Rose

by Elle Casey

  I busy myself with cleaning Banana and giving him lots of kisses to help calm him. I sense anxiety in his vocalizations and struggles, and I need to get rid of as much of it as possible or it’ll interfere with his healing. Animals can be so sensitive, even the crazy ones like Banana, and stress is never good for them. I find a bedsheet in the back room and hold it out at my pup so he can give it a good sniff before I use it on him.

  “What are you going to do with that?” Greg asks.

  “I’m going to put this under his armpits so that I can stand over him and use it as a sling to hold up his front end while we walk. That way, if he slips with that cast on, he won’t go down and neither will I.”

  “Can I help get him up on his feet?”

  “Yes, you absolutely can. Let him sniff your hands first so he can get to know you a little bit.” I’m so glad Greg decided to walk me down here. I don’t know if my sisters would’ve had the strength to do what needs to be done.

  I thread the sheet under my patient’s legs and spread out the material to make sure it doesn’t cut into him anywhere. Scratching him behind his ears, I speak softly. “Banana, you need to get up and walk around a little bit, okay?”

  He wags his tail weakly.

  “I’m going to help you. I need you to trust me, okay?” Normally, Banana would never bite anyone, but stress and fear can change a dog’s temperament in a flash.

  He licks my hand. I nod at Greg, who positions himself behind the dog after letting him lick his fingers. “I think we’re ready.”

  Greg reaches down and very gently lifts Banana’s chest and belly. I stand too, holding the sheet in either hand, supporting Banana’s front end. Together, Greg and I get him on his feet.

  Banana immediately starts getting excited and tries to move too fast.

  “Just calm down, sweetie.” I grunt with the effort of holding up twenty-five pounds of excited, two-and-a-half-legged border collie. “Banana Bread, calm down.”

  “You want me to let him go?” Greg is leaning over, nearly bent in two.

  “Sure, we can try it. But be ready to grab him, in case he falls.”

  Greg switches his attention to my patient. “Okay, little guy. We’re gonna do this. You ready?”

  Banana looks up at him and smiles, his tongue hanging out of his mouth as his tail sways slowly from side to side.

  Greg’s gray eyes catch mine. “I think he just said yes.”

  Greg’s grin is so charming, I have to look away. I need to focus on my dog, not on the cute guy who’s so close I can smell his citrusy shampoo.

  “Yep. He’s ready and so am I. Let’s do this.” I put some tension on the sheet as Greg slowly releases his hold. Banana is standing on his three legs, the one in a cast held stiffly out to the side. He stops wagging his tail and looks unsure of himself.

  “Just take one step toward me, sweetie.” I back up half a step.

  Banana follows me, his little cast thumping on the ground when he uses that leg.

  “Good boy!” Greg says. He sounds genuinely excited. “That’s awesome. You’re a champ, you know that?”

  “You are a champ, Banana Muffin,” I say, pride and relief nearly overwhelming me. Tears rush to my eyes, but I ignore them. “Now let’s take another step. Come on. Follow me.”

  I take a step back and Banana follows, cheered on by Greg’s excitement at his progress. Greg is hunched over, walking with his hands out on either side of the dog, just in case.

  “Look at him go,” Greg says enthusiastically. “The three-legged dog turned two-legged dog, walking like a superstar. He should be on television.”

  “He is a superstar,” I say, my heart filled with love and pride for my little fighter. A tear slips out and runs down my cheek. I use my shoulder to wipe it off.

  “How did he lose his leg?” Greg asks in a quieter tone as we take another step forward together.

  The memory hits me like a punch in the gut. It still burns me up just to think about it. “Somebody threw him out of a car window.” I’ll never be able to tell Banana’s story without feeling sick with anger.

  Greg looks up at me sharply. “Are you kidding me?”

  I shake my head. “Sadly, no. There are some pretty horrible people out there in the world.”

  “I know, but . . . I guess I’ve never really seen this kind of abuse up close, or the evidence of it up close.”

