back of the hospital. In a moment a tall, lanky man in his late thirties to early forties came down the hall, wiping his hands on a towel. He wore a crisp white lab coat that came down to his knees. By the time he reached Pat, she'd decided she could trust this man with her parents' lives much less any of her pets.
"Yes? May I help you?"
"Yes. I know you're closed now, and normally I would wait until your regular hours, but I have a stray dog outside that's been seriously injured..." Pat stopped as she noticed the man smiling.
"I'm Dr. Pritchard, Allan Pritchard. Most people around here just call me Doc but then, you're not from around here, are you? So you may call me whatever you're comfortable with."
"No, I've driven up from Charlotte, but I didn't know it was quite so obvious,” Pat replied, returning his smile.
"It's not, not really. It's just what you said about regular hours. I don't think anyone else around here considers that I have regular or irregular hours. I'm pretty much always available. Anyway, let's take a look at your friend." He reached into the large pocket of his lab coat and pulled out a leather leash. They walked out to Pat's car.
"I do need to let you know one thing,” Allan said with some hesitation. "My receptionist, Dawn, will kill me if I don't mention it. It's regarding taking care of a stray. If it's as serious as you've indicated, treatment may be rather extensive." He hesitated again. "In which case, I'll be happy to administer whatever first-aid is necessary, but . . . "
"Oh, don't worry Dr. Pritchard. I don't expect you to take on the financial obligation of a stray. I'll assume full responsibility for whatever needs to be done. I just couldn't think of walking away from a hurt animal."
The doctor noticeably relaxed. Pat smiled. I bet he has a large amount of money on the books, she thought. She'd see to it that her bill didn't become a part of it. Between the two of them, they were able to get the retriever out of the car and into one of the exam rooms without hurting him further.
"I don't suppose you recognize him, do you?" Pat asked.
"No, can't say I do. The shape he's in, it'd be hard for even his owner to recognize him. Golden Retrievers are popular in these parts. It shouldn't be too difficult to find his owner. And if not and you decide not to keep him, I'm sure we can find him a good home. He looks like a purebred,” he said as he slipped a muzzle over the dog's nose. "I'm going to clip and clean the leg which may hurt a little. If you wouldn't mind helping? My staff has already left for the day."
Pat moved to the front of the animal and put one arm around the dog's neck.
After a few moments of clipping the leg with a pair of electric razors, Allan looked up at Pat and smiled his warm smile again. "You hold him like a real pro. You're not looking for a new career as a vet technician, are you?"
To Pat's surprise, she found herself blushing at the smile and the remark. "No, I'm quite happy with what I currently do, but I'll certainly keep your offer in mind."
"By the way," Allan continued as he washed the leg wound, "what brings you to our fair town of Waynesboro, if you don't mind me asking?"
I'm looking for an alien who tried to kill me not far from here almost ten years ago. The thought almost leapt out of Pat's mouth. Instead she said, "I love the mountains and decided I needed a little time away from Charlotte to recharge my batteries. But I didn't want one of the usual touristy type places."
"Well, Waynesboro definitely isn't one of those." Allan laughed. "If you're looking for peace and quiet, we have it in spades. What do you do in Charlotte?"
"I run a private investigation agency,” Pat replied, noting how unusual it felt to be on the other side of the questioning. This Dr. Pritchard would make a pretty good investigator himself. He seemed very effective at gleaning the information he needed without appearing to pry.
"I love my job but it can be pretty stressful at times." Pat moved a little closer to get a better look at the leg. After the clipping and cleaning, the wound didn't look nearly as bad as before.
As
though reading her thoughts, Allan said, "Our fella here isn't too bad off. I'll dress the wound and get him started on some antibiotics for the infection. In a couple of days, if the infection responds as it should, I'll probably be able to stitch most of it closed. The rest will heal with a little time. He should be as good as new within a week to ten days. Were you planning to be around that long?"
Pat nodded. "I haven't decided how long my stay will be here. It depends on how well things go back at my office. If it stays quiet, I'll stay longer."
