My Sunshine (16 page)

Isaiah and Angela stood at an operating table at
the far end of the surgery. A sheet concealed the patient, making it impossible for Laura to tell what kind of animal was under the knife. She waved and started for the door that opened into the kennels.

“Laura!” Isaiah called.

She turned to look questioningly at him. “Yes?”

His blue eyes were uncharacteristically solemn above the surgical mask that covered the lower half of his dark face. “Have you seen Tucker?”

Laura nodded. “Yes, just now.” That awful sinking sensation attacked her stomach again. “We talked.”

Isaiah nodded, looking relieved. The familiar twinkle slowly returned to his eyes. “Good cop, bad cop. We take turns. I hope he didn't come down too hard on you.”

Silence had fallen over the room. Belinda and Trish had become unaccountably busy. Laura's cheeks went fiery hot with embarrassment. For an instant she deeply resented Isaiah's lack of tact. Maybe she had screwed up, but he could at least discuss it with her privately.

Before the anger could get a good foothold, Laura's sense of fairness came into play. There were no secrets at the clinic. Everyone in the room undoubtedly knew about the food mishap already.

“No,” she said. “Tucker was very nice. And I'm really sorry I made a mistake.”

“Two mistakes,” Belinda inserted even as she smiled to soften the comment. “You got kennels three and four mixed up somehow, so two dogs got the wrong food, not just one. That's why we're all so careful around here. It could happen to anyone.”

No, not to just anyone,
Laura thought bitterly,
only to a retard like me.
It was still difficult for Laura to believe she'd gotten the cages confused, but if two dogs had received the wrong food, there was no other explanation. She had been misreading numbers that night. The alarm fiasco bore testimony to that. Normally she never confused threes with fours, though. They looked nothing alike, no matter how you turned them.

“I'll be more careful from now on,” Laura promised. She glanced uneasily at Isaiah, whose eyes had gone solemn again. “Really,” she assured him. “It won't happen again.”

Laura let herself out into the kennels. Almost instantly the dogs began to bark joyously. She hauled in a deep breath, slowly released it, and gave herself over to the pleasure of eager nudges, wet noses, and dog breath. As she moved from one cage to the next and finally came to kennel three, she stared hard at the number, painted in bold black, high on the rear wall of the cement-block enclosure. Some numbers were extremely difficult for her to read correctly each and every time, but a three wasn't one of them.

An hour later, when it came time for Laura to go, she reentered the surgery to get her coat and purse. Belinda had just lifted a huge Angora cat from a cage by the scruff of its neck. Evidently the feline didn't appreciate the manner in which Belinda had picked him up, for he immediately began hissing and swatting at the air.

“Got a live one!” Belinda cried.

“Bring him over,” Isaiah ordered.

Belinda hurried to deposit the cat on the stainless-steel table. The instant the feline's paws touched down on the metal surface, he began frantically fighting to escape, twisting, scratching, yowling, and trying his best to bite. Startled by the animal's ferocity, Belinda released the feline and leaped clear. Only Isaiah's quick reaction kept the cat from jumping from the table. He snaked out a hand, caught the Angora by its scruff again, and lifted him high in the air.

“Hey, buddy,” he said soothingly. “Let's be friends. Okay?”

In Laura's opinion, Belinda was responsible for the cat's misbehavior. The poor thing was in a strange place. He'd been locked in a cage as well, which was probably something he wasn't used to. Then, to make matters worse, the tech had made no attempt whatsoever to befriend the animal before she picked him up.

Hissing and spitting, the feline took a swipe at Isaiah's face. Isaiah jerked his head back in the nick of time. “Has he been declawed?” he asked Belinda.

“He's a first-timer, and we don't have his records yet.” Belinda grabbed the cat's front leg, pressed a thumb to the back of his toes, and said, “Yeah, I think he's clawless.”

“I need a muzzle!” Isaiah called over his shoulder to Trish. To the cat he said, “Look, Cuddles, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. Your choice.”