  “No, I can’t imagine you would have, sitting in a high-rise office in Manhattan. Lucky you.” I don’t mean for my response to be rude, but by the way his jaw tenses, I know he’s taken my comment the wrong way.

  I open my mouth to apologize, but then Banana takes a couple of quick steps and pulls my attention back to him. I need to focus so I don’t injure him, so I let it go. I worry my patient will overdo it, so I gather the sheet into one hand and reach over to grab the counter.

  “Let me help you,” Greg says, reaching a hand toward me. “What are we doing?”

  “I think we need to bring him back. I don’t want him to do too much on his first try. He’ll get sore and then he won’t be able to go again later.”

  “Gotcha.” Greg lifts the dog from underneath, holding my baby as though he’s made of glass. He brings him over to his sleeping pad, which I’ve cleaned and replaced, and I use the support from the sheet to help him lower Banana.

  “Do you want him standing up or lying down?”

  “Lying down, but maybe he can do it himself. Let’s give him a chance to try.”

  “Sure, no problem.” Greg slowly releases his hands after putting Banana on three legs, but keeps a close watch.

  “Lie down, Banana,” I say authoritatively. This is a command he knows well. Being the mascot of the clinic, it’s imperative that he know when to chill out and take a spot on the floor. He learned this when he was three months old, before he’d even recovered from his amputation surgery.

  He moves in awkward circles on three legs and looks around, stressed when he realizes that nothing on his body is working like it should. He wants to do what I’m telling him to, but he can’t. It’s heartbreaking to watch him become disappointed in himself.

  “You want me to help him?” Greg asks.

  I don’t have the heart to push Greg aside and do it all myself. He sounds like he really wants to help. “Yes, please. Just be gentle and put him on his left side.”

  Greg picks him up and gently places him down. He looks like a pro who’s been treating sick animals all his life. Banana thanks him with lots of licks while Greg scratches the dog’s neck, ears, and muzzle. Even if I’d never seen this man with his Yorkie, I’d know from his actions this evening that he’s a dog person. He knows all the things they love—scratches and encouraging words—and he delivers them expertly. I find myself feeling a little jealous of my pup. I wish there were someone out there who knew how to touch me in all the right places and make me feel so loved.

  Greg looks up at me and freezes. “What? Am I doing something wrong?”

  I hurriedly shake my head. “No. I was just thinking how jealous I am that you’re such a good . . . uhh . . . dog scratcher.” I try to laugh it off, like I didn’t just say something totally weird.

  “Oh . . . well . . . you know I like dogs.” He stands and swings his arms like a small boy would do. Then he slides his hands into his back pockets, his elbows jutting out behind him. He looks around the room. “So, what’s next?”

  I sigh, petting Banana a few more times before I stand and put the baby gate around his sleeping area. “What’s next is I try to get some sleep. Good luck with that, right?” I laugh without humor as I look down at my little buddy.

  “Maybe I can help you set up the cot?”

  I nod. “Sure. That would be great. While you do that, I’ll check on my other patients.”

  I go into the back room and make sure that everybody’s tucked in for the night. Oscar Mayer is curled up in a ball in his kennel, sleeping on the fluffy little bed that someone from the farmers’ market donat
ed to the clinic. I slowly back out of the room, trying not to wake him. Once he gets going, it’s hard to get him to stop, and it’s too late for him to be awake now. Whoever adopts him will want to have a dog who sleeps during the night, not plays.

  When I return to the lobby, my cot is set up and ready for me. There’s a sheet on it, and the blanket is tucked in around it, the top of it folded back as if inviting me to slide in between the covers and go to sleep. I can almost believe it will be comfortable, too.

  “Wow. That’s impressive.” Greg went to a lot of trouble to make my bed seem welcoming, and I could kiss him for it.

  “What?” he asks. “The bed?”

  “Yes, the bed. This is the most comfortable-looking cot I’ve ever seen.” I hope he can tell from my tone how grateful I am for his help, because I’m not really going to kiss him just for making my bed, even though the idea has merit. He sure looks like he’d be a good kisser with those full lips of his.

  “I was in the military.” He shrugs. “I can’t help myself.”

  “You were? What branch?”

