0451471040

by Kimberly Lang

  “How’s the head today?”

  She jumped. Obviously lost in thought, she hadn’t noticed him approach, and she seemed surprised to see him there. “I was a bit fragile this morning, but a couple of cups of Rocket Fuel whipped me right into shape. Thanks again for dropping off that stuff. I’m sorry I was a bit tipsy.”

  “You seemed to need it, though.” Since she’d shut him down so thoroughly the night before, he wanted to tread lightly, but he had to ask. Looking for the right mix of concern and levity, he casually said, “I take it there’s no more news from your family today?”

  Molly might have flushed a little—it was hard to tell in the bright sunlight. She either didn’t remember or was regretting having let her guard down last night. “Nope. We’re back to blessed silence.”

  “Is everything okay?” When Molly seemed confused at the question, he inclined his head back toward the church.

  “Oh, that. Yeah. Today’s my grandmother’s birthday.”

  There was a sadness to her voice that told him the rest. “When did she pass?”

  “Three years ago. Not long before I moved here.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. I’m guessing you were close to her?”

  “Thanks and yes. We were quite close. She always said we were the black sheep of the family, and I spent a lot of time at her house when I wasn’t getting along with my sisters or my parents. I’m not the type to visit a grave, even if it wasn’t all the way across the state, so I try to go to church for a few minutes on her birthday to remember her. She loved to sing in the choir.” Molly smiled at the memory.

  “I don’t have very many memories of my grandparents,” he confessed. “Ms. Louise kind of filled that role for me.”

  “Ms. Louise reminds me a lot of my nana, too. Helena’s lucky to have her.”

  “She knows it. Even when they’re driving each other crazy.”

  Molly laughed. “So what are you doing out and about?”

  “Just running a couple of errands. It’s a nice day to be out.”

  Molly nodded. “I think summer’s officially here—even if the calendar doesn’t agree. The humidity is certainly climbing.” She ran a hand over her curls, smoothing them and tucking them back behind her ears.

  They got quiet, and Molly started looking around awkwardly. The shift of the topic to the weather meant the three minutes of small talk required when running into someone had run its course. And since Latte Dah was in the opposite direction of the clinic, it was time for her to go on her way.

  He was a little disappointed. After last night, he was feeling more comfortable with Molly, and his thoughts about her were definitely bending in new directions.

  “Well,” she said brightly, “it was good running into you. I’m sure I’ll see you soon.”

  “Yeah, you, too. Bye.”

  He had so many questions about her, but his reasons for wanting the answers went beyond mere curiosity, and he wasn’t afraid to admit that to himself.

  At the corner, Molly turned and saw him still standing there. At first, he was a little ashamed to be seen lurking like that, but then she smiled and gave him a small wave.

  And, somehow, that sealed it.

  Chapter 8

  When the phone woke him up, Tate’s first thought was how bad his neck hurt. Thirty seemed to be the age where accidentally falling asleep on the couch while watching TV became a real thing—and also a real danger as he was simply too old to be comfortable sleeping on a couch anymore.

  He rubbed his neck with one hand and reached for the phone. Squinting at it, he saw Molly’s name on the screen, and smiled. Today’s revelation had been spinning in his head all evening. Maybe Molly was having something similar . . .

  Then he saw the time—close to two—and adrenaline kicked in.

  Skipping any polite formalities, he answered with “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m sorry to wake you up, but I don’t know what else to do. It’s Nigel.”

  He could hear the panic in her voice and the threat of tears. If he hadn’t already been on alert from a two a.m. call, that alone would have kicked him into gear. He went to the bedroom to get shoes. “What’s he doing?”

  “I think he’s having a seizure or something. He’s shaking and drooling—”

  “Is he conscious?”

  “Yeah. But he’s really spacey and out of it.”

  He was trying to remember Nigel’s history, but nothing helpful came to mind. “Is he bleeding? Vomiting?”

  “He was vomiting earlier. A lot. Almost like he had food poisoning or something. But then he quit. I thought he was okay.”

