A Tender Touch

“The doctor?” Clay looked back at Freddie.

She nodded and patted Samson’s head again. “I see you didn’t let your human friend in on our secret. Good boy.”

“Oh, I get it. You told Samson this already, right?”

Freddie nodded. “We had a long talk the other day while you were busy taking pictures. But I did try to tell you, too.”

Clay rubbed a hand down his face, thinking now would be a good time for the earth to swallow him up. “It was a crazy day. I didn’t get to visit with many of the guests.”

“I understand,” Freddie replied, her smile softening. “Let’s start over then.” She extended her hand, all professional and very serious. “I’m animal doctor Fredrica Hayes. I took over this clinic about two weeks ago. And you can call me Freddie.”

Clay took her hand, noticing her clean, clear fingernail polish and her sensible nails. Everything about her was clean and fresh and sensible. And incredibly attractive. “You sure beat old Doc Bates. And you can call me Clay.”

“Oh, not Clayton? I’ve heard your mother call you by that name.”

Clay shook his head, winced. “Never that, please.” Then because he didn’t want to start stuttering, he asked, “So what happened to Dr. Bates?”

“He sold out to me and moved to Louisiana, to be near his grandchildren,” Freddie explained. “I hope to improve things around here, update this place a bit—it’s a lease with an option to buy, which I intend to do. But money’s tight right now, so I’ll have to wait awhile on that.”

“It’s looking better already,” Clay said, again wishing he could bite his tongue before he opened his mouth. “I mean, this place could use some improvements.”

Kate rolled her eyes, then moved past them. “I’ll get the office cranked up and make us some coffee. Oh, and I brought croissants.”

“You are an angel,” Freddie told the girl. “Kate’s going to school at night in Savannah. She hopes to be my partner one day.”

Kate nodded, tossed her wispy hair. “But until that day, I’m the office manager.”

“Nice,” Clay said, his gaze moving over the clean tile floors and uncluttered benches. There was a basket in the corner, filled with animal toys. Samson immediately headed over to sniff it out.

Freddie looked at her watch. “My other assistant should be here soon. His name is Lee Fletcher.”

“I remember Lee,” Clay said, relieved that something was the same. “We went to school together.”

“Lee is a character,” Freddie said as she opened doors and turned on lights, motioning for Clay and Samson to follow her into a small examining room down the hall. “He’s a perpetual beach bum, content to work here and spend his off time out on a sailboat or jet ski.”

Clay commanded Samson up onto the examining table. “Sometimes I wonder if the simple life might be the best life. Maybe Lee’s got the right idea.”

Freddie stood across the table at him, her big brown eyes making him think of hot chocolate and warm kisses on a moonlight beach. “That’s the reason I came here,” she said, her eyes darkening to a rich brown. “I wanted to raise Ryan away from the city, wanted him to have a more simple, structured life.”

Clay took in that information and the way her dark eyes turned so serious and intense, then said, “I grew up here, but I couldn’t wait to get away. I craved the excitement of the city.”

“But you’re back now.”

He saw the questions in her eyes, but Clay wasn’t ready to answer those questions. He didn’t have the answers yet.

“Just for a vacation,” he said instead. “Just to get Samson healed up and ready to go back on duty.”

If they went back on duty, he thought.

“Then let’s get started,” Freddie said, her whole demeanor changing from friendly to professional again. But Clay thought he saw something else in her big brown eyes, some evasive quality that seemed to effectively shut her down. She rubbed Samson’s furry back, then gave Clay a direct look. “Tell me exactly what happened.”

“Oh, here,” Clay said, shoving a large envelope toward her. “His records.”

“Okay,” she said, taking the envelope. “I’ll read over these later. But I want you to tell me what happened.”

“Why can’t you just read the file?”

“I can. But I need to understand what Samson went through, how he’s been since he’s healed. I need to understand your relationship with him.”

