Emma stared at the man in amazement. The things he said were hilarious, but he wasn't even smiling. How could a normal person not be laughing? And why did she have the strangest feeling that he was pulling her close while pushing her away at the same time? What was going on here?
As a rule, she tried her best not to alienate the owners of her patients, because she had yet to meet a dog that could sign a check. But she couldn't hold it in anymore with Thomas Tobin. She let her mouth fall open and she laughed. Loudly. It was one of her snorting laughs, too, the kind that made people look sideways at her in restaurants.
Mr. Tobin gazed at her blankly.
Emma wiped her eyes. "Okay, the thing is, Hairy needs to wear something because he's got no hair, right?"
"Oh." Thomas rubbed a hand along his jaw. "I didn't know the outfits were for heat retention. I thought they were, well, you know, fashion statements." He didn't bother mentioning that Hairy's owner was wearing an identical sailor suit at the time of his death.
Emma picked up the chart and began scribbling notes to herself, still chuckling. "Let's see what we can do to make Tom and Hairy get along a little better, shall we?"
"Thomas."
She raised her eyes to him.
"My name is Thomas. Not Tom."
"I see. And I'm Emma." She held the pen in mid-air as they stared at each other awkwardly. It soon became apparent that Mr. Personality had nothing to add.
"All righty then, Thomas. Let's go over the specific behavior problems you've encountered. On your form you say that Hairy isn't quite cutting it in the house-training department, is that correct?"
Thomas nodded.
"Unfortunately, that's rather common with male Cresteds. I'll order a urine analysis and an ultrasound to rule out any medical conditions, such as bladder stones. And when was the dog neutered, Mr. Tobin?"
"Neutered?"
"Yes. The dog has been neutered—his testes were surgically removed. Do you know how old he was at the time?"
Thomas stared at the dog in horror. "I have no fu—uh—idea," he mumbled.
She suppressed a smile while glancing at the form. "I've heard some Crested owners find it helpful to secure a maxi pad over the dog's penis while working on house-training. I'm told it cuts down on cleaning projects."
When Mr. Tobin made no comment, she raised her eyes to him. His face had gone white. His eyes were huge.
"Do what?" he whispered.
Emma tried not to laugh. "Tying a sweat sock around the hips with the pad slipped inside seems to do the trick. Be sure to get a brand with adhesive backing so it stays in place."
He continued to stare.
Emma reviewed the rest of the list. "He shakes and howls whenever you run the hair dryer, the vacuum, or the coffee grinder?"
Thomas nodded, his gaze moving absently out the window to the parking lot.
"And he keeps you awake at night with pacing and whining. He chewed the molding around your front door, clawed holes in a wall and a carpet. Your neighbors left you notes that he cries and barks all day when you're gone. Anything else?"
Thomas shoved his hands deep in his trouser pockets. "Isn't that enough?"
Emma hugged the chart to her chest and smiled at him, then glanced down at the frightened dog. Clearly, the first order of business was to convince Hairy that he was safe with Thomas—and that was going to be a tough sell.
She'd already observed that the man hadn't managed to form any kind of bond with the animal in ten days. He hardly looked at the dog. The dog shied away from the man. And every time Thomas's voice contained the least bit of agitation or disapproval, Hairy's trembling escalated.
On the bright side, Thomas seemed to have an open mind about all this, which was more than she could say about some of the owners she encountered. Many people waltzed in here with their minds already made up about how to keep their pets in line, already well on their way to a tragedy.
At least Thomas Tobin was listening.
His eyes remained locked on hers, and she thought she noticed the briefest flash of something deeply human in his expression. Then he looked away.
Had it been loneliness? Longing? Whatever it was, it looked so out of place on that he-man face that she'd probably just imagined it.
"Has Hairy exhibited these behaviors in the past, Mr. Tobin?"
"I have no earthly idea."
She nodded. "Okay. First and foremost, the dog is having trouble adjusting to his new home. I believe Hairy is experiencing severe separation anxiety and panic attacks."
