His cheek was bruised, and his eyes were puffy, turning purple, his lips mashed and bloody. Then I lifted his hands and touched the split knuckles with the tip of my finger.
“What happened?”
He shook his head, edging away from me, subtly removing his hands from my grip.
“Well, can you tell me where you found this dog? He’s obviously been in a fight and not an accident on the road.”
He nodded sadly.
“And so have you,” I added, my lips pulling together.
The expression on his face was heartbreaking. I saw hurt and regret, pain and sorrow, frustration and so much more.
He shook his head again, unable to express a single word, and he stood up to leave.
“Alex,” I said gently, “let me help you.”
He took a deep breath, his hands forming fists as he squeezed his eyes shut.
“D-dog f-f- . . . d-dog fight!” he spat out.
“Yes, I got that,” I said, trying to be patient as my own frustration mounted. “Was it . . . was it an illegal dog fight? I mean, an organized dog fight?”
He nodded warily.
“Were you . . . there?”
Obviously. He nodded impatiently.
Did that mean he’d been part of the fight? The thought sickened me. I just couldn’t see this gentle man, this sweet guy involved in anything so barbaric. But the bloody remains of the dog and the fact that Alex had been in a fight, too, made me doubt everything.
“Can you tell me what happened?”
He scowled and took a step away from me.
“Alex?”
Disappointment and anger flashed in his eyes, before he turned and walked out of my office, covered head to toe in the dead dog’s blood, sweat and saliva.
I knew what I had to do, but I didn’t want to.
I just wished he could have talked to me. I wished he could explain. But strong emotion had robbed him of every sound, and instead I was left with silence.
Somehow Alex was involved in illegal dog fights.
I picked up the phone and dialed the police station.
I hadn’t slept even though I’d gone home and back to bed.
I shuddered, thinking of the multiple bite wounds on the dog Alex had brought in. I’d seen dog-fighting videos as part of my training, and they were horrific. It was literally a fight to the death. Some owners cut off the animal’s ears and tail to offer fewer targets for an attacking dog. They were trained to kill. It made the animals almost impossible to rehome on the rare occasions that they were rescued. I didn’t understand how humans could be so cruel.
How on earth did someone like Alex Winters get involved in that? He seemed so gentle. But when I thought about it, Stan had multiple scars on his body that could have come from fighting.
I’d left the dog’s body in the small mortuary we had at the office. Dan was coming by later in the morning to see it. I knew that dog fighting went on, but it was something that mostly seemed to happen in the cities. I was horrified to think that it could be happening here in Girard.
I showered and dressed slowly, as if I’d aged decades overnight.
Ashley was already in the office when I arrived, her indifference and curiosity putting me on edge.
“Where did you get the stiff?”
“Ashley!”
“What?”
“Never mind. It’s a dog that was involved in a fight. I wasn’t able to save him.”
“Yeah? Because I didn’t think we put the live ones on the slab,” and she rolled her eyes at me and sashayed over to the coffee machine.
Honestly, she had the sensitivity of a rock.
Dan and Gary arrived at the same time, and I took them to see the body.
“Man, that’s bad,” Dan said, shaking his head. “And you say Alex Winters brought him in?”
“Yes.”
“Did he say where he found the dog? Anything?”
“No, but you know what he’s like—he can’t speak when he’s upset. And he was definitely upset last night.” I hesitated, then plowed on. “And I think he’d been fighting, too. He had a split lip, and maybe a black eye. Oh, and his knuckles were all bloody.”
“I’ll go talk to him,” said Dan thoughtfully. “He might be more relaxed in his own home.”
“Do you think it’s starting again?” asked Gary, as I glanced up at him in surprise. “The illegal dog fights?” Then he looked at me. “The last serious ones were before you started working here.”
Dan sighed. “I don’t think they ever went away. After that big ring was busted in Philly some years back, it just pushed it further underground and out of the cities. I’ve been hearing a few things lately . . .”
I shook my head. “There’s no way that dog could have survived a drive from Philadelphia in his condition. I doubt it would have survived the two-hour ride from Pittsburgh.”
“Well, we won’t know anything for sure. I’ll go speak to Alex.”
We were all quiet, silenced by the violence and cruelty inflicted on this poor creature.
“The mystery man has made another appointment,” Ashley said, pulling a face.