Rhhaa!
was Cuddles's reply, quickly followed by vicious but futile swipes at Isaiah's face and chest.

“What's his owner smoking?” James asked from across the room. “Cuddles isn't a good name for him. How about Terminator?”

Laura smiled and approached the table. Belinda's blue smock was covered with so much white fur that Laura was surprised Cuddles had any left on his fat body. Before Isaiah could guess what Laura meant to do, she curled her hands around the feline's belly, tugged gently to loosen Isaiah's hold, and drew the terrified kitty to her chest.

“Poor baby,” she crooned.

Cuddles snarled and hissed, attempted to claw his way up and over Laura's shoulder without success, and then gave up the fight.

“Shh-hh,” Laura soothed, lightly stroking the cat's fur. “Such a pretty kitty. Yes, you are. It's okay.” Responding to her gentle tone, Cuddles ceased his struggles. “There, you see?” she whispered. “No one's going to hurt you.”

Brushing fur from his green shirt, Isaiah shook his head. “That's amazing. I can't believe he isn't biting you.”

The cat pressed close to Laura's chest and nuzzled his nose under her collar. “He's scared,” she explained. “You can't just take him from the cage and start doing mean things to him. Someone should hold him for a little while first.”

Belinda huffed under her breath. “Unlike some people, we have a schedule to keep.”

Isaiah held up a hand. “No, Belinda, she's right.” He reached out and touched a fingertip to the cat's head. “I'm not much of a cat person, I'm afraid.”
He, too, began stroking the cat's fur. “But I treat a lot of them. I need to develop a better rapport with them.”

“He's a sweetie.” Laura rubbed her cheek against the cat's soft fur. “I can see why they named him Cuddles. He's very loving when he's not scared.”

Isaiah chuckled. “He is with you, at any rate.”

Laura shifted the huge cat to hold him more easily. Cuddles began to purr, which made Isaiah grin. “What's the matter with him?” Laura asked.

“Something with his ear,” Isaiah said. “So far I haven't gotten close enough to tell what the problem is.”

Laura kept stroking the cat and turned so Isaiah could see one side of the animal's head. “You can have a look now.”

“Come on,” Belinda said impatiently. “He's liable to go ballistic. Obviously you've never dealt with cats or experienced a feline bite. I prefer to keep all my fingers, if it's all the same to you.”

Trish arrived just then with the cat muzzle, an awful-looking contraption that fit over a feline's entire face and was anchored with crisscrossed straps behind the head. Laura couldn't see how a kitty could even breathe wearing one. She gave Isaiah a pleading look.

“I'll hold him while you look,” she offered. “If we're careful not to scare him, I don't think he'll bite.”

Isaiah narrowed his eyes at her even as he plucked a penlight from his pocket. Leaning in close, he peered in the cat's ear. Laura gently
turned Cuddles's head so Isaiah could get a better look.

“Foxtail,” he murmured.

“Uh-oh.” Belinda stepped around to look. “How deep is it?”

Laura knew firsthand how treacherous foxtails could be. The arrow-shaped stickers grew on tall grassy stalks that dried to a yellow-brown over the summer. The foxtails came away from the parent plant with the slightest touch or breath of wind and stuck to clothing and animal fur. Once attached, their sharpness and shape enabled them to burrow. Animals often got them in their feet, ears, mouths, and eyes. Many horses in the area wore eye guards while out in the pasture to protect them from foxtails.

“It's not bad, actually,” Isaiah replied.

“She brought him in as soon as he started shaking his head,” Trish inserted.

“Good thing,” Isaiah replied. “The little bugger would just keep going deeper.”

“Must be a field near her house,” Belinda observed.

Isaiah went for some long-nosed tweezers. When he returned a moment later, he slanted a look at Laura. “If you can keep him still, I think I can pluck it out easily enough.”

