"That includes utilities and groceries."
"Cara won't be using the utilities or eating your groceries. So that's what—four hundred, then?" Travis reached behind him and pulled out his wallet. He opened it up, thumbing through the bills until he found the blank check he always carried.
"No checks. How do I know it won't bounce?"
"Anna! You can't seriously think—"
"Fine. Cash."
"Travis, no. I can't let you—"
"It's fine." He glanced over his shoulder and offered Cara a reassuring smile. Then he thumbed through his wallet and pulled out a stack of bills and started counting them out. He was short, by more than a few hundred. He looked up, ready to ask Zach and Tyler if they had any cash on them, but both men were already checking, pulling out bills until Travis held twelve hundred dollars in his hand.
Cara started to object again but Jenny placed a hand on her shoulder, silencing her. Travis had a feeling it was only temporary, that Cara would voice her objections to him in private later.
That was fine by him.
He moved over to her roommate and carefully counted the bills out as he placed them in her open palm, one by one. "Now I want a receipt saying Cara has paid in full. And I want it signed and dated."
The woman's fingers closed over the cash and for one brief second, Travis thought she'd give him a hard time. She hesitated then looked up at him, must have seen something in his eyes because she scurried over to the end table and yanked out a pad of paper. She scrawled something on the paper, signed it, then tore it from the pad and shoved it at him.
"She's getting off easy."
Travis read the receipt, making sure it had all the information he needed, then carefully folded it and placed it in his back pocket. "You're the one who's getting off easy. And don't even think about harassing Cara and asking for more."
He turned and grabbed one of the remaining boxes next to the door then hoisted it on his shoulder. He didn't bother looking back as he grabbed Cara's hand and threaded their fingers together.
"Come on. Let's go home."
Chapter Sixteen
Cara was on auto-pilot, going through the daily motions of her job without conscious thought. It was easier this way, keeping the numbness wrapped around her like a protective cloak. She didn't have to think, didn't have to feel. Didn't have to do anything except care for the animals surrounding her.
Animals were easy. They loved unconditionally, without expectation. Even if they were abused or neglected, they still wanted to show love. At least, most of them. She couldn't bear to think of the lost ones, not without pain squeezing her heart.
She unlatched a cage and reached in, scooping up the three-year-old Yorkie and cradling him to her chest. The tiny frame shook before the animal finally relaxed in her arms. He turned his head and swiped his tongue along her jaw, offering her a kiss as she checked the chart hanging from the cage.
"What do you think, Hercules? You ready to go home today? Mommy and Daddy are waiting for you and they're so excited to take you home." The words were a soft croon meant to relax and comfort the nervous dog. He shivered again then once more reached up to lick her, like he couldn't decide if he should be nervous or grateful.
Cara rubbed him behind the ear, smiling when he cuddled his head against her hand. She held him close and moved over to the supply cubby, searching for the tape that had his name written on it in big block letters. Such a big name for a little guy, she thought. Hercules. Brave and strong. And somehow fitting, despite his small size.
She grabbed his leash and the small vest his owners had left with him, juggling them and the dog until the fluffy vest was in place. "Come on, pal. Let's go say hi to Mom and Dad."
She walked out of the back room, the rubber soles of her shoes squeaking against the tile floor. Voices mingled with the sounds of dogs barking and cats hissing, the noise muted until she pushed through to the waiting room. They were crowded today, mostly because of the upcoming holiday. Being busy didn't bother her. Being busy actually made her happy. It would keep her mind from wandering, keep her focused on her daily activities until it was time to leave and head home.
Cara stumbled, caught herself at the last minute as the numbness quickly vanished.
Home. She didn't have a home. Not anymore. Maybe she hadn't really had a home for the last few years and was only just now realizing it.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, pulling the cloak of numbness back around her. Focus on the animals, she reminded herself. Animals were so much easier.
It was people who were complicated.