Thomas pictured the scene again. He'd found Scott Slick on his kitchen floor, dead for days, the ugly dog keeping guard at his owner's side, shaking, hungry, and scared. It was the most pitiful thing he'd ever seen.
Yeah, separation anxiety and panic attacks sounded right on the mark.
"Dogs always do things for a reason," Emma continued. "In Hairy's mind, these behaviors make perfect sense—they accomplish something for him. Will his former owner be taking him back anytime soon?"
"I sure doubt it."
Emma offered him a reassuring smile. "I realize Hairy is a challenge right now, but with relaxation exercises, a consistent house-training regimen, medicine, and a little time, I think everything's going to be fine."
Thomas looked down on the shivering dog and winced. What had he done? Why had he taken this damn dog home with him? How long would he be stuck with him? Would the dog really have to wear a Kotex?
He started to feel queasy.
"Do you have any questions at this point?"
"No."
"Are you all right?"
"Perfect, thanks."
Emma spent the next forty minutes demonstrating the relaxation exercises and working with Thomas and Hairy until they got it right. She was pleasantly surprised to see that Thomas caught on rather quickly.
After making sure the urine test results were normal, she walked Thomas and Hairy to checkout, where she gave them their discharge instructions, shopping list, follow-up schedule, and prescriptions.
Then she slipped into the back hallway, leaned against the wall, and closed her eyes tight.
She felt like she'd been hit by a truck.
What had just happened in there? A grouchy dullard with some sort of personality disorder had just made her hormones throb, her skin tingle, and her panties smolder. It was as if her body had been on autopilot, responding to pheromones and electrical charges that had nothing to do with polite behavior or even common sense.
Could it be that a man too cool to smile had made her hot, hot, hot for the first time in she didn't know how long?
Could it be that she'd felt a jolt of connection with that man? An instant affection, even? How was that possible?
"Woo, Emma! That was one fine specimen!" Velvet Miki leaned her petite body up against the wall next to Emma and giggled.
"He's a nut job," Emma said, slowly opening her eyes.
"Hon, I wasn't talking about the little d-o-g—I was talking about the big hunk of m-a-n." Her assistant then shoved the next patient's chart toward her, and Emma read that Harpo the self-mutilating parrot was preening himself bloody again.
"So was I, Velvet," Emma said, staring ahead blankly. "So was I."
* * *
"Damn you, Slick, you sneaky dead fembot!"
Thomas sat in the Wit's End parking lot and thumped his forehead against the car steering wheel, feeling a pair of soulful eyes follow his every move. He glared toward the passenger seat.
"Is there some other way in which I might be of service to you?" he asked the dog. "Speak up, pal. I'm all ears."
Uh-oh.
You don't like me much, do you, Big Alpha? I'd like it better if you took me back in there to the lady with the soft hands.
"You know what I'd like, Hairy? I'd like you to get a grip on yourself. Move on with your life."
Move on? If you'd only heard that bad man's voice, smelled all the anger in him, saw how he banged Slick's head with the blender!
And the noise! The blender kept screeching and whizzing! It hurt my ears! My brain! I hate the blender! I hate the blender! I miss my master! I miss my home!
Uh-oh.
I just peed again.
"Jesus, Hairy!"
I'm such a bad dog.
Thomas swiped the leather seat with the towel he'd learned to provide for car trips, then he rolled his forehead back and forth on the steering wheel and sighed. The horn blared, and Thomas shot up with a start. He turned toward the dog again.
"Look, ace. I'm sorry Slick's dead and you ended up with me."
Tell me about it.
"But it was either me or the business end of a gas pipe, so how about you take your happy pills so I can convince some idiot to give you a home. Sound like a plan?"
Hairy shook some more, then stared at the door latch.
"I'm not cut out for dog ownership. Nothing personal. I work odd hours. I've got too much stress in my life. And I'm not a very nice man, so I'm only thinking of your welfare. Besides, I don't like animals. Hell, I don't even like human beings."
The car phone rang.
"Tobin. What?"
"Good afternoon, Miss Manners—how'd the lobotomy go?" Rollo laughed uproariously into the phone.
