He made a gesture of repudiation. “You know how I feel about children understanding the responsibilities of owning a pet. I love Matt, but I wouldn’t allow Trace to suffer for the sake of a vacation.” After seeing him with Trace, she should have known how he would respond.
“So they went on their family trip,” Adam prompted.
“I agreed to board Sophie because I wanted to make sure she got the best possible care.” She shoved away from the counter to pace around the small room. Trace lay down with his head on his paws, his ears swiveling to follow her. “Robert Sawyer brought Sophie in, probably because his wife was afraid to face me. I tried to reason with him, but he brushed me off as though I were an annoying insect.” Anger stiffened her spine as she remembered the man’s dismissal of her pleas on Sophie’s behalf. “I was so furious, I sent him out to the receptionist to fill out the form for boarding Sophie. She told me later that he refused to leave a cell phone number where we could contact him while he was away. He didn’t want his vacation disturbed.”
“Bastard,” Adam muttered under his breath.
“Yes!” She’d gotten more worked up than she realized. Pivoting on her heel, she walked back to where Trace lay on the table, stroking his sleek head to calm herself. “I did my best for Sophie. During the day, we put her bed in my office, so I could monitor her constantly. Whenever the staff members had free time, they’d go in and sit with her. She always greeted us with a wag of her tail and a lick on the hand.” She buried her fingers in Trace’s thick fur, drawing comfort from his warmth. “After two days, she couldn’t walk, so we had to carry her in and out. Even then, she’d wag her tail when she saw us. I dosed her with all the pain meds I could, but the third day, I gave her the lightest of strokes on her head and she whimpered. When one of the vet techs tried to take the soiled blanket out from under her, Sophie growled.” Hannah felt the tears spill down her cheeks as she remembered. “No one had ever heard Sophie growl before, so I knew the meds weren’t working anymore.”
She swiped the tears off her face with the sleeve of her lab coat. “I gave her sleeping pills, hoping that would give her a rest from the pain. Her eyelids would close for a few seconds, but then she would wake up with a moan. She’d gotten so thin her bones showed through her coat, which was long and thick. All the vet techs begged me to put an end to her suffering.”
She remembered the moment her conscience told her she couldn’t allow the sweet, faithful golden retriever to suffer any longer. She’d grabbed the intake form and gone to the phone herself, dialing the Sawyer’s home phone and then the office phone. Neither the housekeeper nor the administrative assistant would give her a way to contact the family, saying they had strict orders not to bother them on their vacation. The Sawyers’ staff was either very loyal or very intimidated. No amount of pleading would budge them.
“I tried to reach the family, but once it became clear I wouldn’t be able to, I wasn’t going to wait any longer. I got two vet techs to witness the injection.” She swallowed a sob. “I held her in my arms as she died, telling her what a great girl she was and how much she was loved, so much that her family didn’t want to let her go.”
“I don’t understand why you were blamed.” His hands were clenched in fists by his thighs.
She pulled a paper towel out of the nearby holder and swiped it over her cheeks. “The father was Senator Robert Sawyer. He didn’t want to look bad in front of his children, so he lied to them about leaving a cell phone number.”
“But you had the intake form.”
“That’s the thing. It disappeared.” She thought of the Xeroxed copy stashed away in her kitchen drawer. “I’d used it to make all the phone calls, and I couldn’t swear I’d put it back in the proper file…or in any file. I wasn’t that concerned about the paperwork at the time.”
“So Sawyer was a liar and a jerk. That shouldn’t drive you out of Chicago. Unless he sued.” Adam’s dark eyebrows slashed down with his frown.
“Worse. One of his kids talked about it on Twitter,” Hannah said. “The local weekly gossip sheet got hold of it, so the senator was forced to either stand by his story or admit he lied to his children. Guess which he chose?”
Adam paced a step away and back. “So he ruined your career in order to preserve his image.”
She shrugged. “He’s an important man who just wanted to have a pleasant time away with his family. I’m a heartless quack who doesn’t care about his children’s tender feelings.” She knew she sounded bitter, but she had no tolerance for the sense of privilege that valued an undisturbed vacation more than easing an animal’s profound pain.
Of course, she wasn’t going to tell Adam that her then-fiancé had jumped right on the bandwagon with Senator Sawyer as soon as he saw which way the wind was blowing. Being on the senator’s good side was more important to an up-and-coming politician than supporting his future wife. She stifled a gasp as the shock of Ward’s defection ripped through her all over again.
She’d underestimated Adam’s powers of observation because he said, “There’s something more to the story.”
She shook her head. “It’s just residual anger.” She yanked out another paper towel and blew her nose. “Your poor dog has been so patient. It’s his turn now.”
She could see Adam forming another question, so she turned to Trace and unwound the bandage to forestall any further discussion. “The wound is healing beautifully,” she said, putting another pad in place and winding a fresh length of elastic around it. “I don’t think it will even leave a scar.”
Adam ran a hand over Trace’s glossy head. “You hear that, boy, no scars to scare off the ladies. You owe Dr. Linden for that.” He stroked Trace’s flank before he looked up at her. “I owe you too. On the way home after Matt’s riding lesson, he talked to me about Satchmo. It’s the first real conversation I’ve had with him.”