Three weeks has passed since I’d last seen Alex. Three weeks since he’d phoned me in the middle of the night. Three weeks since I’d seen him mute with pain and anger.
Dan hadn’t gotten back to me, so I had no idea how the interview with Alex had gone either. But the rumor-mill didn’t need facts to fuel it. Apparently, the latest about Alex included the suggestion that he’d moved from California to be near Stella, or that he was a movie star recently out of rehab and now in hiding, although no one could remember the name of his supposed movies. Someone had suggested he was Chris Hemsworth, but I think Mrs. Jenners was near-sighted.
I pressed my lips together to keep from snapping at Ashley. At least she wasn’t calling him ‘weirdo’ anymore. She’d glimpsed him shopping for groceries, raved about his new haircut and beardless state, and ever since her gossip radar had been re-tuned in his direction. But I hadn’t told her about his role in the dog fighting incident—whatever that was.
“Do you want to take the appointment or should I schedule it with Gary?” Ashley asked, her eyes wide and innocent. “I don’t want things to be awkward since he and Stella . . . well, you know.”
I didn’t know—and that was the problem. Ashley rattled on, insinuating that Alex and Stella were dating. Or hooking up. That seemed more like Stella’s style. I had no idea if Alex had a ‘style’. No one had seen them around town together, but since her house was next to his and he’d taken her home from the party . . .
And the dog fighting—I didn’t want to believe he was involved. At least, not involved in setting them up or watching them or . . . so why the hell had he been there?
I rubbed my forehead and gave myself a mental shake. I could be professional about this appointment. Although it would be easier if I didn’t like him so much.
“No, that’s fine, Ashley. I’m quite happy to see Stan and Mr. Winters.”
Yes, I’d use last names—that kept things impersonal.
Ashley raised her eyebrows theatrically and turned back to her computer screen with a long-suffering sigh.
But when 11 o’clock rolled around, my stomach was churning and my hands felt clammy. I didn’t know what I expected, but I was anxious to see him. And that was not good. Not when he was involved in something illegal; not when he and Stella . . .
“Good morning, Mr. Winters,” Ashley said sweetly as the door to the office opened. “Please take a seat. Dr. Andrews will be with you shortly.”
I didn’t hear him reply, but I did hear Stan’s nails clicking on the linoleum. At least he hadn’t had to be carried in this time. I smiled to myself.
I was just about to tell them to come through, when I heard Ashley speaking again—and this time she was definitely flirting with him.
“I’m sure everyone’s already told you, but you sure look different than when you first came here. Rea
lly good.”
Silence.
“Although I think a little scruff suits you, too.”
Silence.
“You are such a sweetie, Stanley,” Ashley giggled.
“It’s just Stan,” I said, automatically correcting her as I walked into reception.
I caught her rolling her eyes before she patted Stan’s head and handed Alex a leaflet.
“Dr. Andrews wanted you to have this brochure. It has information on healthy diets for senior dogs and such.” She threw him a meaningful look. “It has all the information you need.”
He murmured something as she sashayed back to her desk. What was that about a brochure? I hadn’t mentioned anything to her.
“Hi, Stan,” I said, stroking his head. “Glad to see you don’t have to be carried this time.”
I glanced up at Alex, and caught the ghost of a smile.
The bruising around his face had faded, although there was a new wariness in his eyes when he looked at me.
“Come on in.”
Stan rose slowly to his feet and padded behind me as Alex followed soundlessly, and when we got to the examination table, he lifted Stan up.
I wanted to ask him how he was today, but I didn’t. Stan was my patient, not Alex. He wasn’t anything to me.
Instead, I concentrated on my job. I checked Stan’s teeth and gums again as Alex watched me in silence.
“I’ll schedule him for a procedure this afternoon. I’m going to scale and polish his teeth, but three of them have to come out, maybe four. You’ll need to leave him with us for a few hours.”
I looked up and saw the stricken expression on his face.
“He’ll be fine,” I said soothingly. “It’s a routine operation.”
“I w-want to s-s-stay.”
“He’ll be out for most of the time; we’ll take good care of him, I promise you.”
“No,” he said emphatically, shaking his head. “St-st-staying!”
I stroked Stan reassuringly as his worried gaze flipped between us.
“That’s fine,” I relented. “Come back at 2pm. But no food or water for him. Okay?”
He nodded, obviously upset, and lifted Stan down.