"The dog's or mine?" Thomas pulled out into Columbia traffic and headed toward Baltimore. With luck, he could deposit Hairy at his townhouse and get back to court by two for the rest of the Leo Vasilich suppression hearing.
Poor Leo. Talk about women troubles! That guy was the poster boy for what can happen when a man lets his guard down with a female—he ends up facing three to five of hard time.
"I can't believe you actually took that hairless rat to a psychiatrist, Thomas. How much did it set you back, anyway?"
"Two-fifty."
"No way! The guy should be arrested for extortion."
"Yeah, well, the guy is an actual veterinarian and he's a she with a great set of … a great setup out here. Anyway, that's just for the office visit and the drugs. It doesn't even count the ultrasound or the supplies I've got to get."
"You mean Hairy's going on doggie downers?"
Thomas riffled through the brochures and workbooks strewn across the seat until be found the little white prescription bag. "Uppers. Downers. Hell if I know." He read the instructions. "Amitriptyline, one-quarter of a ten-milligram tablet twice daily for depression and anxiety. Xanax as needed for panic."
"No freakin' way."
"Better dog living through chemistry, Rollo. Plus, I have to do some kind of retraining program and spring for a crate, a few little sweater outfits, some kind of special food and medicated shampoo and skin lotion shit, plus a pair of clippers, maxi pads, a baby toothbrush, and God knows what else. I better win at poker Friday night, that's all I got to say."
"This is nuts, man! Isn't there some kind of shelter or rescue place you can take him?"
Thomas said nothing, and glanced over at Hairy. The dog had edged toward the passenger door in an effort to get as far away from Thomas as possible, and now stared down at the black tufted seat of the Audi, bony shoulders quivering.
A big lump of guilt lodged in Thomas's throat.
"Hey, Rollo? We had some pretty wild parties at the Theta Chi house, didn't we?"
"Absolutely. But what's that got to do with—"
"Did I ever get drunk and try to eat a baseball?"
The line went silent for a moment before his brother-in-law cleared his throat. "Uh, are you all right, man?"
Thomas knew he was a lot of things—beaten down with guilt over Slick's death, sporting a hard-on for a pet shrink with a fascinating braid, warm smile, and exceptional breasts, and completely baffled by how his life had turned into a never-ending episode of The Jerry Springer Show—but "all right" he was not.
"I'm fabulous," he said. "See you Friday. Don't forget my Cohibas."
"Wait! Don't hang up!"
Thomas sighed in annoyance because that's precisely what he was trying to do. "I gotta go, man."
Rollo's voice lowered to a whisper. "Did you just say maxi pads?"
* * *
Emma stood over the lunchroom sink and wolfed down a piece of cold pizza, trying to ignore Velvet's commentary.
"Oh, come on, Em!" The veterinary assistant licked at her yogurt spoon with quick, feline strokes of her tongue. "He's a guaranteed good time. Marcus said you two have a lot in common. He's legally separated. He was cleared of that insider-trading thingy. And he'll be getting his license back soon, so this will probably be the only time you'll have to drive."
Emma nearly gagged on a piece of crust and stared at Velvet in disbelief.
"He sounds like a real prince, but no. Seriously. I've come to the conclusion that Marcus and I just aren't looking for the same thing in a man."
"Uugghhh!" Velvet bounced up from her chair and teetered on her clunky sling-backs until she reached the trash can. She washed off her spoon and leaned against the cabinets, arms crossed over her chest. "Not 'normal' enough for you, I take it?"
Emma stopped chewing and stared at Velvet for a moment. She tossed the rest of her pizza in the trash and wiped her mouth with a paper napkin. "You got it, Velvet—not normal enough. Any man who can't keep a driver's license has issues, and as we've discussed, I'd rather be alone than be with a man who has issues."
"But—"
"I'm living in an issue-free zone from here on out."
Velvet rolled her eyes. "And as a former social worker, I can tell you there is no such thing as an 'issue-free' man, so you might as well give it up."
