Final Stand. Helen R. Myers

have to help.”

      “Excuse me?” She stared in disbelief as he scooped the animal into his arms and started toward the clinic. Help how? Slamming the van door, she called, “Wait. Hey!”

      He kept walking.

      “What do you mean help?” she demanded at his retreating back.

      “Assist.”

      “Not me. I’m no nurse.”

      “You’ll do for this job.”

      “But I have to go.”

      “Don’t even think about it.”

      To avoid raising her voice any more than necessary, she ran after him. “Look, undoubtedly you’ve put in a long day and would much prefer being in bed right now. So would I for that matter. Which is why I suspect we’re not communicating well. What I don’t think you’re grasping is that I’m not acquainted with, or in any way, shape or form connected to this dog.”

      “I heard you the first time.”

      “Then you understand that I’m not taking her with me after you treat her?”

      “Did you read that sign out front?”

      She was sure she had, but her usually reliable memory failed her. At the moment she couldn’t remember if his name was Sawyer, Sanders or…What did the smaller print say under Animal Clinic?

      “What’s your point?”

      “I don’t run an animal shelter, that’s up at Sonora. I’ll do what I can for her, but after that she’s your responsibility…and so is the bill.”

      She couldn’t believe it. She was trying to perform a simple act of goodwill and he was going to stick it to her? No doubt charge overtime rates, too.

      “No way!”

      “You brought her in, she’s your responsibility. It’s either that or I’ll be forced to put her down straight off. Take your pick.”

      As he said that, the dog whimpered and twisted in his arms with increased anxiety, not unlike an infant terrified that it was being abandoned to a stranger. The woman tried not to notice while struggling to figure a way out of her own dilemma.

      This was what she deserved for not following training, let alone instincts. Granted, leaving the animal where she’d found it would have bothered her, but there wasn’t a day that went by when she didn’t see worse. It was the price you paid in her line of work. Now all she’d done was shift the pup from one kind of trouble into another. And there was no option of taking her with her; the dog would be miserable even if she hadn’t been in such poor condition, and in just as much jeopardy. Possibly more.

      “Doctor, really—”

      “The name’s Slaughter, first name Gray. Try to resist any impulses at humor if you don’t mind. I probably heard most of the nicknames before you were out of braces.”

      It wasn’t the name that had her lifting her eyebrows. One of the first writers her father had introduced her to when the children’s section at the library had become boring, was surgeon-novelist Frank Slaughter. What startled her was the vet’s obvious misconception about the difference in their ages.

      “Dr. Slaughter, I’ve been out of braces longer than you think, and I’m not about to—”

      “Can you get the key?”

      He’d stopped at the door and half turned toward her. She followed his glance downward, but only briefly.

      “Now who’s being the comedian?”

      “You interrupt a man when he’s trying to have a quiet drink in the privacy of his bedroom, you get what you get. Come on. This critter might be starving, but she’s still heavier than a feather pillow, and however old you are, I’m too much of a hard case for you to bother trying for a virginal blush.”

      She gave him an arctic smile. Her looks had been a problem for her as long as she could remember, and although there was nothing she could do if he wanted to see her as some kind of vamp, he would be wise not to test whether she would defend herself.

      About to say as much, to tell him what he could do with his key, she heard sirens. A fire truck, she concluded, with at least one patrol car. No, here came a second one. Damn. Exactly the kind of commotion she didn’t need. That kind of racket in a community this small was going to rouse the whole town.

      “You okay?”

      Ignoring him, she weighed her options against her predicament. She didn’t want to stay here a minute longer than necessary, but being on the road now could be a bigger mistake. Chances were no one here knew anything about her—yet—and she might slip through, but if asked tomorrow or the next day, how many details would people remember? Their answers could endanger more than her.

      Resigned, she muttered, “Which pocket?”

      “Right.”

      She leaned from the waist, saw the half moon of a key ring and plucked out the small handful of keys. They sounded like wind chimes in the renewed silence—or a fleeting, mocking laugh. “Which is it?”

      “The medium-size silver one with the flattened edge.”

      Aware of his scrutiny, she unlocked the door and flipped on the switch just inside. The long line of fluorescent lights burned her travel-weary eyes and, blinking, she stepped aside to let him pass. He turned left at the first room, switching on those lights with his elbow, illuminating a fully equipped examination-operating room.

      In the merciless brilliance, his five o’clock shadow added to his haggard, neglected appearance, and she wondered exactly how many drinks he’d already consumed. Was he even in any condition to do what had to be done for the dog?

      “Come hold her,” the vet directed as he set the wounded animal on the examination table. He must have seen her hesitation for he sighed. “Look, I’ve been out on a call that took the better part of the day and I only got home a half hour before you arrived. I’m beat, ticked over losing an animal and I can’t remember my last meal. So I apologize if I’m short on manners. Try not to take it personally.”

      If what he said about his day was true, she owed him an apology in return. But she’d also met enough barflies to know they were perfectly capable of achieving a considerable buzz in less time than that. So she simply nodded and did as he asked, focusing on keeping the dog calm. It didn’t take much. The pup was remarkably docile and gave every indication that regardless of her pain, she felt safer with them than where she’d been.

      Gray worked from nose to wound. “Eyes don’t indicate shock,” he noted. “Gums are a decent pink, so there hasn’t been considerable blood loss. Makes sense. The wound isn’t as deep as I first thought. Let me take a blood sample, and if things look okay, we’ll start an IV and get to work.”

      He retreated to the sink and began washing up. With each movement the muscles along his back flexed. Although he was no bodybuilder, his waist tapered and his hips were trim. For a guy who acted as if he went through life on cruise control, he sure didn’t give any indication that he was heading for Flab City.

      “You’re not from around here,” he said, slipping on gloves.

      She put aside her own speculation. “No.” What she wasn’t going to tell him was that she didn’t exactly feel the place she’d come from was “home” either.

      “Didn’t think I detected a Texas accent.”

      “Which reinforces my claim that this can’t be my dog.” She willed the animal not to start licking her hand as she’d done earlier.

      “You’re consistent, I’ll give you that.”

      For the next minute or two he worked in silence. He took the blood sample and withdrew to the adjacent room. There she heard a steady series of movements, things being switched on