Laura nodded, and soon Cuddles's ordeal was over. Laura held the cat awhile longer before she returned him to the cage. Behind her, she heard Isaiah giving orders for follow-up care. When Laura turned, she saw that Trish was taking notes while Isaiah cleaned his hands. Laura went to get her
purse. Just as she drew the strap over her shoulder, Isaiah glanced around.

“Are you
sure
you want to be a kennel keeper? Your talents are wasted back there.”

“Yeah!” Trish seconded. “You'd be a fabulous tech assistant.”

“Oh, no.” Laura shook her head vehemently. “I'm not cut out for it. Remem-ber me, the lady who got the dog food mixed up?”

At the reminder, Isaiah's encouraging grin faded and his eyes went dark. He said nothing, but words weren't necessary. He had clearly forgotten for a moment that Laura had been put on notice. One more mistake and she'd be gone.

“W
hat picture should I use?” Etta Parks asked. Peering over her grandmother's shoulder, Laura squinted to see the small cell phone screen. She'd come knocking on Etta's door at ten that morning to get the number to the clinic programmed into her phone. “A dog or a cat would be nice.”

Etta took a drag from her Winston and exhaled smoke, which drifted up into Laura's face. “You used the dog for Mrs. Kessler and the cat for the Segals. You've got a party balloon, a wineglass”—Etta scrolled down through more choices—“a book, a cake, a printer, a car, and a coffee cup. There are no animals left.”

Because Laura had such difficulty in reading numbers and letters, she had purchased a cell phone with symbols that could be assigned to people she called often. That way she could scroll quickly through the electronic phone book, recognize people's names by the pictures that accompanied them, and make calls without always having to dial numbers. “Use the cake. That'll work.”

“The cake? For a veterinary clinic?”

Laura nodded. “I'm always taking in food.”

“A cake it will be, then.” Shoulder-length silver hair held back by a glittery purple headband that matched her brightly decorated sweatshirt, Etta set herself to the task of programming the phone. “What kind of food do you take in?”

“Lots of stuff. At home I'm always making too much, and my freezer's getting full. Isaiah forgets to eat unless there's something handy, so I can get rid of all my extra and feed him while I'm at it.”

“Taking care of him, are you?” Etta grinned. “Sounds pretty cozy.”

“We're just friends,” Laura replied, thinking as she spoke that those words had become her mantra.

While her grandmother pressed phone buttons and grumbled under her breath about newfangled inventions, Laura went to get a drink. Leaning her hips against the cupboards, she surveyed the familiar kitchen while she took slow sips of water. It was a room dear to her heart. As a child she'd often sat at the oblong table with Grandpa Jim, sharing a predawn breakfast before they went fishing at the lake. She'd also spent many a summer evening in this room with her grandmother, putting up produce from the vegetable garden. It had involved a lot of hard work, but Gram had always managed to make it seem fun. Remembering those days, Laura almost wished she were a child again.

Over the years, the kitchen had undergone many transformations—new appliances, different color schemes—but it had remained essentially the same. The breakfast-nook window now sported
lime-green Priscilla curtains that matched the darker green flecks in the new Formica counters and the swirling pattern in the indoor/outdoor carpet that her grandmother had recently had installed so she would no longer need to mop. A dark brown Mr. Coffee machine sat to the left of the stainless-steel sink, its carafe half-full and emitting the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee. The front of the refrigerator was so crowded with doodads that the white door barely showed. Many of the magnets sported slogans that Laura now struggled to read, but they'd been hanging there for so long that she'd memorized most of them.

Say the word
diet,
and you die. God bless this house. I'm not just a good cook; I'm a damn good cook.
Laura smiled when her gaze came to rest on her favorite magnet of all, which she'd gotten as a gift for her grandmother years ago. It read,
Me and you, and you and me, that's the way it'll always be.
Oh, how true that was. All these years later, here she was, standing in Gram's kitchen, one of her favorite places to be.

“Almost done,” her grandmother said.

As Laura's gaze came to rest on her grandmother, she smiled to herself. Even at seventy-six Etta was beautiful, a slender, fine-boned woman with delicate features. A lot of people claimed that Laura looked like her, but Laura had never seen the resemblance. Their coloring was similar, she sup-posed, but that was as far as it went.

