One everyone thought was cute. And no one else would take him? Because he was lame?
It figured.
Noah was reminded of his father’s history of perfection. Every event in Noah’s life that fell short of his standards was met with a pronouncement of the man’s greatness.
You came in fourth in the relay race? My friends and I were state champs.
That’s your SAT math score? My math mark was seventy points higher than that on my first try.
His father had the highest expectations. He’d have taken one look at the laboring dog and contacted the closest animal-rescue facility.
The joke’s on you, Dad.
The truth was, the dog wouldn’t go with anyone else.
Darn dog didn’t know he’d made the wrong choice.
“Don’t expect much,” Noah told the dog when he reached the porch, because he’d been trained to have a polite bedside manner, even when he was in a foul mood.
The dog paused on the top step, panting. Snow clung to his shaggy golden hair as if it had been professionally frosted. His dark brown eyes, which peeked out from beneath overgrown bangs, were filled with things Noah didn’t want—love and trust. With those eyes, he was exactly the kind of dog that should appeal to someone like Ella.
“And don’t think this is permanent.” Noah gave the canine a stern look. “It’s just until you’re back on your feet.” He sighed, put his key in the lock and opened the door. “And now I’m talking to a dog.” Which, on second thought, might be an improvement. He’d been talking to himself since he’d gotten here.
He hurried inside, closed the door quickly behind them and just as hastily hung up his outerwear on hooks—knit cap, scarf, jacket. The dog sat at his feet, leg thrust out at an awkward angle.
“Did you forget we had an appointment, Doc?”
Noah jumped in the midst of removing his gloves. He quickly tugged them back in place and turned toward the corner, where the exam room was located. “I thought I locked the door.”
“You did.” A wiry old woman wearing a yellow knit cap over her coarse gray hair sat on the exam-room table, partially hidden by a privacy screen. “I know where the spare key is.”
Why don’t I know where the spare key is?
Noah’s pulse rate peaked, then began its descent into normal. Thankfully, the important stuff—the medicines and equipment—was locked in cabinets. He doubted there was a spare key to those, but he made a mental note to ask Mitch about keys regardless. “Odette, you don’t have an appointment today.” Or any day, for that matter.
The dog hobbled over and sniffed Odette’s feet, which were covered in red-and-blue hand-knit socks.
Odette patted the dog on the head. “Doc, dying patients need daily appointments.”
“You’re not dying.” She was just old and in need of some company. “Go back to your arts and crafts.”
She harrumphed, and then muttered, “Arts and crafts,” as if he’d referred to her quilting and knitting in a derogatory manner.
Which in hindsight, he might have. Her continued presence was getting on his nerves. His neighbor came by so often, she didn’t comment on his gloves anymore.
The dog sat at the base of the table and wagged his tail, more than willing to accept a visitor. Why couldn’t Noah have rescued a territorial guard dog?
“Doc Carter knew I was dying.” Odette huffed, thin shoulders slumping. “She was nice to me.”
Noah stalked over to the exam area, and grabbed the blood-pressure cuff and his stethoscope.
The canine panted and wagged his fluffy tail as if to say, You have to be nice to her, too, because she’s old and alone.
He scowled at the dog. “I’m paid to keep Second Chance residents healthy. Kindness is extra.”
The dog stopped panting, closed his mouth and stared at Noah in disbelief.
Noah shrugged and said to the dog, “Don’t look at me like that. Kindness never healed anybody.”
“Aha!” Odette fairly crowed with satisfaction. “You agree I’m down to my last days.”
“No. I was...” Talking to a dog because the isolation of Second Chance is getting to me?
That admission wouldn’t go over well. He wrapped the cuff around Odette’s arm with difficulty, relying on his left hand to pull it snug. He had to hand-pump the unit, because every piece of medical equipment in the cabin was at least ten years old and behind in technological advances. He still had to use an oral thermometer to take a patient’s temperature!
Odette went rigid, held her breath and leaned away from the cuff. “My brother always told me getting old was a chore.”
“Don’t tense up or we’ll have to do this again.”
“I’ll just look at your therapy dog.” Staring down, Odette visibly relaxed.
Noah felt her forehead—not hot—then relieved the pressure on the valve and watched the gauge fall.
“He has such sweet eyes. What’s his name?”
“Dog.” Noah removed the armband and picked up his stethoscope, instructing her to breathe deeply as he listened to her lungs. He checked her skin for elasticity. “Your blood pressure is normal. Your lungs are clear. You’re hydrated.” He retrieved her file from a drawer and dutifully logged the date, her numbers and his assessment—normal. Why did she insist she was on death’s door? “Are you having hurtful thoughts? Are you depressed? Is it hard to get up in the morning?”
“No, no and no.”
“Odette.” He gave the old woman his most serious expression, the one he used to use when he told sports stars they had to agree to an intense postsurgery therapy regime if they wanted him to operate. “I think you’ll live another day.”
Odette fell back on the exam table as if this was the worst news ever. “How can you say that?”
“Because you have no history of any disease and you walked over here through two feet of snow, not to mention you ascended an incline.” His was the highest cabin on this stretch of road. “If you were dying, the dog would’ve found you buried in a drift, not in here.” He took hold of Odette’s shoulder and raised her to a sitting position. “Come on. I’m sure you’ve got a project or two waiting for you at home.”
“I do.” She perked up, a smile revealing layers of wrinkles on her face. “I’m tackling homemaker quilt blocks today. Eight points plus four Y-seams. It’s very challenging.” She slid off the end of the table and walked to the bench where she’d left her snow boots and jacket, pausing to look out the big plate glass window to the buildings on the river side of the road. “There are visitors at the inn.”
“Yes.” He got out a towel and dried the dog off, taking his time before saying more. “The Monroes have arrived. Four of them. In a Hummer.”
“Roy will be happy.” Odette looked far from happy. “What are they like?”
“Why don’t you go see for yourself? I’m busy.” He picked up the paperback thriller he’d been reading for the last two months, sat down in his living room recliner and then glanced back at the dog.
As if released from the “stay” command, the shaggy beast came over and sat next to him, putting his muzzle on the arm of the chair and staring up at Noah with worshipful, big brown eyes.
There’s nothing left to worship here, big fella.
“You