she would help him scan the bad-tempered bird and, if necessary, remove it from the bird’s long neck.
“Yes, sir.” Jason left.
“Still there?” he asked.
“I’m here, waiting. But I’ve got people waiting, too. I’ll call our son tonight.” And she hung up.
He was about to throw his cell phone against the wall when a soft “Dr. Boone” was followed by a knock on his office door.
He repressed an irritated sigh as one of the school deans entered. He stood, extending his hand to the older man. “Dr. Lee,” he said. “Nice to see you.”
“You, as well.” Dr. Lee nodded, shaking his hand. “I hear you have a procedure in fifteen minutes, so I won’t keep you. But I need your help. We have received a substantial donation from the Harper-McGee family—an in memoriam for their deceased son Nate.”
Hunter nodded. The Harper-McGees were one of the school’s most devoted supporters. The past five generations of Harper-McGees had earned their doctor of veterinary medicine degrees from UET’s College of Veterinary Medicine. Nate would have carried on that tradition if he hadn’t been killed in a car accident midsemester last spring.
“Part of the donation is to be used for a mural in the waiting room. His parents have a drawing he did when he was young. They want something like it to cover the wall over the admissions desk.”
Hunter looked at the drawing Dr. Lee offered him, then back at the older man. “I’m not sure—”
“Dr. Hardy told me you’re very close with the local artist Joselyn Stephens. That she’s visiting right now. Dr. and Mrs. Harper-McGee were delighted. They hoped you’d convince her to consider their commission.”
Hunter blinked. “I don’t know Miss Stephens all that well. But I do see her father now and then.” He didn’t know if he could see her again, to talk business or otherwise. Her angry words were a hot band around his heart.
“Perhaps you could ask her to contact me, then? Their donation is incredibly generous, Dr. Boone. I’d like to be as accommodating as possible, you understand?” Dr. Lee nodded at the drawing. “These are for Miss Stephens.” He placed a sealed envelope on top of the sketch. “If she has any questions, I’m sure there’s contact information inside.”
Hunter stared at Joselyn’s name on the envelope. “I’ll get it to her.”
“Thank you, Dr. Boone.” Dr. Lee nodded. “Good luck with Larry.”
Hunter smiled. “Good training opportunity.”
The older man paused at the door. “How’s the pharaoh hound?”
Hunter ran a hand over his head. “Bad-tempered. Stubborn. And spoiled.” But the owners were willing to keep spending thousands of dollars on their rare breed, so until puppies were a guarantee, the damn dog was Hunter’s problem.
“Any animal that needs help procreating has a right to be all of those things.” Dr. Lee chuckled.
“Never thought about it that way,” Hunter agreed. “We can only hope the procedure works this time.”
Hunter thought letting Tut have some fun the old-fashioned way might sort out his quick temper. But the owners were determined, and footing the bill, so petri dishes, test tubes and no hanky-panky were all Tut had to look forward to.
“Poor Tut. We shall hope for the best. I do hope Larry behaves for you.” Dr. Lee stopped at the door. “If I don’t see you before the holiday, enjoy your break.”
“Thank you. You, too.” No sooner had Dr. Lee left than Hunter’s office phone rang. He tried not to snap as he answered, “Dr. Boone.”
“Dr. Boone, we’re checking in Sprinkles, Mr. Stephens’s rat terrier.”
He could pass the dog off to another resident. Maybe he should. But Carl was recovering right now. And Jo— “On my way.” It took him two minutes to leave the administration wing, pass the massive lecture halls and labs, and enter the teaching clinic.
The first thing Hunter saw was Josie, her arm around her father. Her hair had slipped free from the clip on her head, falling down her back in thick reddish-brown curls. Her shirt was covered in a fine coating of flour; two more streaks ran across her forehead and into her hairline. He smiled at the flour handprint on her hip.
Her words rang in his ears, branding his heart. But seeing her worried and disheveled only reminded him that she was hurting, too. This time, right now, he could make it better.
She saw him then, her gray eyes widening before everything about her relaxed. “He’s here, Dad. It’ll be okay.”
Damn, she looked beautiful. “Hi.”
Carl was clutching a trembling Sprinkles to his chest. “Hunter, I didn’t know if you were working the clinic today—”
“You think I’d let anyone else take care of Sprinkles?” Hunter patted the dog’s head, looking into the small canine’s brown eyes. He glanced at the desk clerk. “Call Dr. Archer in to assist with Larry. Jason and Hanna should have him prepped and ready to go.”
“Yes, Dr. Boone. Room four is open,” she added.
He nodded, assessing the situation. Yes, Sprinkles was sick, but Carl was clearly worn-out. “How about I carry Sprinkles?” Hunter took the dog. “Follow me.”
He placed his hand over the dog’s chest, counting the beats per minute. One thirty-six. Nothing irregular. Breathing was a little labored, but Sprinkles didn’t like riding in the car, so that was just as likely to cause her panting as anything. Once they were in the exam room, he put Sprinkles on the metal exam table and looked at Carl. “What happened?”
“Dad, please sit.” Jo pulled one of the chairs closer to the table.
“I don’t know.” Carl sat in the chair, resting his hand on the dog’s head. “I just don’t know. Sprinkles and I were watching a John Wayne flick, a good one. Then Josie and Fisher were yelling in the bakery, so I left to see what they were going on about. Sprinkles was in my chair. I came back and she’s lying on the floor, acting like this.” He pointed at Sprinkles for emphasis. The dog was definitely not her normal, bouncing, yapping self.
Hunter put the earpieces of his stethoscope in and listened to Sprinkles’s stomach. “Did she eat anything?”
“Her food,” Carl answered. “You give her anything, Josie?”
Hunter looked at Jo and froze. She was staring at him, intently. In the depths of her silver gaze he saw something that made him ache. What was going on inside that head of hers?
“Josie?” Carl repeated, making Jo jump and reminding Hunter he had a job to do.
“No, I didn’t.” Her hand rested on her father’s shoulder. “You’ve told me a dozen times she’s on a special diet.”
Carl patted his daughter’s hand.
Hunter focused on the dog. “Could she have gotten into something?”
“She gets into everything,” Carl admitted.
“I’ve had to chase her out of my suitcase every morning.” Jo smiled.
“She eat something bad? Josie, you have perfume or something that could make her sick?”
“No, Dad. Besides, if she’d drunk my perfume, she’d smell better.” Jo’s voice was teasing.
“That’s not funny, Joselyn Marie.”
Like hell it isn’t. Hunter winked at Jo.
He saw the splash of color on her cheeks, the way she blinked and looked at her father. “Sorry, Dad.” She bent, pressing a kiss to Carl’s temple.
“I don’t think we