“Yes, ma’am, you’re right.” She held up the bag. “These are for Toby. I mean, Dr. Thomas.”
“Toby is fine,” he told her, and she smiled.
“Such a handsome face,” Ms. Keystone said. “But he could use a little meat on his bones.”
Toby cleared his throat. Brandy pointedly looked between me and him.
“Brandy, could you get Cupid checked in, and I’ll get the room ready?”
Brandy handed him one of the red cups and the paper sack. “Of course.”
He turned to go, and I cleared my throat. “What about me?”
He pivoted back around. “I thought you were driving to the next town over.”
“Why on earth would you do that, Archer?” Ms. Keystone wondered. “Tobias here is a fine vet.”
He gave me another of those smug looks that made my teeth grind.
“Well, he is bleeding.” I hedged.
Toby’s face fell, and he crossed quickly. “What’s his name?” he asked quietly.
“Marlowe.”
“Hey Marlowe,” Toby crooned. “What a good boy. How about I look at this?” he said, gently taking his leg so he could examine it.
After a moment, Toby looked up. It was the first time he’d looked at me with anything other than contempt. “Bring him back,” he said, gesturing with his head.
Relenting, I followed him into an exam room where he shut the door behind us.
“On the table, please,” he said, going to the sink to wash his hands.
I laid Marlowe on his side on the steel table that dominated the small space, and Toby turned back. After moving the stethoscope into his ears, he pressed the end to Marlowe’s chest and listened before moving it around and doing it again.
Once finished, he glanced up. “What happened?”
“I’m not sure. I was out tagging trees this morning, and he ran off.”
“Does he do that often?”
“What?” I asked.
“Run off.”
“He wasn’t running off,” I retorted. “Well, not like you mean.”The way you did.The thought was intrusive and completely unwelcome.“He’s a farm dog. He has the run of the place. He likes to chase the chickens.”
“Good boy,” Toby crooned, petting Marlowe and making his tail wag. “You gotta keep those little dinosaurs on their creepy toes.”
“Little dinosaurs?” I questioned.
He shrugged but didn’t look up, attention remaining on Marlowe. “Well, chickens evolved from theropods, which were meat-eating dinosaurs. So technically, they are.”
Marlowe gave a loud wail and bucked up, and I moved fast to keep him from falling. “What did you do to him?” I accused. “Stop spouting useless facts and pay attention!”
Toby paused for a moment, then drew back. “He has a wood splinter stuck in his paw,” he announced, voice void of emotion. “He probably tried to get it out but couldn’t because there’s also some sap caked with more debris.”
“What?” I leaned over my dog, instantly concerned. “How’d that happen, buddy?” I asked, looking at the paw and trying to see what Toby saw.
