A Puppy And A Christmas Proposal

He started to walk away. Don’t look back. Don’t look back. Words he’d repeated over and over to himself so many times in his life; in the darkest times, when he’d faced an uncertain future, he’d known that looking back at all those unfulfilled plans he’d made would have given him no solace at all.

But the puppy ran along next to him, sinking deep into the snow, then pushing with those huge paws and jumping out and into the next drift. ‘A puppy with authority issues. I see. Just my luck, right? Look, mate, this isn’t going to work. I’m just not that into you.’

The wind picked up as he reached his cottage, swirling snowflakes faster and thicker. He slid the key into the lock and pushed through into the cold and dark, pausing for a moment to stamp the snow from his boots. Wishing he’d left either a light or central heating on, he flicked on a switch, flooding the hallway in a soft cream glow, and caught a spiky tail disappearing into his kitchen. ‘What? Hey! Houdini! You don’t live here.’

The damned thing had snuck in with him and was now, he discovered as he rounded the corner into his large kitchen-dining room, lying on his grandparents’ heirloom rug in front of the dining table, chewing on Alex’s best, top-of-the-range and shipped-all-the-way-from-the-States climbing shoes.

‘Hey! Hey! No! They cost a fortune! Let go.’ A throaty, playful growl came from the dog as Alex took hold of his shoe and tried to tug it out of its mouth. ‘I only just bought them. I’ve only worn them once.’

But the dog stuck his bottom in the air and laid his enormous paws out in front and kept on tugging back, that tail wagging back and forth like a metronome on heat.

‘This is not a game.’ Alex needed to distract it. ‘Food? What could you have? Water? Yes. Water.’

He filled an old porcelain Willow Pattern bowl that had belonged to his grandmother and put it on the floor, then microwaved the sausages he’d planned to eat for dinner and chopped them up. ‘Your last supper, matey. Then you’re back out there.’

He looked out of the window at the whirls of snowflakes, heavier and thicker than he’d seen in a long time. Then he looked at the puppy, who was devouring the food as if it hadn’t eaten in days. Maybe it hadn’t. ‘Who do you belong to?’

One tentative sniff of the sausages and Spike gobbled the lot—okay, so the name just came to him. It fitted the mutt perfectly, especially with the tail that stuck straight up. And so much for not getting involved. As a rural GP he’d been around enough farmers to know you didn’t name things you didn’t want to get attached to.

Then Spike bounded over to him, dragging the now mauled and mangled shoe. Alex used his best authoritative voice. ‘Drop. Drop.’

But Spike went right on chewing at Alex’s feet. Whoever owned him scored very low in the puppy-training ranks.

‘You must belong to someone. Surely? How would I find out? A dog like you shouldn’t be out there in the freezing night—oh? Ugh.’ His words stalled as a warm and wet sensation trickled down his ankle.

‘Oh, great. Just great. A puppy with authority issues and a weak bladder. Brilliant.’ He looked down and his eyes met those dark brown soulful ones. He ignored the squeeze in his chest. ‘Spike, my man. Just what the hell am I supposed to do with you?’

Sometimes folks loved their pets more than people, and Beth Masters understood that more than most. Pets didn’t break promises or let you down. Pets never gave you the cold shoulder or silent treatment. Except for the one she was examining now; the poor farm dog was so ill, and exhausted from being sick, she could barely move. ‘How long has she been like this?’ Beth asked Meg’s owner, local farmer Dennis Blakely.

The old man just shrugged as he stared down at his lovely old collie and stroked her muzzle. ‘Help her, Beth.’

Beth recapped what he’d told her when he’d rushed through the door a few minutes before, frantic for help. ‘So, we have a history of vomiting and shaking...like a seizure?’

‘Yes. No. Well...she was shaking and coughing and then she was sick. It was dark-coloured.’

‘Blood perhaps?’ Beth did not like the sound of that. ‘And now she’s just completely exhausted. It could be a bug, or something she’s eaten. Or any number of things.’ Or, most likely some kind of tumour in a dog of such advanced age. But Beth knew better than to jump to conclusions and she couldn’t feel any obvious mass.

Mr Blakely tore his eyes away from the dog and looked over at Beth. ‘Something she’s eaten? Do you think so? What kind of thing?’

Beth listened to the dog’s heart. ‘At this time of year it’s usually chocolate. People leave it wrapped up underneath the Christmas tree and forget it’s dangerous to dogs. Oh. Oh, dear, poor you.’ She rubbed gently as the dog vomited onto the counter. This wasn’t looking good. But she could see it wasn’t chocolate that had made the poor pooch sick. Meg whined and laid her head onto her paws, her eyes looking deep into Beth’s heart. Wait...there was a tinge of yellow in the dog’s sclera. Liver problems maybe?

Her phone vibrated on the desk in the corner of the room. She ignored it. If it was urgent they’d call back.