  “Air force. I was in the JAG Corps.”

  “What’s that?” I’m imagining a guy with a sniper rifle perched on a ridge, seeking out the enemy while wearing camouflage gear and face paint. In my vision there are lots of muscles involved and primitive-looking tattoos.

  “Basically, I was a lawyer for people serving in the air force.”

  “Oh. That makes sense.” Way more sense than what I was thinking. I couldn’t really picture him sniping anyone . . . not after seeing him with Banana and that tiny dog of his.

  An awkward silence settles around us. I need to brush my teeth and go to bed, but he’s been such a great help to me, I feel bad kicking him out.

  “Do you sleep here often?” he asks. He rubs his hands together, making me think he’s as uncomfortable as I am. He looks at me, cringing. “That just sounded like a pickup line, didn’t it?”

  I play it back in my head and have to smile. “Now that I think about it, maybe.”

  “Do you come here often? Do you sleep here often?” He’s mocking himself, taking the pressure off both of us.

  “To answer your question, yes, I do sleep here often.”

  “Then why is your cot up at the house?”

  “Because I usually don’t bother with it.”

  “Were you in the military too?”

  “No, why?”

  “Because the only people I know who can sleep on a hard floor on a regular basis are marines.”

  I look behind him. “I usually sleep there.”

  He frowns, looking over his shoulder at the reception area. “Where? Behind the desk?”

  “Yes.”

  “On the floor? It doesn’t look like there’s much room back there.”

  “No, sitting in the chair.”

  He frowns and walks over to the desk, pulling out the chair to examine it more closely. “Okay . . . well . . . that’s just nuts.”

  I laugh at his incredulity. “Why?”

  He looks up at me. “You spend how many nights a week out here?”

  “I don’t know . . . Two? Three? It depends on how many patients I have and how serious their conditions are.”

  “And you sleep sitting up in a chair?”

  “No. I put my head on the desk.”

  “Oh, of course. Your head is on the desk. That’s completely different.”

  I shrug at his sarcasm. “What can I say? After doing it so many times, I don’t really think about it anymore. I just sit in the chair, put my head down on the desk, and fall asleep.”

  He nods, staring at me. It’s unnerving.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “Because I’ve just learned something interesting about you.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Well . . . I’ve learned that you’re pretty crazy,” he says, looking at my desk. His smile fades quickly.

  “Oh, you have, have you?”

  “Yes, I definitely have.” He lifts his brows and looks away, shaking his head slowly.

  I get the impression that he’s not just talking about me sleeping in the chair now. I lose a little bit of my smile. He means me not taking the settlement also makes me crazy; I know he does. He saw that letter, he knows I’m being sued, and he thinks I’m nuts because all that money could make my problems go away.

  “What’s the matter?” he asks, clearly catching the expression on my face. “You know I’m only kidding, right?”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “But you’re not smiling anymore. I said something that bothers you.”

  I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter. I’m just tired.” I look at the door, hoping he’ll take the hint.

  “You’re not going to tell me what it was that I did?”

  “It really doesn’t matter. I promise.” We had a nice couple of moments together, but he’s leaving tomorrow, and I have work to do. And I’m exhausted. And I’m not taking that damn money, no matter how desperate I am.

  “Okay. Well, I guess I should let you get to sleep.” He points at the cot. “There . . . ,” he points to the chair behind the desk, “not there.”

  I nod, holding back my smile. He can be a nice guy when he wants to be. “Thanks. I appreciate your help . . . carrying all that stuff down here and helping with Banana, too.”

  “Are you going to walk him again tonight?”

  I look over at my patient, who is, thankfully, sleeping. “No, not tonight. In the morning, after he’s had a good night’s sleep.”

  “I can come back and help out if you want.”

  “Don’t you have a plane to catch?”

  “Yeah, but it’s leaving later in the day.”

  I shrug. “Okay, sure, if you have time before you go, feel free to come back and help.” I never turn down offers of assistance at the clinic, even when they come from a man who makes me feel funny inside, who makes me smile one moment and frown the next.