  That gave him a clue. “Do you have any honey? Maybe corn syrup?”

  “I think I do.” He could tell she’d put him on speaker, and he could hear cupboard doors opening and closing in the background. Her voice got closer again. “Yes. I’ve got honey.”

  “Get a big tablespoon full of it and see if you can get him to eat it. If he won’t, you’ll have to use your finger to rub it on his gums.” Even if hypoglycemia wasn’t the problem, this wouldn’t hurt Nigel before he got there.

  “Okay.” Molly still sounded on the verge of tears, but having something to do seemed to stem her panic, just as he’d hoped it would. As he pulled a clean shirt on over his head, he could hear her murmuring to Nigel, sweetly coaxing him to eat the honey. “He doesn’t want it,” she reported.

  “It doesn’t matter what he wants. Don’t put a lot of liquid in his mouth, because we don’t want him to choke, but he needs the sugar. Keep rubbing it on the insides of his cheeks and on his gums. Just watch your fingers if he starts to seize.” Grabbing his bag and his emergency kit from the front closet, he found his car keys. “I’m on my way now.”

  “You’re on your way?” She sounded both amazed and relieved at the same time.

  “Of course. I’ll be there in just a couple of minutes. Just keep feeding him honey and keep him calm.”

  All of Magnolia Beach was sound asleep, the houses dark except for the occasional night-light glowing in an upstairs window or a front porch light left on. Molly’s house was only two blocks away—too close, really, not to walk, except that he’d brought his any-and-all-emergencies kit and that weighed a ton. And while he might have a pretty good idea what was wrong with Nigel, he’d rather be prepared. For now, though, he left it in the car and just took the smaller bag inside.

  Mrs. Kennedy’s house was completely dark, but the little guesthouse blazed like a lighthouse. The front door was slightly ajar, so he just knocked a warning as he let himself in.

  Molly was on the floor, leaned against the couch, with Nigel curled on a towel beside her. Her face was drawn and colorless except for the dark circles under her eyes and a slight redness around her nose that told him she’d been crying. Her voice, though, was calm as she stroked Nigel with one hand as she dipped a finger into a small saucer of honey and slipped it into his mouth.

  She looked up as he entered, relief evident all over her face. “I’ve been putting the honey on his gums, but there’s no change,” she said quietly.

  “I didn’t expect there to be just yet. That doesn’t mean it’s not working, though.”

  Nigel only gave a halfhearted growl as he knelt next to them. “Let’s take a look at you.”

  Molly watched as he examined Nigel, but didn’t say anything to him. He was used to being peppered with anxious questions, but Molly simply stroked the cat gently, calming him, as Tate poked him for a blood sample and checked his pulse.

  Ten seconds later, he had his answer, and it proved his hunch correct. “He’s hypoglycemic. That’s when—”

  “But Nigel’s not diabetic,” Molly interrupted him, showing a familiarity with the term that suggested she probably had at least one diabetic friend or family member. Frowning, she scooped up more honey and slipped her finger into Nigel’s mouth.

  “It’s not a common thing, but there are some non-diabetes causes of hypoglycemia, and it’s usually a
sign of something else. You said he was vomiting after he ate?”

  “Pretty violently.”

  “But he was bringing something up, not just bile?”

  “Yeah, just regular vomit.”

  “Any chance he’s gotten into something poisonous?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Did you change his food?”

  Molly nodded. “It’s a special diet blend I bought online.”

  “Probably an allergic reaction, then.”

  Her jaw dropped. “This is allergies?”

  “Yes and no. My best guess is that he’s allergic to that new food, which led to the vomiting, which allowed his insulin to spike, which led to the crash. I’ll run some tests tomorrow—or later today, actually,” he corrected, “to rule out anything more serious with his liver or pancreas, but right now that seems the most likely scenario.”

  “It was supposed to be all natural and—” She cursed rather colorfully. “I looked up online about putting him on a diet and got the new food it suggested. Instead, I nearly killed him.”

  “It’s not your fault. And you did the right thing—stayed calm, called for help, and did exactly what I told you. You saved him.”

