her parents had been killed in a car accident, and she’d been too young to really remember them. The last in a long line of her foster families had lived on Paradise Isle, and she had found a sense of belonging here that had kept her on the island long after she’d aged out of the system. She had never been adopted, but the people of Paradise Isle had become a kind of surrogate family. Most of the time, that was enough. But on nights like tonight, when she had nothing better to do than stay late and file charts, she couldn’t help but daydream about someday having a real family to go home to.
“I’ll lock up on my way out. See you in the morning,” Cassie called from halfway out the door, juggling her keys, briefcase and a stack of veterinary trade magazines. She might be leaving the office, but Jillian knew she’d spend a few more hours working after her daughter, Emma, was asleep. Cassie was a single mom, and had taken over the clinic from her father, after he was permanently injured in a car accident a few years ago. Now her parents watched Emma during the day, doting on their only granddaughter, freeing Cassie to focus on the veterinary hospital. It was an arrangement born of necessity, but it worked because of their strong love for each other, something Jillian couldn’t help but envy.
As she filed, the only sounds were the bubbling of the fish tank and the hiss of an overworked air conditioner fighting the Florida heat. A full day of barking dogs, hissing cats and chatty clients had her appreciating the temporary quiet, only for it to be broken minutes later by a banging at the front door. For a second she considered staying out of sight, behind the tall wall of files. People often stopped by after hours to try to pick up last-minute items, and she really didn’t want to deal with that tonight. But, as always, her sense of duty won out.
Pulling her unruly black curls into a mostly serviceable ponytail, she forced a smile on her face, ready to serve whatever tardy client was making such a ruckus. Approaching the heavily tinted glass front door, she could make out, dimly, a very large man holding what appeared to be a squirming dog. Medical instincts kicked in at the sight of the would-be patient, spurring her to run the last few steps to unlock and open the door. Standing behind it was a seemingly solid wall of muscular man. Ignoring him, and her suddenly rapid heartbeat, she focused instead on the very familiar-looking dog.
“Oh, no, is that Murphy? What happened? Is he hurt?” Her voice came out more forcefully than she’d intended, but the shock of seeing her favorite patient being carried in by a stranger had her protective instincts kicking into high gear. She tried to assess the dog, but the man holding him was so tall it was hard to get a good look.
“I have no idea who or what a Murphy is, but I found this mongrel on the side of the highway as I was driving into town.” He shifted the dog, holding him away from what had once been a white dress shirt. “I don’t think he’s hurt too badly, but he definitely needs a bath.”
Jillian relaxed a bit, her mouth twitching up despite her worry. The guy, whoever he was, made quite a picture holding the pathetic dog in his arms. He was tall, over six feet, dark hair and eyes, with broad shoulders that filled out his business clothes well. The bristly stubble starting to show only added to his masculine aura. That he was carrying the nearly fully grown dog without visible signs of strain impressed her. That he had stopped to rescue the dog at all impressed her even more.
“So…are you going to help him?” the man asked, eyebrows raised. He probably wondered why she was just standing there, staring up at him like a fool.
“Oh, um, yes. Let me take a look, see if I need to call the vet back in. Just bring him in here.” Jillian snapped back into work mode, chiding herself for ogling when there was an animal that needed help. Motioning him into an exam room, she told herself she was a professional. And professionals were not supposed to check out the client’s rear end, no matter how nice it was.
Nic carried the dog into the small, spotlessly clean room, gently lowering him onto the slick exam table. Immediately the troublemaker tried to jump off into Jillian’s arms. “Oh, no you don’t. Stay,” he said, grabbing the squirming dog before he could take flight.
“Good reflexes,” she commented, smiling that pretty smile again.
“Years of wrestling with my younger brother,” he answered. “You said you might need to call the vet. I thought you were the vet.” Confused, he pointedly looked at her scrubs. Scrubs that did nothing to hide her feminine curves.
“Me? No, I’m the veterinary technician, Jillian Everett,” she corrected. “Cassie—I mean, Dr. Marshall—already left. But let me take a look, and then I’ll give her a call if there’s anything wrong.” She opened a drawer below the gleaming examining table and removed a small scanning device. “But first, let’s see who this furry guy is. I’m pretty positive it’s Murphy, Mrs. Rosenberg’s border collie, but a microchip would tell us for sure. Hopefully we’ll luck out, and the scanner will be able to find one.”
Upon hearing his name, the dog whimpered, wriggling in delight.
“I think you just got your answer as to who he is. And speaking of names, I’m Nic.”
“You’re probably right, Nic, but let’s do this by the book, just in case.” She held down a button and ran the scanner up and down the dog’s neck, stroking his black-and-white fur with her other hand. Her affection for the dog was obvious. When the machine beeped, she wrote down a number that had popped up on the screen. “I’ve got Murphy’s chip number recorded in his file. Let me get it and I’ll be right back.”
Left alone with the dog, Nic found himself hoping the veterinary tech would come back soon. He liked her smile, and the way her dark curls kept falling across her face. Liked the gentle way she stroked the dog without seeming to notice she was doing it. He wondered if those hands felt as soft as they looked. But mostly, he liked that she was focused on the dog, not him. Fawning women had become a huge turnoff.
“It’s definitely Murphy,” she said, striding back into the room. Murphy squirmed in glee, as if happy to be recognized. “All right, boy, I know you’re happy to see me. I’m happy to see you, too. But I’ve got to make sure you’re not hurt, okay, handsome?” She ran her hands along the dog’s back and along his sides, feeling through the thick coat. “Murphy’s a favorite of mine, smarter than most dogs, but as likely to get into trouble as his name implies.”
“His name?” Nic looked down at the dog in his arms, confused.
“Murphy. As in Murphy’s Law?” She picked up the front leg and continued to check him over for any obvious open wounds or signs of pain.
“Ah, I take it this isn’t his first misadventure, then?” Nic could relate to that. He’d had his own stretch of mishaps growing up.
“Oh, no, Murphy makes trouble his hobby. It’s really not his fault—he’s just a smart, active dog without enough to keep him busy. Border collies are herding dogs—they need a job to do, some way to channel their energy. Mrs. Rosenberg is very nice, but she’s in her seventies and just not up to giving him the kind of exercise and training he needs. So our boy here finds his own exercise. He’s broken out of her apartment a few times before, but I’ve never known him to make it all the way over the bridge. That’s quite a hike, even for an athletic dog like Murphy.”
Annoyed by the owner’s lack of forethought, he asked, “If she can’t keep up with him, why did she get him in the first place?” His whole life was nothing but responsibilities; the idea of someone being so irresponsible, even with a pet, rankled him.
“She didn’t, not exactly. Her son, who wouldn’t know a collie from a cockatiel, gave him to her for a present. Said a dog would keep her company. As if she needed company—she’s a member of every committee and social group in town. She tried to talk me into taking him, but my apartment building doesn’t allow dogs.” She paused, bent down to look at something more closely and then frowned. “Nic, can you hold him on his side for me, lying down? I want to get a better look at his paws. I