In truth, she knew the office could manage itself. She'd trained her people that way. What would really determine the length of her stay was what information she came up with from the mountain and surrounding countryside. She was at a blind end everywhere else. If she couldn't pick up some trail here, the ten year long investigation might come to a close.
Allan applied a yellow antibacterial ointment to the wound and began to wrap it with stretch gauze. "Do you plan to camp or stay at one of our fine hotels?"
"Probably a little of both. I was up here four or five years ago and found several nice camping areas. I also have found about three days of camping is as long as I can stay away from civilization and a hot shower. Is the Waynesboro Tourist Lodge still open?"
"Oh sure and still run by the Adkins family. Elma has turned most of it over to her daughter, Lorna, but it continues to plug along like the rest of us."
Allan finished wrapping the leg and patted the retriever on the head. "Well, I never like taking in a dog without knowing his name and since we aren't likely to learn yours, I guess we'll just have to make one up." He continued to rub the dog's ear but his eyes were on Pat.
"What do you say we just call him Lucky for awhile? It seems to fit." Pat found herself blushing for a second time as she gazed into Allan's steel gray eyes. "Yes. That fits him."
"And if you'll help me get him in a cage, I'd say we're about done. It looks like we might be seeing you a bit over the next few days."
"You can count on it. If you don't mind, I'd like to visit him each day."
Allan nodded and smiled. "Mind? No, I don't mind. That would be fine -- just fine."
Hunting Trip
Friday, Nov. 5
Dawn stuck her head into the surgery room and interrupted Allan's humming.
"It's Bo Rawlins on the phone. He's calling again about your annual deer hunt. It's the third time in the last two days he's called. What do you want me to tell him?" Dawn asked, the unpleasant look on her face suggesting what she would like to tell him, but Bo was one of their most influential clients, particularly among the hunting crowd, a large number of which supported Allan's practice. Besides, Allan found Bo's down-home humor refreshing despite the fact it occasionally stepped over the boundary of good taste.
"Tell him I'll be with him in a moment." Allan said as he tied the next to the last suture. "I'm almost done in here. Oh, by the way, any word from Kendra?"
"Yes, she called a few minutes ago." Dawn replied, her look instantly transforming to a smile. "She said not to forget TJ’s food, especially another box of Cheerios. He's eating you out of house and home, or something like that." Dawn laughed. "She really loves taking care of him. She says she's never seen a child eat so much or grow so fast."
Allan pulled his mask off and scratched the end of his nose where it had been tickling for the last five minutes.
"He is a growing boy,” he answered, but the thought made him nervous. So far, since telling Kendra the fable about the growth problem, she'd kept her word not to say anything to anyone, but how long could she be counted on not to let something slip? He felt as though he was skating across a lake of thin ice, listening to the dull thuds of the ice cracking.
Living a life of lies was becoming increasingly uncomfortable. Allan sat down behind his desk, tossing the mask and cap onto the clutter of paper that habitually hid the desk's mahogany surface. He picked up the receiver and leaned back in the chair.
"Bo, good morning. What can I do for Waynesville's finest hunter and fisherman?"
"For starters, you can keep throwing the blarney my way. Others might begin to believe it if an upright citizen like yourself keeps saying it. Secondly, you can join me and a few of the guys this Saturday. We're going deer hunting, and we'd like to invite you to come along."
"Well Bo, you know I'm not much of a hunter. I doubt I've shot my rifle since vet school."
"You say that every year, Doc. Neither have some of these other fellas, least not close enough to any game to make a difference on the ecology. It's mostly an excuse to get together and freeze our butts for a couple of hours. It's also a good excuse to indulge in a little 'medicinal' to warm the blood. We'll probably go down to Jake's after we're through hunting. Whatta ya say?"
"I guess you can count on me." Allan finally relinquished. It was the same every year. Bo would pester him to go hunting with "the boys" as soon as the season opened, and continue to hound him until he said yes. Once Allan went with him, Bo would feel his social obligation was over until next year. Allan had done it for the last three years and so far, had never even seen a deer or fired his rifle. He figured it was a good excuse to clean the old firearm if nothing else. It didn't hurt his business any either.
"Great! I'll pick you up at your place around six; how's that?"
