Engaged to the Single Mom

Funny, she didn’t feel so safe now. She cruised past the bank and the feed store, and then thoughts of herself vanished when she saw the line of people snaking around the building that housed Troy’s veterinary practice. “Wow. Looks like your clinic is a success.”

“Lots of people struggling these days.”

“It’s free?”

He nodded, pointed. “Park right in front. They always save me a place.”

She noticed a few familiar faces turning toward their truck. Someone ran to take a lawn chair out of the single remaining parking spot and she pulled in, stopped and went around to see if Troy needed help getting out. But he’d already hopped down, so she grabbed his crutches out of the back and took them to him.

“Here.” She handed him the crutches, and his large, calloused hand brushed hers.

Something fluttered inside her chest. She yanked her hand back, dropping a crutch in the process.

“Hey, that you, Angie? Little Angie?”

She turned to see a tall, skinny man, his thin hair pulled back in a ponytail, his face stubbly. She cocked her head to one side. “Derek? Derek Moseley?”

“It is you!” He flung an easy arm around her and she shrugged away, and then suddenly Troy was there, stepping between them. “Whoa, my friend,” he said. “Easy on my assistant.”

“I’m fine!” She took another sidestep away.

Derek lifted his hands like stop signs. “Just saying hi to my old buddy’s little sister, Doc.” He turned to Angelica. “Girl, I ain’t seen you in ages. How’s your brother?”

She shook her head. “I don’t see him much myself. He’s overseas, doing mission work.”

“Carlo? A missionary?”

“Well, something like that.” In reality, her brother, Carlo, was halfway between a missionary and a mercenary, taking the word of God to people in remote areas where he was as likely to be met with a machete as a welcome.

“Carlo’s a great guy. Tell him I said hello.”

“I will.” That evaluation was spot-on—her brother was a great guy. Carlo was the one who’d gone to Gramps and told him he had to take her in when their parents’ behavior had gone way out of control. He’d been sixteen; she’d been nine. He’d gone out on his own then, had his dark and dangerous times, but now he’d found Jesus and reformed. He wrote often, sent money even though she told him not to, probably more than he could afford. But she didn’t see him enough and she wished he’d come home. Especially now, with Xavier’s health so bad.

A shuffling sound broke into her consciousness. She looked around for Troy and saw him working his way toward the clinic on his crutches, large medical bag clutched awkwardly at his side.

She hurried to him. “Here, let me carry that.”

“I can get it.”

Stepping in front of him, she took hold of the bag. “Probably, but not very well. This is what you’re paying me for.”

He held on to the bag a second longer and then let it go. “Fine.”

As they walked toward the clinic, people greeted Troy, thanked him for being there, asked about his leg. The line seemed endless. Most people held dogs on leads, but a few had cat carriers. One man sat on a bench beside an open-topped cardboard box holding a chicken.

How would Troy ever take care of all these people? “The clinic’s only until noon, right? Do you have help?”

“A vet tech, whenever he gets here. And I stay until I’ve seen everyone. We work hard. You up for this?”

She was and they did work hard; he wasn’t lying. The morning flew by with pet after pet. She held leashes for Pomeranians and pit bulls, got scratched by a frightened tomcat with a ripped ear and comforted a twenty-something girl who cried when her two fluffy fur-ball puppies, one black and one white, had to get shots. She wrote down the particulars of rescue situations people told Troy about. Dogs needed rabies shots and ear medicine, X-rays and spaying. If it was something he couldn’t do right at the moment, he made a plan to do it later in the week.

She asked once, “Can you even do surgery, with your leg?”

“My leg doesn’t hurt as much as that guy’s hurting,” he said, scratching the droopy ears of a basset-beagle mix with a swollen stomach. The owner was pretty sure he’d swallowed a baby’s Binky. “Feed him canned pumpkin to help things along,” he told the owner. “If he doesn’t pass it within three days, or if he’s in more pain, call me.”

A fiftysomething lady came in with a small, scruffy white dog wrapped in a towel. “Afraid he’s got to be put to sleep, Doc.” Her voice broke as she lifted the skinny animal to the metal exam table.

Angelica moved closer and patted the woman’s back, feeling completely ineffectual. She wanted to help, but sometimes there wasn’t anything you could do.

“Let’s not jump to that conclusion.” Troy picked up the whimpering little creature, ignoring its feeble effort to bite at him. He felt carefully around the dog’s abdomen and examined its eyes and ears. “I’m guessing pancreatitis,” he said finally, “but we’ll need to do some blood work to be sure.”

“What’s that mean, Doc?” the woman asked. “I don’t have much extra money...and I don’t want him to suffer.” She buried her face in her hands.

Angelica’s throat ached. She could identify. She found a box of tissues and brought it over.

“Hey.” Troy put a hand on the woman’s shoulder. “Let’s give treatment a try. If you can’t afford the medicine, we’ll work something out.”

“Is he even likely to live?”

“Fifty-fifty,” Troy admitted. “But I’m not a quitter. We can bring the dog to the farm if you don’t have time to do the treatments. Aren’t you a night waitress out at the truck stop?”

She nodded. “That’s the other thing. I can’t stick around home to care for him. I gotta work to pay my rent.”

“Let me take him to the farm, then,” Troy said. “It’s worth it. He may have years of running around left. Don’t you want me to try?”

“You’d really do that for him?” Hope lit the woman’s face as she carefully picked up the little dog and cradled him to her chest. When she looked up, her eyes shone. “You don’t know how much this means to me, Doc. He’s been with me through two divorces and losing my day job and a bout with cancer. I want to be able to give back to him. I’ll donate all my tips when I get them.”

“Give what you can. That’s all I ask.” He told Angelica what to do next and took the dog away.

A man in jeans and a scrub top strode into the clinic then, and Angelica studied him as he greeted Troy. He must be the vet tech they’d been waiting for.

“Buck,” Troy said. “How goes it?”

Buck. So that was why he looked so familiar—he was an old classmate, one of the nicer boys. “Hey,” she greeted him. “Remember me?”

“Is that you, Angie?” A smile lit his eyes. “Haven’t seen you in forever. How’s your grandpa?”

They chatted for a few minutes while Troy entered data into a computer, preparing for the next appointment. Buck kept smiling and stepped a little closer, and Angelica recognized what was happening: he like liked her, as her girlfriends back in Boston would say. She took a step away.

And then it dawned on her: Buck would be a perfect guy to help fulfill Xavier’s dream. Oh, not to marry, she couldn’t go that far, but if she could find a nice, harmless man to hang out with some in the evenings, watch some family shows with, play board games with...that didn’t sound half-bad. Xavier would be thrilled.

Come on, flirt with the man. You used to be good at it.

But she barely remembered how to talk to a man that way. And anyway, it felt like lying. How could she pretend to have an interest in a nice guy like Buck just to make her son happy? Maybe this wasn’t such a good plan after all.

When Troy came back, ready for the next patient, Buck cocked his head to one side. “Are you two together? I remember you used to—”

“No!” they both said at the same time.