Emma smiled, replacing a two-liter soda jug in the refrigerator. "I believe you've shared that insight with me on more than one occasion."
"Fine," Velvet huffed. "So what are your options?"
Emma looked at her watch. She had five minutes until her next patient and fantasized about spending three of those minutes in the privacy of the women's bathroom. So that left two minutes for Velvet's daily Cosmo Girl chat. She supposed she could survive two minutes.
"I have lots of options."
"Uh-huh. So let's hear what you've got planned for the weekend." Velvet's dark, crescent-shaped eyes widened a bit and her little lipsticked mouth knotted up into a smirk. Emma could tell she expected to hear the usual list of boring activities.
So she gave it to her.
"I thought we'd all go to the tractor pull Friday night. Leelee has a geography bee competition at the community college Saturday. I'll go riding Sunday."
"Wow," Velvet said, nodding in mock approval. "You're really gettin' jiggy with it."
Emma laughed. "Honestly. I'd much rather spend my weekend with my goofy father, a brainiac preteen, and a traumatized horse than with Mr. Traffic Court, thanks."
She turned to leave but Velvet touched her arm. "Em."
She shrugged her off. "We'll talk about my wild love life later, okay? I've got Mrs. Kline's psycho killer Springer Spaniel waiting for me."
"I just want you to have some fun. That's all."
Emma sighed. "I do have fun, Velvet!"
"I mean with a man."
Emma stared at her in defeat. She knew Velvet meant well. She'd been her assistant since the practice opened four years ago, and a dear friend and a hard worker from day one. And since Emma showed Aaron the door last year, Velvet had tried to find a social life for her, often enlisting the help of her boyfriend, Marcus.
The results had been … peculiar.
There was the beverage wholesaler who recommended total-body piercing as the path to sexual nirvana. There was the glass blower who slept under a pyramid-shaped canopy to harvest cosmic energy. There was the financial planner who suggested Emma join the Howard County Conservative Council.
A girl had to draw the line somewhere.
Not that her own choices had been stellar. Since she filed for divorce, she'd dated a few men she believed shared similar interests. The veterinary pharmaceutical sales rep lasted a month, until he got transferred and got
married. The fact that he'd been engaged had apparently slipped his mind.
She started seeing a vet she and Aaron knew from the University of Pennsylvania. But he lived in Salisbury, and she decided it was a long way to drive for a date, especially after the night she arrived at the appointed time only to find him getting a full-body massage from his summer intern. The intern was clad only in a thong, and Emma guessed it had nothing to do with the office casual-Friday policy.
After that, she'd just said to hell with it and went out on a few dates with the carpenter she'd hired to do some work around the farm. He was funny and cute and looked superb in a tool belt, but apparently forgot to pay the child support he owed to three different women and was currently enjoying a sabbatical at the Maryland Correctional Training Center in Hagerstown.
At least he wrote.
"You're thirty-four years old, Em! You're approaching your sexual peak! You need a man!" Velvet lowered her voice. "It's just not natural to be without one at your age."
Emma patted Velvet's mostly bare shoulder. "Tell Marcus thanks but no thanks." She turned to go.
"At least Thomas Tobin has his follow-up in two weeks!" Velvet offered brightly. "That's something to look forward to, right?"
Emma spun on her heels and gawked at Velvet. "Don't even think about trying to set me up with an owner! Besides, that guy is way beyond 'not normal'—he's just plain strange! He's like some kind of robot. I'm not interested."
"But…"
"Let's not talk about Thomas Tobin anymore, all right? I don't think I like him." She headed out the door.
"Yeah, but if you put a mustache on him he'd look like a blond version of Tom Selleck back in his heyday!" Velvet nearly shouted out the lunchroom door. "I wouldn't care if he were an axe murderer!"
"A studly robot axe murderer," Emma mumbled to herself, reaching for the ladies' room door. "Sounds like the plot of a good movie."
"It is!" Velvet shouted back. "Haven't you ever seen The Terminator?"
* * *
Chapter 2
I Love the Nightlife
« ^ »
"Time to get happy, Hairy."