Allan groaned. Six on a Saturday morning; there ought to be a law against it.
"I'll meet you at the clinic at 6:00 a.m. I'll need to check a couple of cases." The last person he needed down at his cabin was Bo. If he found out about TJ, it would be all over town before the sun set.
“Okay, it's a date -- and Doc, we're going to get us a deer this year, you wait and see."
Allan hung up the phone but remained in his seat, shaking his head. Get us a deer, would we? He could hardly wait. He pushed the intercom button and in a few seconds, Dawn's voice came through the phone. "You rang?" She asked, her voice poorly disguised as a butler.
"Yes. I was wondering if we have Lucky cleaned up and ready to go. Pat, uh, Ms. Vogt will be here in a few minutes."
It would be Lucky's first excursion out since coming into the hospital. The leg had responded well to Allan's careful attention. Pat had asked to try him outdoors with her over the weekend while they continued to look for a permanent home.
"Yes, Dr. Pritchard. For the third time, Lucky is ready. I promise Ms. Pat will be very pleased. You will definitely be a hero in her eyes."
What was Dawn talking about? Be a hero in her eyes? He just wanted to be sure his newest patient and client received the proper care. He smiled to himself at the thought. Well, maybe he was being a little more attentive than usual.
Pat had made it a point to visit Lucky every day since he had been admitted to the hospital, and Allan had made just as much a point to be around to talk to her. Evidently, his actions had not been missed by Dawn's trained eyes. Well, so be it.
"Thank you, Dawn. That will be all for now." He cut the connection in the middle of her giggle.
A few minutes later, Allan's intercom beeped.
"Dr. Pritchard, Ms. Vogt is in exam room three. I thought you might like to go over Lucky's instructions for the weekend." There was a syrupy quality to Dawn's voice that was unmistakable. Allan chose to ignore the implication.
"Thank you, Dawn. I'll be right there." He returned the receiver to its cradle, grinning in spite of himself. He noticed a light flutter in his stomach similar to the sensation he experienced when he had to speak to one of Waynesboro's many civic groups. He knew the reason for the butterflies. The thought had been in the back of his head for the last two days. He'd allowed it to come to the foreground only twice, both times without any resolution.
Now, when the moment was upon him, he knew he'd made his decision. He would ask Pat out on a date for Saturday night. At least, he had decided that it was a good idea, something he did want to do. Now, would he follow through? That was another question entirely. He remembered back to when he'd decided to ask Laura out
on a date. They were both still in college. It had taken him a good two weeks to get up the nerve to finally ask. Surely, in the past several years he'd improved. He was now a successful veterinarian and businessman; as Bo said, a well respected ‘pillow’ of the community.
Yep, and I'm still as nervous as a cat about to have kittens around attractive women, Allan thought as he pushed away from his desk. Already, the palms of his hands were sweaty and his mouth dry. Hell, by the time I get into the room I'll be lucky if I can even get the words out.
Despite the discomfort, he had to admit he enjoyed the sensation. It had been a long time since he'd been interested in anyone of the opposite sex. He'd begun to think he might never be. Pat Vogt had changed all that. Now, let's see if she'll be willing to go out with an over-the-hill widow.
As he entered the exam room he smelled the light scent of Pat's perfume. It was a fragrance he'd come to look forward to each day. Pat stood up as he entered the room. She wore a pair of faded jeans that fit snugly in all the right places. They were stuck down in the tops of a pair of well worn hiking boots. Her flannel shirt had a multi-colored checked pattern which matched the light blue turtle neck underneath. Her medium length black hair was pulled back in a ponytail, revealing small ears. The blues of her shirt and turtleneck highlighted her blue eyes which now met Allan's gray eyes in a steady gaze.
After a couple of seconds, Pat's lips turned upward into a demure smile. "Is anything wrong?" She asked as Allan continued to stand frozen, staring at her.
Suddenly realizing how long he'd been studying her, Allan shook his head and returned the smile. "No, nothing. Nothing's wrong. You just look…” He lost the words to describe what he was thinking . . . ”Lovely,” he finally finished.
FreeForm: An Alien Invasion Romance Series (FreeForm Series Book 1) Page 9
