The rottweiler's exam confirms what she suspected. Textbook dietary indiscretion, nothing that'll kill him.
"Keep him on rice and chicken for a few days," I advise as we head back out. "And throw up some fencing around whatever patch he's been excavating."
"You're absolutely right. Should've figured that out myself." Mrs. Cross pauses to squeeze Lucy's hand.
"Thank you, honey. You've got the gift."
After they head out, the clinic settles into peaceful quiet except for soft animal murmurs from the back rooms. Late afternoon sun slants through the windows, bathing everything in golden light that makes the whole place feel warmer than it has in months.
Lucy hovers behind the desk, suddenly skittish now that it's just the two of us in all this golden quiet.
"How's Dusty?"
"He'll pull through." I watch relief wash over her like a breaking wave.
"Surgery went smooth as silk. Needs to camp out here afew days, but he'll be good as new."
"Thank God." Her voice breaks on the words, thick with emotion that hits me square in the chest.
Makes me wonder what kind of woman throws herself into danger for a dog that isn't even hers.
"I should probably get going," she says, already angling toward the door like a spooked deer ready to bolt.
"No." The word explodes out of me like a gunshot, raw and desperate enough to startle us both.
Her eyes whip to mine, wide and startled.
Hell. Sounded like I was barking commands at a subordinate.
"I mean," I add, moving closer to the desk, "Mrs. Cross was right. You are a natural at this."
Lucy shakes her head. "I just answered phones and organized some files. Anyone could've done it."
"Anyone could've answered phones," I correct, leaning against the counter. "You turned weeks of chaos into something that actually makes sense. In just a few hours."
She worries a pen between her fingers, gaze fixed somewhere around my boots. "I don't do well with chaos. Makes me... twitchy."
There's weight behind those words, like there's a story she's not telling.
It's been a long time since I felt this magnetic pull toward someone. This urge to flirt and tease just to watch her blush.
Maybe it's selfish. Maybe I'm thinking with the wrong part of my anatomy. But watching Lucy organize my disaster, seeing her gentle hands on Dusty, the way she handled Mrs. Cross with natural grace... it all makes me want to find reasons for her to stay.
Smart thing would be to let her walk away. She's probably early twenty to my thirty-six. I'm a bitter bastard who drinks too much and holds grudges like they're family heirlooms.
But since when have I ever been accused of being smart?
"You got a job?" The question tumbles out before I can rope it back. "I mean, you working somewhere else, or..."
She shakes her head. "No. Just traveling. Pick up work here and there when I need to."
Traveling alone. There's definitely a story there, and I'm betting it's not a good one.
"Lucy," I say, making a decision that's definitely gonna complicate my life. "I got a proposition for you."
Her eyebrows climb toward her hairline. "A proposition?"
Shit. That came out all kinds of wrong. I drag a hand through my hair, scrambling for words that won't sound like I'm offering to proposition her for something that ain't work-related.