The cell phone in Etta's arthritic hands suddenly rang. “Dear God!” she cried, giving such a start that she nearly dropped the apparatus. “I detest these things.”

Laura laughed as she crossed the room. Taking the device, she pressed the little green telephone symbol to answer the call. “Hello?”

“Hi, Laura,” a deep, masculine voice replied. “This is Isaiah.”

Her heart thumped just a little faster. “Hi.”

Long silence. Then he said, “There was a spot of trouble here this morning. I only just now got back from making ranch calls and found out about it. I think we need to talk. Is there any way you can come in to see me today?”

Laura's glad smile faded. Isaiah's voice was taut, almost grim. “Sure. What kind of trouble? Did I get the food mixed up again?” Laura frowned even as she asked the question, for she'd been extra careful last night, checking and double-checking her work at every turn. “I can't believe I made a mistake.”

“We'll talk when you get here.”

Laura was starting to get a very bad feeling. Isaiah also sounded distant. “All right. What time is good for you?”

Another silence. “Just come in when you can. I'll be here the rest of the day.”

 

After ending the call, Isaiah rocked back in his desk chair and rubbed his eyes. Tucker, sitting on a corner of the desk, heaved an audible sigh, fiddled with the stapler for a moment, and then said, “We have to let her go, Isaiah. It's nothing short of a miracle that that dog didn't die.”

A brutal fist of emotion squeezed Isaiah's throat. “She's so careful, Tucker. I can't believe she left that kennel gate unlatched.”

Tucker hissed a vile curse through clenched teeth. “Damn it, Isaiah, don't go there. She was the only one here last night. Who else could have done it?”

Isaiah had no reasonable explanation. He knew only that Laura was meticulous in all that she did. “Okay,” he tried. “Just for the sake of discussion, let's say she did leave the gate open. It could happen to almost anyone. Why can't I just chew her out and let it go at that? It seems pretty harsh to fire her over a mistake she may never make again.”

Tucker threw up his hands. His blue eyes sparked with anger. “You didn't see the condition that dog was in. There was so much blood, the kennel looked like a war zone. He could have died, Isaiah. He's an expensive animal. The owners might have sued. Leaving a kennel gate unlatched is no small mistake.”

Isaiah nodded. “I realize the gravity, Tucker. You're missing my point. Laura is fabulous with the animals. I think we should work with her and give her another chance.”

“How many chances?” Tucker pushed up from the desk. “We're financially liable for her screw-ups.” With each word, his voice grew louder. “We can't just slap her on the wrist and take the risk that she may do it again. That makes no sense.”

Isaiah rose from his chair. Fists braced on the desk, he leaned forward to look his brother in the eye. “I'm the one who decided to hire her. I think it should be me who decides when to fire her. I've worked with the lady. I know her a hell of a lot better than you do.”

“That's what worries me. Do you have a thing for her or something?”

“No, of course not.”

“Then why this reluctance to cover our asses? Use your head, brother, and I'm not referring to the one behind your fly.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“She's an attractive woman.”

“We have a number of attractive women working here,” Isaiah pointed out. “I'd argue against firing any one of them if I felt she didn't deserve it.”

Tucker took a calming breath, raked a hand through his hair, and stared at the floor. Watching him, Isaiah had to wonder if he looked as intimidating when he grew angry. The muscles that roped Tucker's shoulders were bunched, his cheek was ticking, and his large hands curled into fists each time he lowered his arms to his sides.

“All right,” he finally ground out, his tone conveying intense displeasure. “You've worked with her and I haven't. You're right in saying that you know her better. I'll let you make the call. But if anything happens again, no matter how insignificant, she's gone, no discussion. Agreed?”

Isaiah nodded. “Agreed.”

Tucker opened the door and started out. Then he swung back around. In a voice pitched low so it wouldn't carry to the front desk, he said, “Keep your head about you, Isaiah. Laura's a sweetheart, and there's no denying she's pretty, but she's packing a lot of baggage. Don't go falling in love with her.”

