Bonus Kisses - Freya Barker Page 0,78
her taking potshots at me, but she’s blaming the wrong person and I can’t let that stand. “Rafe wasn’t the one cheating,” I tell her as gently as I can. “No one is perfect. Not even Nicky. She told me the last time I was here—when she was pregnant with Spencer—she had been seeing someone. Mom,” I plead for her to look at me. “It was an impossible situation from the start. That’s why I left. It seemed an easier solution for everyone.”
She stares at me, and I hurt at the pain in her expression. “I can’t…” she starts, letting her words trail off as she shakes her head. “I need to go.” She suddenly jumps to her feet and heads for the door.
“Sarah, hold on.” Dad struggles to stand up. “You’d better not drive off and leave me stranded twice in one day.”
“Mom…” It’s no use, she’s already outside, and Rafe rushes to give Dad a hand.
A few minutes later he comes back inside.
“Maybe she shouldn’t be driving,” I suggest, a little late.
“Your dad insists they’ll be fine.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t want them to know—I knew how much that would hurt—but I couldn’t let her blame you for something you didn’t do.”
He walks up and pulls me close; my arms automatically slip around his waist. “I know. Sometimes you need to let the wound bleed clean before it can heal.”
“I think maybe we’re all bleeding a little,” I suggest, snuggling closer.
“Yeah, it may take some time, but we’ll eventually heal. Even your Mom.”
He tugs my head back by the hair and presses a hard kiss to my lips.
“What did you tell the kids?”
“That you and Grandma had something to work out. They didn’t ask any more.”
“We have to warn my parents.”
“I already did. They don’t want to hurt the kids any more than we do.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Rafe
“Give him one tonight with dinner, and make sure you finish the full course. He should start feeling better in twenty-four to forty-eight hours.”
I scratch the docile malamute’s big head before handing over the antibiotics to its owner. The dog was brought in with an infected wound to one of his hind legs. The owner hadn’t noticed it under the thick fur until the dog started licking it and his paw became swollen.
I walk with them to the reception area where I leave them in Lisa’s hands before turning to see who’s next.
“Mrs. Myers,” I try not to show my irritation when I greet her.
Taz mentioned a few days ago she was relieved the woman was taken off her roster of visits. It doesn’t surprise me, as soon as she’s back on her feet, I find her back in my clinic with poor Charlton.
“Dr. Thomas.”
“Why don’t you come back to the exam room and tell me what brings Charlton in today.” I lead the way to the back and show her into the room.
Then I leave her to fetch Jason, my intern who’s in the back monitoring the two animals we spayed this morning. I like the guy. He’s good with the animals, personable with their owners, and seems to have a steady hand and a good head on his shoulders. He should do fine with Rick Moore’s support while I’m on vacation.
He’s had a chance over the past few weeks to meet most of my regular patients, except for Charlton.
“I’d like you to step in with me. Mrs. Myers and her dog are what we’d call frequent flyers. Charlton’s a beagle and has a myriad of health issues, most related to his morbid obesity. We’ve tried for years to get him to lose the weight, but it’s impossible without his owner’s cooperation.”
“All right,” he agrees, closing the door to the crate of the tabby scheduled to be picked up later this afternoon.
The moment I close the door behind us, and finish introducing Jason, Mrs. Myers starts talking.
“He’s not eating.”
“When was the last time he had anything?” I ask, lifting the overweight dog onto the table and notice its labored breathing.
“He ate a little of his dinner Monday night, but nothing since.”
It’s Friday morning now. “Has he been drinking?” I notice a tremor in the dog’s legs as I palpate his abdomen, as if he has trouble standing.
“Not as much as usual.”
I fit my stethoscope in my ears and listen to the elevated and highly irregular heart rate, as Charlton sinks down on his butt. The poor dog’s heart is failing. I want to yell at the woman for not heeding my warnings these