  “Great.” His face lights up. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

  “That’ll be nice.” I’m not lying when I say that. It beats doing everything out here alone. Talking to him for the past forty-five minutes or so has reminded me how much I miss having male company. It’s been too long.

  A flash of brilliance hits me. Why on earth am I just sitting in this clinic every single night instead of getting out into the world a little? I’m not an old maid; I’m a young, nice, intelligent person. I deserve to have some fun, don’t I? Yes, I do.

  So . . . I’ve decided . . . That’s it. After Greg leaves and I get Banana back on his feet, I’m going to go to the bar in town and have a beer with someone cute. Maybe we’ll go out on a date. Or several dates. Heck . . . maybe we’ll have hot, sexy sex too! I’ve been single and celibate for too long. My inability to have a simple, easy conversation with a man like Greg Lister is proof of that.

  “I’ll bring you breakfast,” he says, oblivious to my internal declaration of future sexual liberation.

  “Perfect.” I walk over to the door and pull it open for him.

  Greg pauses in the entrance. He’s so close, I can feel his warmth. It’s almost as if I’m absorbing his heat into my body, making it so the air sneaking through the door can’t touch me, despite its freezing temperature.

  I lift my hand and wave it a little, hoping to get past the awkward moment of saying goodbye.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says, his voice soft and low. His eyes search mine, for what I do not know. Truth? Proof of mutual sexual desire? It’s impossible for me to discern. Pulses of energy flow between us. He leans forward just the slightest bit. His eyes are so beautiful, his stare intense. His lips are full. I could so easily kiss him, but . . .

  I drop my gaze as I step back. “If you come down here, you will see me for sure.” My heart is hammering in my chest. I just came so close to making a big mistake . . . starting something with a man who will do nothing but take what I have to offer
and then leave me the next day. I know I said I’m going to go to a bar and pick up some cute guy after Banana is all healed, but I’m full of crap. That’s not me. I can’t be with a man who will touch my body intimately one night and then leave me the next. I’m not the kind of girl who can turn off her feelings so easily like that.

  He reaches up and pats me on the shoulder for a couple seconds before his face goes blank. When he pulls his hand away, he stares at it in confusion. “Okay, yeah. Well . . . bye.” He steps out the door and is soon jogging up the road to the house.

  I shut out the cold and lock the newly repaired door behind him. Looking through the window, I see nothing, but I continue staring out into the darkness as I think about what just happened between Greg and me. For a second, I thought he was going to kiss me. I moved away before he could, but I don’t regret it. I’m glad I did that. Nothing good could come of me kissing the man charged with getting me to accept a legal settlement that I want nothing to do with. Maybe he felt the awkwardness too . . . realized that it would be a mistake. That’s why he patted me on the shoulder instead of trying harder.

  I should be satisfied with how we ended our evening together, but I’m not. I feel . . . anxious. Unsettled. If I hadn’t pulled back, would he have kissed me? Would I have kissed him back? It bugs me that I don’t know the answers to these questions. I should be sure of myself, like I am every other day of the week, with every other person who stands in front of me, but I’m not. Even after I brush my teeth and crawl under the blanket on my cot, I’m still wondering what I would have done if Greg had leaned in and touched his lips to mine. I fall asleep before I can come up with an answer.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  I’m up before the sun taking care of the animals, cleaning wounds and replacing bandages as I wait for my breakfast. Normally, I miss the first meal of the day because I’m so busy, and usually by the time I realize I’m hungry, it’s already lunchtime. But knowing that Greg will be bringing the food today changes things.

  I dreamed about him last night. In my sleeping fantasy, he didn’t just put his hand on my shoulder at the door as he left last night; he kissed me, and it was incredible. And we didn’t stop at a kiss either. Just thinking about how far we went makes me hot all over again. After feeling these sensations and seeing this dream-version of Greg—enigmatic, seductive, passionate—I’m starting to think there are parts of him that could be very interesting, even though he does a pretty good job of being nearly invisible when he’s standing in a group of people. My subconscious has picked up on it and is nagging at me to uncover his hidden personality traits.