An elderly couple rose to their feet, large smiles wreathing their lined faces as they waited for her to bring Hercules over. Joy lit their eyes, replacing the rheumy shadows of gloom that had filled them when they first came in.
Cara bent her head toward the small dog in her arms, turning him so he could see. "Look, Hercules. Here's Mommy and Daddy."
Hercules barked, the sound coming out as more of a squeak, his little tail wagging like the propeller of a motorboat when he noticed his human parents. Cara closed the distance and gently handed Hercules over, making sure to support his bandaged rear leg while Mrs. Harris pulled him into her arms.
"He's all ready to go home. Aren't you, boy?" Cara gave Hercules a final scratch behind the ear then handed his leash to Mr. Harris. "He's all set. Just keep an eye on him and make sure he doesn't overdo it for the next few days. No stopping trains or leaping over tall buildings."
Mrs. Harris smiled through the glaze of tears filling her eyes. "I think you have him confused with Superman, dear. But we'll make sure he behaves nonetheless."
Cara smiled. "I'm sure you will. Dr. Kincaid wants to see him back in two weeks, after the first of the year. Sandy can make the appointment for you."
"Thank you so much, dear. We already made the appointment." Mrs. Harris pulled her in for a surprise hug then stepped back. "And this is for you. For taking care of Hercules for us."
Cara looked down, surprised to see the small tin in Mrs. Harris's hand. "You didn't have to do that."
"I know. But I want you to have them, anyway. They're my chocolate chip cookies."
Cara accepted the tin with a smile, pausing to wave to the older couple as they left before moving to the check-in desk in the middle of the large room. She walked around the end, placing the tin on the edge of the counter as she studied the sign-in sheet.
"More cookies?"
"Yes. And these are all mine so don't even think about it." She nudged the tin away from Sandy with a playful smile.
"You share yours and I'll share mine."
"What kind do you have?"
"Oatmeal raisin from Mr. Mueller and sugar cookies from the Jordans."
"No deal. These are chocolate chip."
"Selfish wench."
"When it comes to chocolate, absolutely. So who's next?"
"Nobody for you. It's your lunch break."
Cara looked at the clock on the wall behind her, frowning in surprise. "Already? It feels like I just got here."
"Don't I wish. It feels like I've been here for ten hours already. Go, take your lunch."
"Sandy, we're backed up. I can get one more checked-in with no problem."
"Suit yourself." She flipped through a few files and pulled one out, passing it over her shoulder. "Infrequent flyer. Last time here was a year ago for his shots. Dog is cute. The dad, not so much. And neither one of them seem very friendly."
"Gee, thanks."
"Hey, you wanted it. Remember, no good deed goes unpunished."
"I'll remember that." Cara opened the file, skimming over the information. A three-year old Australian Shepherd with loose stools, possibly worms. Exactly what she needed before lunch.
She closed the file and walked around the large counter, her gaze skimming the crowd in the waiting room. "Mr. Baxter?"
A large guy, maybe in his early thirties, stood. Dark hair, deep-set eyes, three-day stubble covering
his full jaw. His mouth was pulled down in an angry scowl as he jerked on the leash, pulling an unkempt dog along the tile floor.
Cara clenched her jaw, took a deep breath and forced a smile to her face. It wasn't the dog's fault his owner was a jerk. "Mr. Baxter, if you'll follow me. I need to get Bandit's weight then we can go back and get ready for Dr. Kincaid to see him."
She reached for the leash but the man pulled it away. She bit back a sigh then motioned her head toward the back hallway. A scale was tucked to the side, the kind that you simply had to walk onto. She stepped to the side and pointed to the scale. "If you could get Bandit onto the scale—"
"Why do you need to weigh him?"
"For his records. And so the doctor knows what dosage to prescribe if he needs any medicine."
"He doesn't need medicine. He just needs to stop shitting on the floor." He jerked the leash, tugging the animal closer. The dog inched his way backward, fighting each tug with a pull of his own head.
