by Elle Casey
“Have you told me everything I need to know?”
“Yes. Just make sure you check every square inch of her body. If you miss any tick, you might miss the one that’s causing the problems. There could be more than one.”
“Rose, thank you so much. I have to go, but I’ll call you back later.”
“Please do. I’m going to be worried about both of you until I hear from you again.”
“Take care,” he says breathlessly, and then the line goes dead.
I hang up the phone and sit back in my chair. I have to take a few deep breaths to release the stress that built up during our call. I can’t believe how fast my heart is racing. I’ve never done a diagnosis long-distance like that. I look up at the ceiling with my hand on my chest. Please, God, let this solve Tinkerbell’s problem. Let her be okay. Having recently experienced a near-death experience with my little Banana, I know what Greg is going through. But I see death every day, so it’s possible this is harder on him than Banana’s accident was on me. I wish I could be there for him, and not just over the telephone.
I’m tempted to hop on a plane or into a car and get myself to Manhattan, but then I imagine myself showing up at his door, smiling and waving, and saying, “Hello, remember me?” He’d think I was a lunatic. Nope. Can’t do it. I’m going to have to sit here and wait to hear from him, hoping for good news. Not that I could go on that crazy adventure anyway. Who would watch the animals? I ignore the nagging thought telling me I don’t have that many patients these days, because I never know when another one will show up and people expect me to be here for them. I’d never forgive myself if an injured animal came in with no one here to help them.
For the first time in my life I feel tied down by my job. It’s a lot different from voluntarily being here and giving up on having any kind of life by choice. It makes me sad. I love my work so much, but it does interfere with me joining the rest of the world sometimes. My mind drifts over to my last conversation with Greg about the settlement. He seemed to agree that it would be a really bad idea for me to take it, but like my sisters were saying, I could do so much good with it.
I let the fantasy conjure in my mind . . . I could build a facility in a commercial area in town. It wouldn’t be as convenient, but it would be totally legal and there would be nothing the town council could do about it. I’d have more modern X-ray machines hooked to computers, MRI machines, and ultrasound units. I’d have several operating suites and tons of exam rooms. I’d hire veterinarians who have experience in all kinds of animal care. Heck, I could even go to vet school myself and start doing all the surgeries I know I’m already qualified to do. I’ve watched Dr. Masters do enough of them over the last few years, and I’ve assisted in almost every single one of them. He used to let me do a lot of the stitching, too, and I’ve gotten pretty good at it. Vet school would be so amazing . . .
The phone rings again, and I grab it without looking at the caller ID. “Hello, this is Rose.” I forget to add the rest of my normal greeting, expecting to hear Greg on the other end of the line.
There’s silence for a few seconds, and then the breathing starts.
A fury builds in me, spreading like wildfire, and the anger takes over. “I don’t know who you are, but this is getting ridiculous!” I shout. “I’ve got much better things to do with my time than listen to your stupid, sorry, loser breath in my ear, do you hear me?! I’m calling the cops on you right now! They’re going to trace this call, and you’re going to be in a load of trouble, buster. A whole shitload of it.”
The phone clicks dead.
I hang up too and rub my arms, the goose bumps coming out in force to cover my body. Banana trots over and sits at my feet, looking up at me and whining.
I pet his head and scratch behind his ears, allowing his concern for me to calm my nerves. There’s no need to get him all anxious too. He needs all of his energy to finish healing his body. “Thanks, Banana. I needed that.” I get on my computer and find a telephone number for the local police department. The dispatcher tells me a police officer will call me back soon. I hang up the phone and frown. “Yeah, right. It’ll probably be Officer What’s-His-Name again, and this time I doubt I’ll be able to convince him to fill out a police report.”
I spend the next hour cleaning the already spick-and-span lobby. I even do the windows, knowing they will soon be dirtied again. It’s that time of year—not quite cold enough for moisture to freeze every day—so it’s thunderstorms and mud splatters for us.
The phone rings again, and fear makes me freeze up. I look across the lobby at my desk. I want it to be Greg, but it could be that crank caller again. I’m breathing heavily, trying to manage the stress. Fear is a powerful thing, and I hate that it’s ruling my emotions.
Banana nudges me on the leg, distracting me. I smile down at him, realizing that he knows me better than most people. This panic is just plain silly. I can’t let my fear win. I go over to the phone, but this time I’m smarter and check the caller ID. It’s a Manhattan area code, so I grab the handset and throw it up to my ear without hesitation.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Hi. It’s me again.”
I sigh with relief. “It’s so good to hear your voice. What’s going on? Do you have an update yet?”
“Well, they did find two ticks on her. You were right about that.” Greg sounds exhausted. “My dog has never had a tick in her life. I can’t believe it. They found two.”
“Anything else?”
“They were impressed with your diagnosis. They don’t see that very often in Manhattan, I guess. Or ever, actually. The doctor told me this is a first for them.”
“I don’t imagine they would see it.” I’m filled with relief. This feels right. I pray my intuition has worked this time.
