Running Wild (Wild 3)

We walk back in an oddly comfortable silence. Tank, free of his grooming session, trots behind me.

“What’d you say that pregnant dog was at? Thirty days?”

“Thirty-two. Frank already did the X-rays. She’s having six.”

“So another month before she whelps.” I can avoid Tyler until then, unless there’s a fight requiring stitches. I climb into my truck and slam the door. “I’ll have Cory send you a detailed fee list so you understand all my rates up front. And they’re nonnegotiable.” I hold my breath, waiting for him to ask if those will be discounted kennel rates.

Tyler settles an arm on my door where the window is rolled down. It’s a strategic move. I can’t pull away without possibly injuring him. “Why do I feel like you’re trying to scare me away?”

“Maybe I am.”

“I don’t scare easily.” His focus wanders ahead of us, over the trees, as if searching for something. “You going straight to your clinic?”

“Yeah. Why?”

Amusement dances in his eyes. “Might want to change.” He nods toward my T-shirt.

I look down to find two muddy paw prints conveniently located on my chest, like well-placed handprints. Which explains why Tyler’s gaze kept veering there all morning.

I sigh as I crank my engine. “At least I didn’t get peed on again.”

“And Marie?” He leans in a touch, as if sharing a secret, and my nose catches a faint but delightful mixture of clean sweat and spearmint gum. “Don’t fire Cory. She meant well.” With a wink and a pat against my door, he shifts away.

My cheeks burn as I drive off.

He did see my calendar.

I spend the long, bumpy driveway considering ways to punish my assistant for that stunt. By the time I’ve reached the end, I’ve decided she’ll be taking on all anal gland secretion appointments for the foreseeable future, beginning with Gladys Burt’s twelve-year-old pug this afternoon.

A familiar truck slows as I’m pulling out of Tyler’s driveway. It’s Bonnie Hatchett, her shriveled face angled toward me.

With a curse under my breath, I force a smile and wave on my way past, not slowing.

Well, that secret didn’t last long.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The familiar clown horn honks outside the clinic at one minute to noon, pulling a chuckle from Cory. “You having lunch with your dad today?”

I peer out the window to see him sitting in the UTV, his splinted leg stretched out the open side—a maneuver I doubt his doctor would approve of. A picnic basket sits on the seat beside him. “I guess I am.” We hadn’t planned on it, but if my father is here with sandwiches, it means he wants to talk.

And I already know what it’s about.

Harry called me yesterday to find out why his mother saw me pulling out of Tyler’s driveway. I’d bet my professional license and a thousand dollars that Bonnie was standing opposite him, coaching him on what to say.

I didn’t lie. I shouldn’t have to.

But that set off a tirade, because Harry also happened to drive out to Linda Cogsby’s kennel yesterday to get an answer, and he didn’t like the one he got—she’s holding out for a dog from Tyler Brady.

Harry delivered an ultimatum to me, I told him he would not be dictating my clients and patients, and he informed me that the Hatchetts would no longer be clients of mine.

I haven’t told anyone yet—not Cory, not my father—as I try to wrap my head around what this means for the clinic’s bottom line. But my guess is, my father has already heard.

“Joe and I are going up to the ranch to pay a deposit.” Cory collects her purse. “I might be a few minutes late, if that’s okay?”

“Of course. Have fun.” A part of me is envious of my assistant. I remember when Jonathan and I were going through the motions of planning a wedding. It was exciting for a time, despite how it all fell apart in the end. We visited locations around Anchorage, collected quotes, but I kept finding excuses for why none of them felt right. It turns out the location was never the issue. I needed a different groom.

“You want me to lock up?”

“It’s fine. We won’t go far.” Dad still struggles on his crutches on smooth ground. I’d rather he stay put out here.

I flip the Closed sign on the clinic door and grab a light jacket as I walk out. It’s sixty-five degrees Fahrenheit today—the warmest it’s been all month, given the onslaught of rain we’ve had. But I don’t mind, because more rain means less risk of the forest fires that have ravaged the state, year after year.

All three dogs followed my father here, but they’re busy sniffing the bushes for various scents from clinic animals relieving themselves. “I can’t believe Mom allowed this.”

“I snuck out while she was distracted.” He pats the basket. “I thought you’d like to watch me eat, if you’ve got time.”