Tracking You. Kelly Moran

      She sighed and wondered if this was going to be her in forty years. Alone, collecting felines to fill the void. Townsfolk would call her the crazy cat lady and she’d be too senile to know.

      Joking aside, her heart panged for the woman. Setting her bag down, she signed to Flynn that she was going to do the litter boxes before they got started. It wasn’t a part of their services to do these things, but it was obvious Mrs. Crosby’s son hadn’t been by to check on her recently.

      Walking through the tiny outdated kitchen, Gabby headed for the mudroom and shook her head. The boxes were so full the cats had begun avoiding them altogether. She pulled gloves from her scrubs pocket and found a garbage bag under the kitchen sink.

      After dumping the old litter and cleaning up the droppings around the boxes, she dumped fresh litter in and poured some baking soda over the top to absorb some of the stench.

      She checked the cats’ food and water supply, noting they were fine there. She opened a kitchen window to air out the place and snatched a bottle of fabric refresher, targeting the furniture and curtains. From there, she poured more baking soda over the carpets and did a quick pass with the vacuum. She tossed out the past-dated food in the fridge and pantry, then finished off by emptying the garbage.

      All in all, she had everything done in under thirty minutes. There was no excuse for the son not to have taken care of things for her. It wasn’t good for Mrs. Crosby to be living in these conditions.

      After washing her hands and donning a fresh pair of gloves, she made her way back into the living room where Flynn was examining one of the cats. “You doing okay?”

      He nodded and set the cat on the floor. “Two down. No health issues to note. All six will need vaccines.”

      She carried vials in a hand cooler and always waited until he was finished with exams to not make the animals anxious. While he was doing his thing, Gabby grabbed her stethoscope and listened to heart, bowel, and lung sounds on the cats as he finished with them.

      He worked his way through the other four cats until getting to the new addition. Fluffykins’s hair stood up on her back as Flynn drew near. He stepped away to give it some space.

      Gabby interpreted his questions for Mrs. Crosby and then reached for the furball to hold her while Flynn did an exam.

      “Female. Approximately ten weeks old. Declawed in front. Vitals normal. Abdomen soft. Ears clear.”

      “Everything looks great, Mrs. Crosby. We’ll just do their shots and you should be all set.”

      “Wonderful, dear.”

      Their routine was down to a science. Flynn held the cats while Gabby drew the syringes, did the pokes one by one, and tossed the used needles in a portable biohazard container. While he had them distracted, she gave each of the cats their heartworm chew and applied the flea and tick solution.

      The new kitten was not happy and growled by the time they got to it. Knowing she had to be quick, she waited for Flynn to have a secure hold and quickly doled out the shot.

      Flynn motioned to let the cat jump down, but it flew at Gabby with teeth bared and a hiss of pure pissed-off feline. A gray and white flurry of fur whizzed past her peripheral. Before she could react, the thing sank its back claws into her thigh, bit her left hand good, and sauntered off down the hall.

      She sucked a breath through her teeth and winced. Pain shot up her arm, hot and sharp and searing. Eyes watering, she glanced at the damage. The bite had broken through the glove to skin and was lightly bleeding. Great. Cat mouths were riddled with bacteria and it didn’t take much for an infection to take root.

      Flynn reached for her, but she shook her head. They’d clean it up in the car.

      More hurried than usual, she scrawled a note for the son and set it on the fridge with a magnet, then washed her hands and said her goodbyes to Mrs. Crosby.

      Flynn had the first-aid box open on the back hatch when she stepped outside. A deep groove worried between his brows. “Let’s have a look.”

      She set her supplies down. “Mrs. Crosby didn’t notice it had happened. I didn’t want to worry her.”

      He nodded his understanding and inspected the bite. There were four punctures along her pinky. And they were deep. Without much tissue on that area of the hand, it wasn’t difficult for the teeth to hit bone. The spot was pretty reddened already.

      He grunted and disinfected his hands with sanitizer. With quick, skillful movements, he squeezed the punctures to drain, cleaned them out with peroxide, applied antiseptic, and wrapped her finger with enough padding to go ten rounds with a prizefighter.

      You okay? he mouthed.

      It stung like hell. “Just a bite. Not my first.” Wouldn’t be her last.

      The way he was looking at her said he thought otherwise. Still cradling her hand in his large calloused ones, he brushed his thumb over her palm, eliciting a shiver. His mouth firm, he watched the movement as if in a trace, his gaze distracted and concerned.

      Sunlight streamed through his strawberry blond hair. His scent of light woodsy aftershave rose up over that of damp earth and humid spring air, so comforting and familiar she almost didn’t notice. He was standing close, mere inches away. Near enough to absorb the heat from his body, to count each of his pale, long lashes framing the most sincere hazel eyes. He had perfect facial symmetry. High cheekbones, wide jaw.

      Her pulse thrummed heady. She eyed the dark blue scrub shirt covering his lean, athletic body and wondered what it would feel like to be held against all that hard. She hadn’t been intimate with anyone in quite some time. As a chilly breeze swept through the meager space between them, she wanted to climb inside his warmth and let the rest of the world fade. Be touched by someone who cared.

      God. No. Bad, bad, Gabby.

      As if sensing her thoughts, he swallowed. Once. Twice.

      She almost asked him if he was okay, but he pulled back suddenly. He glanced over her shoulder, shook his head, and rounded the car, climbing in the passenger seat.

      Shaken, she popped a precautionary antibiotic they kept for bites, stowed their gear, and got behind the wheel.

      Chapter 5

      Flynn checked his watch for the tenth time. It wasn’t like Gabby to be late for work. He sat back in the chair in his office and debated texting her. She was only ten minutes late, and they were scheduled in-clinic today on a light load, but in all the time they’d worked side by side, he couldn’t recall her ever being tardy.

      Maybe she’d called in sick. She’d seemed fine yesterday. He couldn’t remember her calling in sick before either. Not even the time she had pneumonia two years ago and he had forced her to go home. She’d put up a stink.

      Worry clawed at his gut. Shaking his head, he slid his phone closer and thumbed a text. She was probably hung up in traffic or something. But when another ten minutes dragged by and there was no word, he rose and headed to the front desk. No matter what, she always texted him back. Didn’t matter the time and didn’t matter what she was doing. She always responded.

      He waited for Avery to finish signing out a patient and then turned to her. “Did Gabby call in sick?”

      Confusion worked her brows. She glanced at the answering machine. “No. She’s not here?”

      He shook his head as his temples throbbed.

      “Did you try calling her?”

      He nodded, biting back the urge to snap at Avery. It wasn’t her fault he was a breath from freaking out. It’s just…this wasn’t like Gabby. At all.

      Avery held up a finger asking him to hold on and picked up the desk phone. After a few beats, she hung up and dialed another number, only to repeat the process. “She’s not answering at home or her cell.” Avery scooted