“Well, I brought home a tether from the office. It’s in the car.”
Riya turned to him. Honestly, why did she melt at the very sound of his voice?
“What? I’m a vet. I saw this coming.” He arched an eyebrow as they made eye contact. “You sure you don’t want to build a fence?”
Riya needed to stop looking at him and remembering what it had felt like to kiss those lips, to hear his voice whisper in her ear, to feel—“I’m not keeping her.” She forced her gaze to the puppy. “It’s temporary.” She flicked her gaze back to him. If he was at all fazed by being in her presence, he did not show it. But why would he be? It was one night. One incredible, amazing night when she had felt loved and cherished and at peace. Yet he couldn’t wait to get away from her.
“You still have to train her.” He was in doctor mode, his voice clinical and detached.
“I know.”
“Remember how we used to—” His voice caught.
Memories of training Lucky flooded her, driving hot tears to her eyes. She nodded, holding up a hand to stop him from continuing.
He ducked his chin and cleared his throat, peering at her from under his lashes. His next words came out soft, gruff. “Just do that.”
She squeezed her lips together to hold back more tears. That had been a team effort.
“I’m home in the evenings,” he offered, his voice soft again, no sign of Dr. Vora in it.
She nodded.
He turned to Roshni as he let Scout down. “Hey, Roshni. How have you been feeling?”
Roshni grinned. “Great. Thanks.” Her voice softened. “Sorry about Lucky.”
“Thank you.” He rested his gaze on Riya before he turned to leave. “I’ll put the tether out so you’ll be all set.” He nodded at Roshni. “Good seeing you. Good luck with the baby.”
Riya stood frozen in her spot until she heard the door shut behind him.
“Oh, yeah. There’s nothing there.” Roshni rolled her eyes.
That was the beauty and curse of a best friend: they knew when you were full of shit.
Riya peeked into her mother’s room before heading back to Johnny and Leo for the night. Her mother was watching her Hindi soap operas with great concentration, her eyes glued to the screen, a spoon of yogurt halted halfway to her mouth.
Riya glanced at the screen and saw a beautiful young woman smirking, a decidedly evil twinkle in her eye. She was wearing the most gorgeous silk sari that was draped perfectly on her curvy body. The music was ominous, a greatdan-dan-daanas the camera closed in on her expression. She had either killed someone or started a false rumor, causing strife in the family.
“I’m going to bed, Mom. Do you need anything?”
Her mother gasped as the camera zeroed in on the person receiving the evil smirk. This second woman was hopelessly doe-eyed, equally beautiful and fashionably dressed in an eye-catching beaded sari, with just the perfect pool of tears in her eyes to make the viewer feel for her. The victim. Either someone she had loved had died, or the evil one had insulted her cooking in front of her mother-in-law.
Riya couldn’t tear her eyes away. A couple of moments passed as the camera zoomed in on the evil smirk, then the tear-filled doe eyes, back and forth, with no dialogue at all, just ominous music.
“Riya. What are you doing standing in the doorway like that? Come and sit,” her mother chided.
The spell broken, Riya went in and sat on her mother’s bed with her back to the soap opera. Her mother raised the remote and muted the sound. “Going to bed so early?”
Riya wished she’d sat facing the TV so she had somewhere else to look. And because she did not, she found herself looking in the direction of the small mandir her parents kept in the room. A small glass Ganesha sat in the very front of the altar. “I have another twenty-four-hour shift starting at six.”
“Okay.” Apprehension from her was strong and clear.
Riya made eye contact with her mother. “Mom, I’ll be fine.”
Her mother shook her head. “You don’t know that.”
“True.” She paused, took her mother’s hand. “You remember that night?”
