Their conversation continued as dawn crept toward them. They shared stories of their lives—the triumphs and failures, the moments of joy and heartbreak. Matt told Lynda about raising Stephanie and about the challenges of being a parent to a grieving child. Lynda spoke of her daughter Amy’s initial anger about the divorce and how it had taken years to rebuild their relationship.
They talked about their careers—complex cases, memorable patients, and the evolution of veterinary medicine over the decades they’d practiced. They discovered shared mentors and similar training experiences despite having taken different paths in their specialties.
Every thirty minutes, one or both of them would check on the puppies, particularly Star, whose condition remained stable but delicate. They worked together to feed the healthy puppies, clean them, and monitor their temperatures.
Matt couldn’t remember the last time he’d opened up to someone this way.
When they checked on Star again around five-thirty, Matt felt a surge of relief. The tiny puppy’s breathing had eased further, and her temperature had stabilized at a healthy 99.2 degrees.
“She’s going to make it,” he said, watching her little paws twitch in sleep.
“They all are,” Lynda agreed, her tired face brightening.
As they stood side by side at the incubator, Matt became acutely aware of Lynda’s presence—the faint scent of her shampoo beneath the antiseptic smell of the clinic, the warmth of her arm barely touching his, the gentle rhythm of her breathing.
“Thank you,” he said, turning to face her. “For staying. For helping. For...” He gestured vaguely, unable to articulate everything he meant.
“For talking through the night?” Lynda suggested with a smile. “I should be thanking you. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a conversation that honest with anyone.”
A soft glow began to filter through the blinds—the first light of dawn breaking through the storm clouds. Matt moved to the window and raised the blinds. The rain had stopped, though water still dripped from eaves and trees. The rising sun saturated the puddles on the wet sidewalk with a golden glow, making the world seem ready for a new day.
“The storm’s passed,” he said to Lynda.
She joined him at the window, their shoulders touching lightly. “It was quite a night.”
Matt turned to look at her, struck by how right she seemed standing there in his clinic. “I’ve told you more in one night than I’ve told anyone in years,” he admitted softly.
Lynda tilted her head, holding his gaze. “Sometimes it’s easier to be honest with someone new than with people you’ve known forever.”
“Is that what we are?” Matt asked. “New to each other?”
Lynda considered the question. “New in some ways. But it doesn’t feel like we just met a few months ago, does it?”
“No,” Matt agreed. “It feels like...” He hesitated, searching for the right words. “Like we’ve known each other a long time, just not in this life.”
The sentiment might have sounded foolish in another context, but here, in the quiet dawn with five tiny lives they’d saved together, it felt like a simple truth.
Lynda smiled, the rising sun illuminating her face. “I know exactly what you mean.”
A small alarm beeped from the incubator. It was time for another feeding. The moment between them stretched, fragile and perfect, before reality gently reasserted itself.
“Duty calls,” Matt said, reluctant to break the connection but conscious of doing their best for the pups.
As they moved back to the incubator, Matt took a deep breath. Whatever happened next—with the puppies, with the clinic, and with his life—sharing it with Lynda made everything brighter.
CHAPTER 13
The morning sunlight streamed through the clinic windows. Lynda rubbed her eyes and checked the time. It was a few minutes after nine o’clock. She’d managed a quick nap on the cot after the dawn feeding, but exhaustion still tugged at her muscles.
She ran her hands through her hair and straightened her sweatshirt. From farther down the hallway, she heard a microwave pinging in the staff room. After folding the blanket she’d slept under, she headed toward Matt.
He smiled when she walked into the room. “Coffee’s fresh,” he said from beside the small counter. “I even kept some of the shortbread cookies for you.”
Lynda grinned. “You’ve found the way to my heart.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she bit her bottom lip. “Oops, sorry. Sometimes, I speak before I think about what I’m going to say.”
“That’s all right,” Matt mumbled. “I have the same problem.”
Matt poured her a coffee, then went back to restocking the supplies in a large backpack. He looked as tired as Lynda felt, but there was a determined energy in his movements.