“Animals have a way of opening people up,” Hannah said, leaning forward to let Trace give her a wet kiss.
Adam sent her a slanting smile. “You have a way of opening people up.”
“Didn’t I just spill my guts to you?” she said ruefully, as she pushed the button to lower the examination table to floor level.
“I caught you at a bad moment.”
Embarrassed by her meltdown, she moved to the computer terminal to start typing notes on Trace’s condition.
She felt his nearness before he touched her, cupping her shoulders lightly. “Come to The Aerie for dinner,” he said by her ear.
Her fingers went still on the keyboard as she felt his breath stir her hair. She closed her eyes and fought the urge to lean back against him. She could imagine his arms coming around her so she was enveloped by his strength and the delicious, spicy scent he carried.
For a minute she thought he was asking her on a date, and the prospect sent her heartbeat into overdrive. Then she realized she was fooling herself the same way she had with Ward. The sexy, famous chef didn’t want to spend the evening with his veterinarian. Supermodels and movie stars were probably more his type.
He was only repeating his previous offer of a free dinner at his restaurant. She forced her eyes open and started typing as though he hadn’t set every one of her nerve endings dancing. “You need a date for a dinner like that, and I haven’t been in town long enough to have one. So I’ll take a rain check for now.”
He continued to hold her. “Come on Tuesday. It’s my day off, so I’ll keep you company.”
She wanted to move away from him, but he had her trapped between the counter and his body. There was no graceful way to extricate herself unless he released her. She saved Trace’s computer record and laid her hands on either side of the keyboard. “You don’t want to go to the restaurant on your day off.”
He laughed and let go. She scooted sideways before she turned around. He stood about two feet away, his thumbs tucked into the pockets of his b
lack jeans.
“I’m at the restaurant every day,” he said. “I just don’t supervise on Tuesdays. It’s good to give the staff a day on their own. Let them stretch their wings. I’ll pick you up at 6:30.”
She opened her mouth to refuse.
He raised a hand to stop her. “Food is what I’m good at. Let me do this.”
“I haven’t got anything to wear,” she said, grasping at straws.
“A clean lab coat meets the dress code,” he said with a glint of a smile.
She managed a smile in return. “I guess I can swing that.”
He picked up the end of Trace’s leash and stood jiggling it for a moment. “There has to be a way to clear your name,” he said. “I have political connections because of the restaurant. I can—”
She shook her head. “I appreciate the offer, but I don’t want to stir it all up again. Tim will come back Monday, and Mrs. Shanks will let him treat Willie. I just didn’t expect the story to follow me here.”
“For what it’s worth,” he said, reaching out to gently squeeze her shoulder, “I believe you made the right decision.”
She touched the back of his hand. The feel of his skin turned the comfort to something deeper and hotter. “It’s worth a lot.”
He let his hand drop from her shoulder, and led the dog out the door.
As she slipped the intake form into Trace’s medical folder, she felt a curious sense of lightness.
Adam pulled into a parking space in front of Paul Taggart’s law office and unbuckled the re-bandaged Trace from his seat harness. Coming around to the passenger door, he signaled the dog out of the car. “Paul says you can come in.”
Trace fell in beside him as he jogged up the front steps of the gingerbread-trimmed Victorian house Paul worked in. It was too frou-frou for Adam’s minimalist taste, but much of Sanctuary was built before the Civil War and the residents liked their historic curlicues.
Paul stood and came around his big, oak desk as his receptionist ushered Adam and the dog into the office. The lawyer bent and gave Trace a scratch under the chin. “Have a seat,” he said, waving to the sofa under the window and dropping into an armchair. “What can I do you for?”
Adam sat and Trace lay down at his feet, his head on his paws, his ears pointed up. “Do you know the new veterinarian who works with Tim? Hannah Linden?”
Paul looked surprised. “Sure do. She had dinner with Julia and me a couple of nights ago. Nice lady.”
“She and Matt get along well,” Adam said, groping for a way to bring up a matter that was not, in fact, his concern. “She’s gotten him interested in horseback riding.”
“That’s a positive step.”
“She told me a story today,” Adam said. “About why she left Chicago and came here. Has Tim mentioned anything about it?”
Paul nodded. “He thinks she got railroaded.”
“I’d like to help her straighten things out. What can we do?”
Now Paul shook his head. “I offered to look into it, and she turned me down.” He scanned Adam’s face. “She turned you down too.”
Adam shifted on the cushions. “She did the right thing, and it ruined her career. Someone should go to bat for her.”
Paul gave him a questioning look. “And you’re that person?”
“I owe her for what she’s done for Matt.”
“It’s tough to start anything without Hannah’s participation. We’d need to track down the people who were working in her office at the time of the incident and get their statements and any documentation they might have.”
“She said the admission form disappeared right after she euthanized the dog. Conveniently, for Senator Sawyer’s story.”
“Yeah, I heard that, which makes it even more difficult to prove libel.” Paul shook his head. “You know, maybe she’s right. Maybe it’s better to let it alone. She’s doing fine in the practice with Tim.”