  “Will he be okay?” Her voice was quiet.

  “Once we get his sugar levels stabilized, yes. Look, he’s already stopped shaking.”

  “Oh, thank God.” Molly closed her eyes and exhaled. “Now I’m shaking like a leaf, though.”

  “Take a minute or two. I’ve got this under control.” Molly nodded and pushed to her feet. She was dressed in a long, baggy T-shirt from Bubba’s Bait Shop and some kind of yoga leggings that clung to her like a second skin and stopped just below her knees. She went into the other room, presumably her bedroom, and he could hear her muttering to herself as she opened drawers and ran water.

  He’d wait another ten minutes or so to do another glucose test, but he could tell Nigel was already starting to recover. He offered a bit more honey and Nigel licked it off his finger. The cat must be miserable, he thought, to not be growling at him.

  “Wow, he is doing better.” Molly came out of her room a few minutes later, zipping up a hoodie and carrying a pair of socks. She’d washed her face and tamed her hair. Leaning against the table, she put the socks on her feet, watching Nigel with a relieved look on her face.

  “You intervened before he got too severe.”

  “I’m sorry I got you out of bed. I panicked.”

  “This was an emergency. I don’t mind.”

  Molly gave him a weak smile. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

  “What are friends for, right?”

  “This goes above and beyond.”

  He shrugged. “Well, a cup of coffee would be nice.”

  She grinned. “That’s my specialty. Regular or decaf?”

  “Regular. I’m going to be here for a little while and I’ll need the caffeine.”

  That stopped her in her tracks. “I thought you said he was going to be okay?”

  “He will,” he assured her, “but we’ve sent his blood sugar soaring with all this honey. I want to make sure it doesn’t cause another crash.”

  “Coffee all around, then.”

  “Do you have any cat food that’s not the new stuff? Canned, preferably.”

  Molly put a kettle on the stove and went to the pantry. Opening a can, she dumped the contents into a small dish and brought it over to Tate. “Do you think he’ll actually eat after all that?”

  “It would help if he did.” He stayed with Nigel, coaxing him to take a few bites of food while Molly ground coffee beans and produced one of those French press things he’d never quite understood the point of. But then, he wasn’t a coffee connoisseur; if it was hot and strong and caffeinated, he’d drink pretty much anything.

  Molly produced not only coffee in urn-sized mugs, but biscotti as well, setting it all on the coffee table within easy reach. “Cream? Sugar? Whiskey?” she offered before she winced, then apologized. “Sorry. I forgot you don’t drink.”

  “No need to apologize. I’m not recovering or anything. It’s not like I have to fight to stay sober.”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  Since she obviously wasn’t going to ask, he offered the explanation. “It’s like avoiding veal for ethical reasons or bacon because of the nitrates. You know it’s yummy, but you also know it’s not right for you.”

  “So, black, then?”

  He nodded, pleased she’d let it go so easily. “You could use a shot, though. It would calm your nerves a little.”

  “I’m actually okay now. I find your competence to be very soothing.”

  “Glad to hear it.” And he was. More than he wanted to admit. He’d been focused on Nigel since he got here, but his focus was shifting a little now.

  Molly sat down in her original spot and rubbed Nigel’s head. “Oops, he’s a little sticky. I guess my hands were shaking more than I realized.”

  “Well, when he starts grooming himself, it’ll be one more sign he’s feeling better.” Molly leaned back and closed her eyes with a deep sigh, prompting him to say, “You’ve had a bitch of a week, haven’t you?”

  She opened one eye. “Yes, and I’m sorry you’ve had to witness so much of it. First a drunk Molly and now a weepy, freaked-out Molly.”

  “At least you don’t get drunk and weepy at the same time,” he teased. “That would be a little much to handle all at once.”

  “True. I try to limit my breakdowns to one emotion at a time. You missed my weekly Stressed Molly Children’s Fair Breakdown yesterday . . .” She grew quiet as he took another blood sample.

  “You can talk,” he told her. “This doesn’t require silence. What stressed you out?”