“They said they’ll know more in a couple hours, but they also said they were encouraged by the first signs. Now the blood results they had make more sense too.”
“Okay, so we’re going to be cautiously optimistic, then.”
“Yes. That’s what I’m going to do . . . or be . . . whatever.” He lets out a long, ragged sigh. “I don’t know what I’m going to do if she doesn’t make it.” He goes silent, and I’m pretty sure he’s shedding some tears.
“Why don’t we worry about that when and if the time comes? We’re not there yet, right?” I can’t tell him it’s going to be okay and give him false hope. I’ve been around enough sick animals to know this could go either way really quickly.
“Yeah. Let’s talk about something else.”
“What do you want to talk about? I’m totally free for at least the next half hour.”
“How about we talk about your lawsuit?”
“Do we have to?” Here I was hoping we’d talk about his next visit. Major bummer.
“No, we don’t have to. Would you rather talk about something else?”
“No, you might as well tell me what you know. It’s not going to help me to stick my head in the sand and pretend my problem doesn’t exist.”
“You don’t need to sound so sad about it; it’s not all bad news.”
Hope? There’s hope? I sit up straighter in my chair. “Okay. I’m listening.”
“I told you about the guy in my office who owes me a favor, right?”
“Yes, you did. I hope it’s a big favor that he owes you.”
“It is, but I don’t have to call the entire favor in, actually.”
“You don’t?”
“Nope.” I can hear the smile in his voice now. “I don’t have to be licensed in Maine to do legal research, so I did a little digging, and it’s pretty clear what’s going on here.”
“What’s that?” My heart fills with real, honest-to-goodness hope. Hallelujah!
“Shenanigans, is what.”
His answer takes me aback. Is he joking? “Shenanigans? Is that an official legal term?”
“In my office it is. Some court districts would call it ‘illegal maneuvering,’ though.”
“Tell me.” I am getting all fired up over the idea that the people in town are trying to pull a fast one on me. Oh, they are going to be so sorry. If I took that settlement money, I could sic a whole army of lawyers on their butts. The idea is more than tempting.
“Your town council recently made a change in the local laws that seems to be directly designed to impact you.”
“What do you mean?”
“They changed the language in a couple of their town ordinances. I went back into the other lawsuits they filed against you—got copies of them from the clerk—and these are the same ordinances they used to sue you before. The problem for them back then was, the way the language was structured in the past, your lawyer was able to prove that the rules didn’t apply to you or your situation. However, they recently changed the language of those ordinances, and it appears as if they tailored them specifically so that they could get around your lawyer’s arguments, and then they basically refiled the same lawsuits. They tried to tweak them enough to get around defeat by a motion to dismiss, but I’m not sure they were successful with it.”
“Those dirty bastards.” I swear, if steam could come out of a person’s ears like it does in the cartoons, I’d be screaming like a teakettle right now.
“Exactly. It’s dirty pool and not permitted in any jurisdiction. I’m pretty sure we’re going to be able to get this lawsuit thrown out. Now the question is, how aggressive do you want to get over this?”
“What do you mean?” I’m thinking about putting together a posse. Would that be aggressive enough? I’m pretty sure I could get Ty and Sam to ride with me.
“We could countersue them for harassment. It’s pretty clear what they’re up to. I’m looking at it as an outsider, and I really haven’t done that much digging yet, but it’s pretty obvious. If you want, we can go after them for going after you. It would put them on notice that you’re not somebody they should be messing with.”
I chew my lip as I think about it. This sounds like something that would need an army of lawyers and therefore be very expensive. “What would you advise me to do if you were my lawyer?”
“I don’t know at this point. There’s a lot that goes into these decisions; it’s not purely a legal thing.”
“I trust you to give me advice that isn’t just legal.”
“You do?”
“Yeah, of course.” My heart warms. “I think you get me. I feel like . . . we get along.”
“Me too.”
I don’t know what to say to his mutual feelings. All I know is that they make me happy.
“I’ve been thinking about you a lot this week,” Greg says, his voice softer. He doesn’t sound like a lawyer anymore; he sounds like the man who was standing in my lobby wearing a flannel shirt and playing with my dogs.
“You have?”
“Yeah.”
Heart flutter. “I hope they were good thoughts.”
“Absolutely. Really good.”
I feel like a schoolgirl experiencing her first crush. “Well, I have a confession.”
“You do, huh?”
“Yes. I’ve been thinking about you a lot, too.”
“Good thoughts?”
I nod like a bobblehead doll on the dashboard of a car driving down a potholed country road. “Yes. For sure. All good thoughts.”
“Sooo . . . I guess that means you haven’t talked to your sister lately.”
I frown. “My sister? Do you mean Amber?”
He chuckles. “Yeah. She’s mad at me right now.”
“She hasn’t said a word, but I haven’t seen much of her. I’ve been kind of lying low.” I don’t want to tell him why—that I’m keeping my sisters out of my business until this thing with Greg is more defined . . . more certain.
“Are you really busy at the clinic?”