They did. Her heart thumped as the vibrations made the phone dance across the wood. ‘Excuse me, I need to get this.’

But it was just a text from her mother reminding her about the carol concert they’d planned to go to later. Well, that plan was about to go south; she couldn’t leave poor Meg like this. ‘Mr Blakely... Dennis... I’m so sorry that Meg is so sick. I’m going to run some tests and, in the meantime, keep her as comfortable as I can. It could take a while to get her stable...if I can even manage that.’

‘Aye.’ He nodded. His pale eyes filled. ‘Do what you can, love. But save her, whatever it takes. She’s all I’ve got now Nancy’s gone. It doesn’t matter how much it costs. Just save her.’

Beth’s heart twisted. Poor guy. A widower of only two years and, judging by the scruffy whiskers and the unkempt hair and dirty clothes, he wasn’t coping well. But caring for a very sick dog overnight would mean she’d have to miss the concert and she’d be letting her mum down. Again.

Because the progressive rheumatoid arthritis had eaten away at her mum’s joints and rendered her unable to drive without a lot of pain she was relying on Beth to get her to and from the school hall. Beth felt torn; promises were something she always tried to keep, but she couldn’t not treat a sick dog.

‘Let’s see how she goes, Dennis. She’s very sick and you need to know...’ Her throat was raw. God, she hated this part of her job. She put her hand on his arm. Despite the thick old coat that hung from his thinning frame his papery skin was cold to the touch. ‘I can’t promise she’ll make it through the night.’

The man just nodded and looked as if his heart was breaking. She put a drip up through one of Meg’s veins and bandaged her paw. The poor thing barely flinched. Then Beth popped her onto a blanket in one of the holding cages and made sure she was comfortable and safe while Beth ran the tests. ‘That should start rehydrating her and hopefully she’ll feel brighter. I’ve taken some blood and will do some X-rays and see if they come up with any clues.’

Someone banged on the surgery front door.

‘We’re closed!’ she called out. ‘Dennis, you go on home. Try to get some rest.’

‘Hey!’ The person outside rattled the letterbox. ‘I can see you’re in there.’

‘Still closed!’

No rest for the wicked. She tried to remember when she’d done something wicked and came up blank. Sure, she’d wanted to be wicked...lots of times. But she was far too sensible to throw caution to the wind. As a child she’d always been a little devil-may-care but being her mum’s carer and then having her heart stamped on had curbed that a little. And now she was a very responsible professional, who could hear canine yelping and human huffing.

She sighed, because sometimes she was her own worst enemy, but she couldn’t let another animal suffer if she didn’t have to. She just hoped it wasn’t another serious emergency. ‘Okay. Give me a minute.’

Focusing back on the situation in hand, she double-checked Meg was stable then walked Dennis to the door. ‘I’ll call you if things change.’

‘Good lass. I just hope I got to her in time.’

‘Fingers crossed.’ But she had a sinking feeling that it was going to need a lot more than luck to get Meg well again. She unlocked the door and opened it to let Dennis out.

‘Hey, Dennis. How are you?’ A very familiar voice had her heart jumping. And not in a good way.

Alex Norton. Great. She breathed out slowly, trying not to let her body overreact, or her brain for that matter. She had more important things to concentrate on than Alex Norton.

Dennis sighed long and deep and shook his head. His movements were slow and infused with grief. ‘Not good, Dr Alex. Not good at all.’

‘Oh? Anything I can help you with?’ Alex smiled. There he was with the smooth, kind and concerned doctor tone. If only they knew.

He was holding a puppy, which was licking his neck. And he was smiling.

Alex Norton and a puppy and a smile. How could the universe be so cruel?

‘I doubt you can help this time, Doc. Not unless you know about four-legged patients.’ There was a crack in the old man’s voice. ‘Meg’s taken a turn. She’s not doing well. But Beth here’s a good ’un. If anyone can make her well again, she can.’

‘Yes, I’m sure Beth will do her best. I’m hoping she can help me out too.’

No. Please, no. The last thing she needed right now was a conversation with the man who’d stomped on her heart all those years ago and—unfortunately, for Beth—the only man to date who could affect her with a simple look.

Not that she didn’t want to see him per se; in fact, he was lovely to look at. From being a good-looking adolescent he’d grown into a damned fine-looking man in his expensive wool coat and jeans. His dark hair was shorter than he’d used to like it and the odd grey strand was creeping in. His blue eyes were darker than she remembered and had developed one or two lines around them. He was broader too, his shoulders more powerful-looking and he was, possibly, taller than back then. But with him being six feet two his mouth had always been a tiptoe to reach.

She was not going to think about his mouth. Or his kisses. Or him.

So, while she didn’t mind looking at the gorgeousness that was Alex Norton she just didn’t want to lay her eyes on him. Because whenever she did she was filled with such a heady mix of emotions she couldn’t sort through them. Although she knew sadness and anger were definitely the dominant ones.