"Dammit, Bandit. Stop fighting and get over here." He yanked on the leash harder this time, eliciting a yelp from the dog as he slid across the floor and banged into Cara's leg.
She reached down, thinking only to console the poor animal. She must have moved too fast, or the dog was too frightened. Maybe a combination of both. But the dog snapped at her, his sharp teeth grazing the flesh between Cara's thumb and forefinger. She jerked her hand back with a hiss as the man kicked at the dog, hitting it in the side.
"Stupid worthless mutt."
"Don't you dare kick him!" Cara stepped in front of the man, blocking him before he could kick out again. Sandy was right beside her, pulling her away as Dr. Kincaid and Eric, one of the other vet techs, came rushing out.
The dog was separated from the owner and led to the back as Dr. Kincaid talked to the man in a calm voice. Cara wanted to lunge after him, maybe kick him so he could see how it felt, but Sandy was already pulling her to the back room, away from the commotion.
"Settle down, Tiger. Good Lord, I don't think I've ever seen you so riled up before. Here, sit down and let me look at that hand."
"I'm fine. There's nothing to see."
"Mm-hm. That's why you're bleeding everywhere. Now let me see."
Cara glanced at her hand, surprised to see blood oozing from the small wound. She sucked in a deep breath and quickly looked away as nausea curled her stomach. Since when did the sight of blood make her stomach twist? She had never had that problem before.
Of course, she had never been pregnant before, either.
"It's fine. Just a scratch."
"Scratch, my ass. He got a good piece of you." Sandy muttered under her breath as she moved around the room, gathering supplies. Saline to rinse. An antibacterial. Bandages.
"It's not the dog's fault. You saw it—that man was terrorizing the poor guy. And I wasn't thinking. I know better than to reach down—ouch!"
"Hold still or it's going to hurt a lot more." Sandy steadied Cara's hand over a small plastic basin before washing the wound with an antibacterial scrub and rinsing it again. "It doesn't look too bad. And the dog is up-to-date on its shots. That's a good thing at least. And you don't have any medical issues we need to worry about."
"Um..." Cara swallowed and looked away. She felt the older woman tense, glanced up in time to see Sandy straighten and jam both fists on her hips. Her blue eyes narrowed, pinning Cara in place.
"What do you mean, um? Out with it, Cara."
"It's nothing. It's just, I'm—uh, I mean." She cleared her throat and looked away as the rest of the words rushed from her. "I'm kinda maybe pregnant."
Silence greeted her confession—for maybe five seconds.
"What do you mean, kinda maybe? You either are or you aren't. Which is it?"
"Are. I mean, I am."
"Mm-hm. And when were you going to tell me this?"
"Soon. I think."
"You think? And do you plan on telling me who the father is?"
"I wasn't going to, no. But I guess I probably should since I need to, uh, change my address."
Sandy lowered herself to the empty chair with a small grunt. Surprise? Disbelief? Maybe something else. Cara couldn't read her expression, couldn't tell if she was disappointed or upset or completely ambivalent.
"You really need to learn how to open up more, Cara. Either that, or you need to get bit more often. I don't remember the last time you ever offered so much personal information all at once."
"I'm an introvert. You know that."
"Yes. But I also know you like to keep things private." She ran a hand through her short black hair, making the spiky ends stand up. "So. You moved out of that apartment your roommate was fleecing you for, hm?"
"She wasn't fleecing—" Cara snapped her mouth closed at the look Sandy sent her way. "Yeah, I moved out."
"And you're living with...?"
Cara sighed, resigned to giving Sandy details she hadn't planned on sharing. "His name is Travis Bankard. He plays hockey, for the York Bombers."
"And I take it he's the baby's father?"
"Yeah."
"How long have you known him?"
"Um—" Cara looked away and cleared her throat again. "A few months."
"A few months. I see. So. Do I say congratulations, or do I track this Travis down and kick his ass?"