Now I either have to lie or tell him the truth and expose myself. Dammit. “Not really. I still don’t have a vet here, so I’ve had to turn a lot of people away.”
“What have you been busy with if not the clinic?”
I run my fingers across the keyboard of the laptop. I could tell him it’s my new computer that’s been taking up all my time, but that wouldn’t be true. “I don’t know. I’ve just been spending more time away from the house. I guess I’m not ready for the interrogation that I know is waiting for me.” There. I confessed. I thought I’d feel better saying this out loud to him, but now I’m worse off. Talk about nervous. I’m halfway to telling him I have a crush on him.
“Interrogation? About the lawsuit?”
I sigh. “No, not about the lawsuit. About you.”
“About me? Did something happen?”
“No, nothing other than the fact that you and I spent some time together and it put us on Amber’s radar.”
There’s a long pause before he responds. “Oh. I gotcha. She wants to talk to you about why we spent so much time together, is that it?”
“Yes. That and other things.”
“And you don’t want to talk to her about it?”
“It’s not that I don’t want to do that, exactly. We talk to each other about everything. It’s just . . .”
“You don’t want to tell me, do you?”
“Not really?” I chuckle, relieved that he doesn’t sound mad. In fact, he sounds like he might be teasing me.
“You know, I’m hundreds of miles away.” Yeah, he’s definitely teasing me; I can tell by the tone of his voice.
“So?”
“You could pretty much say anything you want and not be embarrassed or be worried about what I think.”
“Because of the distance?”
“Sure. Isn’t it easier to talk to somebody when you can’t see them looking at you?”
“I guess.”
“Sure it is. So go ahead. Say what you have to say.”
“I’m not sure I have anything to say.” I laugh again, feeling giddy about how sweet he’s being and how close I am to telling him all of my secrets.
“Come on. Help keep my mind off my problems. Talk to me about your life.”
I roll my eyes and sigh loudly, acting as though I’m being put out. Secretly, I’m thrilled to have somebody pushing me toward speaking the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. I might as well tell him how I’m feeling. What’s the worst that could happen? I could go too far and he could decide not to visit me anymore. Like Amber said, they can do all of their business long-distance. I’d never have to see him again if I embarrass myself too much.
“The more I get to know you, the closer I feel to you,” I say. “And I like spending time with you. You’re a cool guy.” Phew. That wasn’t so bad . . .
“I like spending time with you too,” he says tenderly.
“I was thinking after that kiss . . .” Oh, this is so hard! I can’t finish. I can’t . . .
“Yes? Go on.”
I take a breath and dive in. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. “I thought maybe we would do more of it. Or something.” I’m sweating from nervous energy.
He chuckles. “Or something. I like the sound of that.” His tone is devious. Sexy. Wow.
My nipples go hard as my whole body shivers. Greg makes this happen with a simple statement. This guy has so much sexual power over me, I can’t even imagine what it would be like to actually feel his hands on my skin.
“So, yeah,” I say, letting out my stress in one long sigh. “Things are kind of crazy or could be crazy between us, and I don’t want to mess it up by getting Amber involved.”
“She does have a tendency to dive right in and make things a little nuts,” he says.
“Yeah. She’s a bit of a rabble-rouser, my sister.”
“She’s good at shaking things up, for sure, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing.”
“I hear it’s been good for the band.”
“It has. I have to give her credit for that. It’s making my life more difficult, but it’s making theirs more successful, so I can’t complai
n. The better off they are, the better off the firm is.”
“I’ll bet it makes Veronica happy,” I say, jealousy temporarily taking over my tongue. I can imagine her standing at his side, assisting him with all of his work. I wonder if she’s the woman Amber told me about who always wears see-through blouses and leans over his desk to show him her cleavage.
“What do you mean?”
“Doesn’t she help you with your work?” I try to sound innocent, but I’m not sure I’m pulling it off. The jealousy monster has this woman looking like a supermodel in my head.
“Yes. Some of it.”
I stop myself from saying anything else. It’s totally not my place to be involved in his work life. Somebody must have put a crazy pill in my breakfast muffin this morning.
“You sound upset. Are you worried about me working with her?”
“No, no, no. Please don’t think that. It’s none of my business.”
“I’d still like to know your opinion about it.”
“I don’t know that I have an opinion about it.” I’m lying. Of course I have an opinion; I’m a woman, after all. I don’t know this Veronica person other than the fact that she voluntarily watches his dog when he’s out of town, which is really convenient for him and for me. I wouldn’t want her to be in a bad situation because of something I said that was totally out of line.
“Come on, you must have some thoughts on the matter,” he prompts.
“What do you care? Why does my opinion matter to you so much?” I’m trying to change the subject and fish for a compliment at the same time. Is this skilled conversational work or me being pitiful? I do not know.
“Because. You’re different.” He makes a noise that signals either frustration or humor; it’s hard for me to tell long-distance. “I don’t know, to be honest with you. This whole thing . . . It’s throwing me for a bit of a loop.”
“What whole thing?”
“You. Me. Me going out there to the farm just to see you.”