“Not anymore. This morning she got blindsided by an old grouch named Bertha Shanks who announced to everyone sitting in the hospital’s reception room that Hannah killed a dog without its owner’s permission.”
Paul looked disgusted, then thoughtful. He sat forward. “We’d have to keep our investigation behind the scenes. And whatever information we collect, we share with the doc before making a move.”
“That’s fair. So you’ll do it?”
Paul nodded and scooped up a legal pad from the table.
Adam reached down to touch Trace’s bandage. “I’m not a poster child for facing up to the past,” he said, “but I want to help Hannah lay hers to rest.”
Chapter 9
AS SHE DROVE her pickup truck slowly between the pristine, white fencing that lined the road to Healing Springs Stables, Hannah admitted she’d been fooling herself about outrunning the scandal in Chicago. She’d thought Tim was the only person in Sanctuary who knew or had any reason to care about her past. Now it turned out Julia and Paul had known about it from the beginning. Even Mrs. Shanks had found out somehow—and broadcast it to the entire reception room. Then Hannah herself had told Adam.
There was no chance it would remain a secret now. She smacked her hand on the steering wheel in frustration. She could face the consequences to herself, now that she was forewarned, but she didn’t want it to affect Tim’s practice. She’d have to monitor how many appointments were made and cancelled for the next few days. If she saw a decline in one and an increase in the other, she’d resign. What she would do after that she refused to consider.
Her decision made, Hannah stepped on the accelerator. She was still concerned about Satchmo’s health. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe a pony could be grief-stricken over the loss of his stall mate. However, something about him seemed off to her. She looked forward to consulting with Tim when he returned from his trip. In the meantime, she decided to run a couple of more tests. Satchmo’s balance issue suggested a neurological disease, in which case, the sooner she started treating the pony, the more likely he was to recover fully.
Arriving in the stable parking lot, she swung the truck around to park beside the sleekest automobile she’d ever seen. Careful not to bang her door into the dark gray paint, she jumped down from the truck’s cab and walked a circuit around the car, admiring its beautiful curves and elegant, wood-accented interior. She wasn’t a car fanatic, preferring usefulness to aesthetics, but she could appreciate a work of art when she saw one.
“Like it?”
She jerked around to see Adam standing a few feet away with his hands in his trouser pockets and an inquiring look on his face. He was sporting a tailored black suit, shirt, and tie nearly identical to the ones he’d worn Saturday afternoon, and his hair was tamed into dark, gleaming waves.
“What?” she asked.
“Do you like the Maserati?” he asked, strolling forward.
“It’s yours?” She couldn’t put a coherent thought together when he looked like that.
He nodded as he came to stand beside her. “An indulgence for driving the curves of these mountain roads.”
“But it’s not black.” She clapped her hand over her mouth in dismay.
He frowned. “Why would you—?” Then he glanced down at his clothes and said, “I see.”
“You have a black dog too,” Hannah said to explain herself.
He looked torn between irritation and amusement. Fortunately, the latter won out and self-mockery lit his face. “So you think I consider Trace a fashion accessory?”
“I know you love him, but you do seem to like black.” She waved a hand in a gesture of futile defense as she gave him a wry smile. “Some people choose dogs that look like themselves.”
“My affectations have caught up with me,” he said. “I started wearing black years ago and it’s become a reflex.”
“Did you have a reason, or was it just because
you lived in New York City?” Hannah asked, daring to tease him.
He skimmed a finger against her cheek. Her breath hitched at the tiny contact between them. “Both,” he said. “I’ll tell you about it at dinner on Tuesday.”
“Are you bringing the Maserati?”
“If it persuades you to come.”
“I already said I’d come.”
“Yes, but I could see the excuses forming in your brain,” he said. Casting a glance at his watch, he grimaced. “I have to go. Matt’s in there with Satchmo.”
“I’ll give him a ride home.”
He shook his head. “Thanks, but my housekeeper is picking him up in a couple of hours. You’ve got other things to do.”
The little blip of disappointment surprised her. She wanted the chance to talk with Matt. Now she’d have to get him alone in the barn.
Adam opened the door and folded himself into the exquisite car, giving her a wave as he brought the engine purring to life. As he pulled out of the parking lot, she stood in a daze staring at his taillights as they disappeared down the drive.
He moved like a panther and his car sounded like a tiger. No wonder she found him fascinating.
Hannah walked up to the railing of the indoor arena and spotted Sharon immediately. The horsewoman stood in the middle of the ring watching Matt work Satchmo on a longe line. Surprised that Matt wasn’t riding the pony, Hannah waited while Sharon adjusted Matt’s grip on the long whip used to signal the pony as he circled the boy at the end of the thirty-foot line.
Sharon said something to the boy before she strode across to Hannah, her boots kicking up spurts of fine dust from the ring’s thick bed of sand and sawdust.
“You’re teaching Matt to longe?” Hannah said.
“That what I told him,” Sharon said, her expression grim. “I didn’t want him to ride Satchmo. The pony’s not moving right today.”
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