Cara laughed, her shoulders easing as the weight of the tension she'd been carrying around for too long finally lifted. "Congratulations will work."
"Then congratulations it is." Sandy reached over for Cara's hand and rinsed it a few more times before gently patting it dry. "I think this will be fine but I want Dr. Kincaid to look at it first. And when do we get to meet this Travis fellow?"
Cara removed her hand from Sandy's and cradled it against her chest. "It's not really like that. I mean, we're not really together."
"But he's the father."
"Yes."
"And you're living with him."
"Yes but—"
"Then as far as I'm concerned, you two are together. Which means I expect to meet him, sooner rather than later." Sandy rose to her feet then leaned over to give Cara a quick hug. "Congratulations, honey. I'll go get Dr. Kincaid and send him back. But I'll leave it up to you to break the news."
Cara leaned back with a nod, knowing better than to even ask if she needed to tell him. He was her boss, he needed to know—especially since she'd been bit. She had more to worry about than just herself now.
Which made her think, once again, that animals were always so much easier to deal with than people.
Chapter Seventeen
Travis paused at the bottom of the stairway, his overnight bag gripped in one hand. Cara was on the overstuffed sofa in the living room, her legs curled under her as she read a book by the late morning light streaming through the French doors leading out to the deck. The sun glinted off her hair, kissing the dark waves with streaks of gold fire. She looked relaxed. Peaceful.
At home.
Travis tightened his grip on the bag—and his grip on the impulse to go over and kiss her. To plunge his hands into her hair and tilt her face up to his. To capture her mouth with his and never let go.
He was a fool. She'd been staying here—living here—for three nights now. And she was still sleeping in the guest room. Still thinking she was just that: a guest. He hadn't been able to take that first step. Hadn't been able to follow through with the very vocal advice Zach and Tyler both kept giving him.
Talk to her. Kiss her. Let her know how you feel.
Easier said than done. This wasn't a usual relationship. They weren't dating, not in the traditional sense. Not in any sense. They had shared one night and now they were going to have a baby together. That didn't mean she was interested in him, that she wanted him. She hadn't shied away from his few previous attempts at kissing, but that didn't mean she wanted more. And Travis couldn't bring himself to push it, didn't want to take the risk of making her think he expected anything from her. Especially now that she was
staying here.
He just wanted her to be comfortable. Relaxed.
And in his bed.
He couldn't even joke with himself and say that two out of three wasn't too bad, because he wasn't entirely sure that she was completely comfortable here. She was always telling him what she was getting ready to do, even if it was something as simple as getting a glass of water to drink. Like she was asking his permission. He didn't want that—he wanted her to think of this as her own place. To come and go as she pleased. To get a glass of water or a cup of decaffeinated coffee or to even curl up on the sofa and take a nap if she wanted to.
He just wasn't sure how to convince her of that.
Maybe his leaving was a good thing. She'd have the house to herself until Friday afternoon. Would that give her enough time to get comfortable? It was only three nights, but maybe that was all she needed.
He descended the last step and dropped his bag by the door before moving into the living room. Cara glanced up then quickly straightened, moving her legs from underneath her and resting her feet on the floor. She slid a bookmark into the pages of the book then placed it on the coffee table in front of her. Just that fast, she had gone from being relaxed to being stiff and uncertain.
He dropped to the sofa next to her, sitting on the edge as he watched her. "You didn't need to move. You looked comfortable."
"My legs were falling asleep."
He frowned, thought about calling her out on it then decided against it. That wouldn't help anything. It might even make her more uncomfortable.
"I left the numbers on the refrigerator. My cell. The team's emergency number. The hotels where we're staying."
"Thanks, but I don't think I'll need them."
"I know, but at least they're there. I included Jenny and Haley's numbers, too. In case you got bored or something."
"Oh. Um, thanks."
He nodded to her bandaged hand. "And your hand's okay? No swelling or tenderness or anything?"
Playing For Love (The York Bombers, #6) Page 12