  “The usual,” she said offhandedly. “I’m really impressed.”

  “More like easily impressed. This is one of the easiest things in the world to do.”

  “No. You’re an awesome vet, Tate. You’re good with both animals and people.”

  The compliment was sincere, and, surprisingly, it meant a lot to him to hear her say it. “The people are harder, actually,” he told her. “But they usually don’t bite, so it’s a bit of a toss-up, I guess.” He showed her the reading on the meter. “That’s a lovely number. Let’s see if holds.”

  She held up crossed fingers. “I’m sorry I freaked out on you.”

  “Don’t be. It’s a scary thing to witness. And it was serious. If you’d waited, it could have killed him. He’s lucky you were awake.” That made him ask, “Why were you awake? Doesn’t Latte Dah open in like three hours?”

  “I’m a light sleeper and Nigel sleeps with me. I woke up when he started shaking.”

  “Luck, then.”

  “Yeah.” She took a big gulp of coffee. “It’s a good thing Sam wants more hours. She’s going to get some today.” Then her forehead wrinkled. “But you’re going to be exhausted. I’m so sorry.”

  “Quit apologizing.” He held a little food on his finger to tempt Nigel. “I’ll go in and check on everybody and get some lab work ordered on this little dude, but I’ll probably reschedule what I can and take a nice nap in my office.” Molly started to say something, but he held up a hand. “Really. Don’t apologize again. This isn’t the first time I’ve pulled an all-nighter. It’s just part of the job sometimes. And I got a couple of hours of sleep before you called.”

  “That doesn’t make me appreciate it any less.” She paused to press her head to Nigel’s, who responded by rubbing his honey-covered fur against her chin. “I hate to sound like one of those crazy cat ladies or anything, but Nigel’s my baby. I can’t bear to think of something happening to him. Especially when it’s my fault.”

  “First of all, quit blaming yourself. Nigel’s not blaming you, and I’m not blaming you, so give yourself a break. Secondly, pets are like family. It’s tough to see them ill or in pain.”

  “Nigel’s my first,” she confessed. “My sister is allergic, so we never had any growing u
p. Well, except for a few fish, but those aren’t exactly cuddly. Nigel, though, just owns me, heart and soul. Loves me unconditionally. It’s an amazing thing, and I hate that I had to wait this long to find out about it.”

  She said the words casually, but they hit him hard. Whatever she’d left behind when she came here . . . Well, it couldn’t have been good. That knowledge clashed hard with the happy face Molly presented to the world, meaning she was either in deep denial or those self-help books were worth their weight in gold.

  But the knowledge she’d been through something bad and come out okay gave him a new respect for Molly. She was more than just a pretty face, and way more than just “Molly-from-Latte-Dah.”

  The ideas he’d been merely toying with suddenly became full-fledged convictions, with plans and images and even a sound track. And while now wasn’t the time to make a move, knowing he was going to—soon—added an edge of anticipation and excitement to the situation.

  Molly bounced between concerned pet parent and gracious hostess—cooing at Nigel and then plying him with coffee and biscotti. They talked easily of small, unimportant things—Sophie and Quinn’s upcoming wedding, the bands playing during the Memorial Day weekend events, the possibility of him bringing another vet into the clinic to lighten his load, and her plans to eventually open a small coffee stand over near the beach to serve the tourists more easily. In a way, they were just killing time on the Nigel-watch, but it was nice, too. Comfortable.

  Nigel was definitely on the mend, grooming himself and snuggling up to Molly for more love. When Tate went to test his glucose one last time, Nigel hissed and swatted at him, the “poke me one more time and I’ll shred you, buddy” message abundantly clear as he stalked off in the direction of Molly’s bedroom.

  Molly laughed, then apologized. She looked tired now, with dark purple circles under her eyes from the lack of sleep, but the worry and strain had disappeared, and the color was back in her cheeks. “I’d say he’s much better now.”

  “I agree.” Tate stretched and started packing up. “I still want to run those tests on him, though. You can just drop him off at the clinic anytime after seven, and we’ll call you when he’s ready to be picked up.”