Clay wished Dr. Bates were here. That man would have just grunted and examined the dog. Then he would have probably handed them a list of exercises to complete. But Dr. Bates had gone west and Clay was here, staring at the lovely and determined Dr. Freddie Hayes. And he really didn’t want to go into detail with her about that night.

But she was waiting.

Finally, he sighed, folded his arms across his chest and took on his police-giving-a-report tone. “It was a Code Five—”

“Use plain English.”

“The narcotics agents had been on a stakeout in the area earlier that day. They tried to nab a suspect, but he’d fled into this building. They’d received a tip that he was gone, but he’d stashed some drugs there. We were instructed to watch for the suspect, and then search for illegal weapons and drugs if we didn’t find him. We—Samson and I—were supposed to proceed on a search for evidence once we heard the all clear. It was an old, abandoned warehouse. We thought it was empty.”

“And?”

He shrugged, dropped a hand onto Samson’s back. “And we got in there to begin our search, and it wasn’t empty. The suspect was there, trying either to hide or move his stash, I don’t know. Samson alerted immediately, but it was too late. The suspect started shooting.” He stopped, took a deep breath, tried to focus. “The DEA called for backup, but Samson and I had to hide out on some stairs. We were trapped inside with the suspect, in a shoot-out.”

Her eyes widened as her skin paled to a porcelain sheen. “Oh, my.” Clay watched as she protectively placed a hand on Samson’s head.

Clay sank down on a cushioned bench beside the table. “Yeah, oh, my. That’s what I was thinking, too, but in more graphic terms, when I had to return fire. I tried to wait for backup. I tried to retreat. But the bullets just kept coming. It was too dangerous to let Samson loose on the suspect, and I knew the boys would back me up. Anyway, I saw a chance and we took it. We headed up the stairs to what I thought was an exit door. The suspect came after us and we exchanged more gunfire. I wounded him and he dropped his weapon, but he kept coming. He fell against me and the weight of his body propelled us toward the exit door. I commanded Samson to attack then and he did. It gave me just enough time to get the suspect off me and down on the floor.”

Freddie was watching him now, understanding dawning in her dark eyes. “Something else happened then, right?”

“Right.” He looked down at the floor. “We wrestled back and forth. I could hear the other officers shouting. I called out, then I commanded Samson to attack again. He came at the suspect just as I rolled the man over against that old door.” He looked back up at her then, his mouth dry. Swallowing, he said, “The suspect found his gun and aimed it toward me as Samson leaped at him. I saw it coming. I pushed his hand away but our combined weight broke the door just as Samson lunged for the suspect. We all went over into an old elevator shaft. There was another struggle.” He stopped here, not ready to go into detail about his own wounds. “I managed to get a shot at the suspect. The suspect died and Samson suffered a broken hip.” He sat silent, then breathed deep again. “That was over three months ago. He’s doing pretty good—he does have a noticeable limp at times, if he’s been too active. He’s just not as alert and fast as he used to be. If we don’t get him back into shape, he’ll have to retire.”

“I see.”

She stood there, so quiet Clay wondered if she had a squeamish stomach. She looked pale, her wide lips drawn together. There was more to the story, but he wasn’t about to tell her that part. He was here to help Samson.

“So what do we need to do now?” he finally asked.

Freddie looked up at him, her eyes going wide. “Oh, well, of course you need to exercise him.” She flipped through the medical folder, then moved her hand down Samson’s right front leg. “This one, right?”

Clay touched Samson on the head to steady the big dog. “You might need to muzzle him. He’s still sensitive there.”

Freddie whispered something in Samson’s ear as she stroked his leg, then moved her fingers over his hip joint. “He seems to have healed up nicely. Some obvious signs of limping, you said?”

“Not as often now. The vet in Atlanta did a great job. And we’ve been through several weeks of intense therapy already. You know, the cart—that wheelchairlike thing—a leg trolley, then water therapy and the treadmill.”

“We’ll need to continue that,” she said, her gaze moving over Samson. “He seems in good spirits.”

“He’s recovering slowly. But my supervisor isn’t ready to release him back on to full duty yet.” Or me, either, he thought.