Born To Die (Alvarez & Pescoli)

“Fine.”

“Go ahead and finish up the receipts for the day, and you can leave as soon as the injured dog is brought in.” Jordan Eagle’s gaze moved to Kacey and the forms she’d begun completing. “You’re looking to adopt?” Her face softened a tad.

Nodding, Kacey introduced herself, then explained, “I don’t think I’m interested in a puppy, but I would like a medium-sized dog, one that’s housebroken and good with kids and other animals.” For just a second she remembered her fears that someone had been in her house and the reasons she’d decided, despite all her arguments against it, to find a dog. “I’m interested in a dog that seems a little more intimidating than he really is. One that will bark if there’s an intruder, but not attack a neighbor kid on a bike or go out of his head barking at squirrels running along the roof.”

The vet actually smiled. “Oh, you only want the perfect pet.”

“That would be nice. Yeah.”

As she closed the till, Amber rolled her eyes.

If her boss noticed, she ignored the girl’s passive-aggressive attitude. Cocking her head toward the archway behind the desk, Jordan added, “Come on through the back way and let me introduce you to Bonzi.”

Amber immediately perked up. “Oh . . . Bonzi! He’s the best!”

“That he is. Buzz me when the O’Halleran dog gets here,” she instructed, then said to Kacey, “This way.” With quick, sharp footsteps she led the way, whisking Kacey through a labyrinth of rooms. “Unfortunately, we’ve got a lot of dogs right now,” the vet said, frowning as she led Kacey past an examination room, then a surgery station and an area with deep sinks where the animals were bathed.

A few cats and dogs who were under the vet’s care watched from their cages as Jordan swept into another hallway to another part of the connected buildings, where the animals for adoption were kept.

At the sound of the door opening, a cacophony of barks and yips echoed to the rafters. “An enthusiastic lot,” the vet said. They walked into a large room with several rows of kennels. “This is where we keep the animals that aren’t being foster-cared,” Jordan explained. “After they’re given a health exam and their vaccinations. This is meant to be a temporary spot. We always try to place all the adoptable animals with foster families before they find their forever home, but right now we’re on overload.” She walked along a short aisle, touching a few wet noses pressed toward her. “I’d adopt them all if I could, but ... we do what we can. Here we go. This is Bonzi, breed undetermined, a regular Heinz Fifty-seven though if I had to guess, I’d say, probably boxer, pit bull and, oh, maybe a ridgeback somewhere back in his lineage. He’s about three or four, and docile and sweet, though his bark is pretty scary. Hey, there, Bonz,” she said, opening the cage and snapping a leash on him. “This way.” She patted the dog’s broad head as she snapped on the lead, then walked to another area, an expansive room where the dogs were obviously exercised.

Bonzi’s short coat was the color of warm caramel, and each of his paws was splashed with white to give him the appearance of wearing four white stockings of differing sizes. But it was his eyes that she noticed most. Dark brown and wise and kind.

He stood as tall as her knee.

“This is medium sized?” she asked.

“Well, on the large end of medium,” the vet admitted. “Not quite eighty pounds.”

Despite the fact that he was

about forty more pounds of dog than she’d expected, Kacey was smitten. Bonzi was calm and friendly, with a whiplike tail that Kacey was sure could clear a coffee table.

“His owners had to give him up because of a divorce ... and now separate apartments with restrictions on pets. It’s a bad situation, and they hated to leave him, but they had no choice. The good news is that he spent the first couple of years of his life with another, smaller dog, two cats, and a little girl. Gentle with all. The family struggled giving him up but just couldn’t keep him.” A bell sounded, Bonzi gave out a deep, sharp bark, and the doctor said, “That’s my patient!”

Trace O’Halleran’s injured dog. Without thinking, Kacey looked toward the door leading to the animal hospital.

“I’ll leave you two to get acquainted. Amber will come and put Bonzi back before you leave, and if you want to adopt him, give me a call tomorrow.”

“Oh, I want him,” she said, but Jordan was already gone, her footsteps fading and a door opening and closing behind her. Kacey eyed the “medium-sized” dog and sat down on the cement floor. “Okay, Bonzi. So what’s your story?”

In response the dog yawned, showing a mouthful of huge teeth, then sighing, circled, lay down beside her, and placed his head upon her crossed leg. She scratched his ears, and he sighed through his nose, his wise eyes staring up at her.

Guard dog? She doubted it, though his bark was definitely unsettling, and when she thought of an intruder stalking the halls of her house, she knew she’d feel a lot safer with the dog in her house. Anyway, the decision was already made. With his heavy jaw upon her thigh, Kacey knew she’d be with this almost eighty-pounder for the rest of his life.

CHAPTER 17

The last person Trace O’Halleran expected to emerge from the back rooms of the veterinary clinic where he waited with his boy for the diagnosis on his battered dog was Doctor Acacia Lambert. But there she was, big as life, her eyes as inquisitive as he remembered, her face just as beautiful.

And it pissed him off that he even noticed.

“Hi,” she said, a bit of a smile teasing her full lips as she let her gaze stray from him to his son. “How’re you, Eli? Taking care of that arm?” She had to have passed the vet on her way out, had to have seen his wounded dog, and her concerned face spoke volumes.

“Sarge is hurt!” Eli blurted, his small face pulled into a knot of worry, just the way it had been since the dog had stumbled into the house, one leg bleeding and slashed to the bone.

“I, uh, saw,” she said softly, “but he’s with Dr. Eagle, and she’s a pretty darned good vet.” She knelt down next to Eli but glanced up at Trace. “What happened?”

“Don’t really know. Looks like Sarge was on the losing end of a fight with God knows what. Maybe a bear or raccoon, even a cougar, I suppose. He was with me when I did the afternoon chores and then went nosing around like he always does. I called for him and waited, went back to the house to relieve the woman who looks after Eli here, and just as I started out to look for him, he came dragging back.” His jaw tightened as he remembered first seeing Sarge limping and bleeding on the snow-packed trail to the back door. He felt like hell for the dog and worse yet for his kid, who was blinking against a tide of unshed tears. Like he was grown up or something. It killed Trace. More than a little. “We called the vet.”