Isaiah shook his head. “The warning is completely unnecessary.”

 

Muscles locked, Laura gripped the arms of the chair as she waited for Isaiah to stop fiddling with things on his desk and tell her what she'd done wrong. He obviously dreaded this conversation. He seemed unable to look her directly in the eye, and it was totally unlike him to fidget.

All her life Laura had wondered why people sometimes described silence as being so loud it was deafening. Now she knew. It was so quiet in the office that she could have sworn she heard the sweat oozing from her pores.

Finally Isaiah settled back and looked at her. Once he made eye contact, his blue gaze was direct and unrelenting. “Last night you left a kennel gate unlatched.”

Laura's heart caught. “But that can't be—”

“The dog got out,” he went on, cutting her off in midprotest, “a black Lab that underwent abdominal surgery yesterday. He was on an IV drip. When he left the cage the fluid bag was jerked loose from the hook, fell to the floor, and the dog dragged it around behind him. At some point he jumped up on some packing crates under one of the windows, probably in an attempt to get outside, and the fluid bag was at a lower level than the IV, resulting in reverse flow.”

Laura had no idea what that meant. Evidently he saw the confusion in her expression, for he went on to explain: “That means that instead of infusing fluid into the patient's vein, the blood is siphoned
out. In this case, thank God, the dog must have jumped up on the crates just before Susan arrived. He'd lost a lot of blood, both from the IV insert and the incision, which, at some point, was ripped open, but he wasn't dead. She called Tucker, he transfused the animal, performed emergency surgery, and, by the grace of God, it looks as if he'll make it.”

Laura was so stunned she could only shake her head. “No,” she finally managed to whisper. “No, that can't be.”

As if she hadn't spoken, he went on to say, “I'm sticking my neck out by not firing you on the spot. I have only one reason for taking a chance on you—because you're so wonderful with the animals. I honestly believe you're the best kennel person we've ever had.”

“Thank you,” she squeezed out.

“But we can't have things like this happening. The dog could have died. Do you understand the ramifications of that? The owners might have sued our pants off.”

“Yes, I under-understand.” Laura's mind felt all fuzzy, and her stomach lurched as if she might vomit. “It's just that I checked all the gates to make sure they were latched,” she said faintly. “That's the last thing I do right before I leave.”

He rocked back in his chair. His jaw muscle rippled from his clenching his teeth. “Last night you must have forgotten.” He spread his hands. “How it happened isn't important. What we have to deal with is that it occurred on your shift and a dog almost died. Tucker and I met to discuss what should
be done. On my recommendation he's agreed to give you another chance, with the understanding that you'll be terminated if anything at all happens again. Our reputations as vets are on the line.”

Tears burned at the backs of Laura's eyes. Pain radiated through her chest. “Maybe I should save every-one a lot of trouble and quit right now.”

Isaiah put his elbows on the desk, folded his hands, and rested his chin on his knuckles. Once again his eyes offered her no quarter. “Is that what you want?” he asked softly. “To just quit?”

“No, of course not. I love this job. But I don't like being blamed for something I didn't do. I
checked
those gates. I always do. I know I didn't leave a cage open.”

“Someone did, and you were the only someone here.”

Laura pushed up from her chair. “Are you sure?”

His face a mask of stunned incredulity, he stared up at her. Laura curled her hands into throbbing fists. Words crowded at the back of her throat. She wanted so badly to defend herself, but he would undoubtedly think she'd lost what was left of her mind.

“Look,” he said reasonably, “let's reverse that question. Can you swear to the fact—are you absolutely positive—that you couldn't have accidentally left that one gate unlatched?”

Laura almost said yes, but right then she was so upset that the previous night was a blur in her mind. She needed to go back over everything she'd done last night before she could be absolutely sure. “I'm almost posi-tive,” she settled for saying.

“Almost? That's not good enough.”