I watched him walk out of the door, his head hanging as he murmured softly to Stan.
“The strong, silent type,” Ashley winked at me. “And he cleans up real nice.”
I couldn’t argue with that.
But I wondered what she’d be saying if she’d seen him wild-eyed and covered in blood.
The fact that she hadn’t seen him like that became patently obvious a few moments later when I picked up the forgotten healthcare pamphlet that she’d given him, ‘Your Senior Dog’. There was a scrawled phone number and a short message:
* Call me. Promise we’ll have fun! Ashley x. *
I withheld a sigh, wishing I could be like that, so straightforward, everything so easy. But life had made me cautious, and being a mother had made me fierce when it came to protecting Katie. Only carefully selected men made it to a first date, let alone anything more.
Ashley was six years younger than me, pretty and bubbly, and with few responsibilities.
Sometimes, I felt weighed down by mine—it would be nice to have someone to share them with.
Three hours later, Alex was back, and this time Stan was being carried, panting heavily and a mournful look on his expressive face.
My eyes darted between Ashley and Alex, but I couldn’t discern any particular interest on his side. Or maybe that was wishful thinking.
Alex was concerned about Stan. I could tell that from the deep frown drawing his brows together and his lips pressed flat. But I couldn’t help noticing the flex of his biceps as he hefted Stan’s 80 pounds. I shouldn’t have noticed and I shouldn’t have cared, but I did.
I gave him a tight smile as he heaved Stan into our operating room.
“Just put him over there, please,” I said, proud that my voice was calm and professional. “And don’t touch anything—we’ve sterilized.”
He nodded and laid Stan down carefully. Stan looked miserable, a stream of drool hanging from the corner of his mouth, and I stroked his soft fur reassuringly.
“We’ll look after you, Stan. You’ll just have to take it easy for a few days. Think of it as a vacation.”
When I glanced up, Alex was staring at me intently. It was almost intimidating.
“Oh, you forgot your healthcare leaflet,” I said a little stiffly.
He cocked his head to one side, still staring, still making me nervous.
“Your healthcare leaflet,” I repeated, pushing Ashley’s pamphlet into his hand.
He gazed at me uncomprehendingly, and my cheeks begin to color.
“Oh,” I said softly. “I see.”
He hadn’t read the leaflet or seen Ashley’s message, and now I’d handed her phone number right to him. Fate was definitely laughing at me.
A few minutes later, we were ready to start.
Alex leaned down next to Stan, pulling his ears gently and stroking his silky head, speaking quietly as I stood at a short distance, talking with Gary.
“Don’t worry, buddy. They’ll take good care of you. It’s just a few teeth—nothing to worry about.”
He didn’t stutter once. Not when he talked to Stan. And if nothing else had made me realize how important Stan was to Alex before, now I truly understood.
Alex looked so guilty, lying to his dog, and I knew that Stan sensed it. His chocolate eyes stared up at his owner and he whined unhappily.
“Come on, Stan, it won’t be that bad.”
“We have to start now, Mr. Winters,” I said quietly, interrupting whatever else he would have said to Stan.
I’d already given him much greater freedom to be in here that I gave to other clients, so I felt no compunction about kicking him out into the waiting room as I shaved Stan’s paw so we could put in a needle for the anesthetic.
His eyes grew sleepy and finally closed, and we were able to proceed. Gary was monitoring the anesthetic, and I was doing the extractions.
As I worked, I studied Stan closely. He had a number of scars across his body, evidence of fighting, and Gary’s eyes met mine over our surgical masks. We were both thinking the same thing—that Stan had been a fighting dog, which meant that Alex was more deeply involved in this dog fight ring than I wanted to believe.
“He said his brother rescued him two years ago,” I said to Gary.
“Hmm,” was his loaded reply, and I went back to working in silence.
Finally, the procedure was completed. Stan was going to feel very sore, but I knew this would help to keep him healthy for a while longer.
I snapped off my surgical gloves and apron, tossing them in the trash, then went to find Alex.
But reception was empty and I glanced at Ashley.
“He went outside,” she said grumpily. “He’s a real a-hole.”
“Why’s that?” I asked, surprised at her sudden U-turn.
She sighed theatrically and started typing at her computer.
Did that mean he’d turned her down?
As soon as I walked outside, a wall of heat pummeled me, the sky an unforgiving brilliant blue. Summer had cracked and scorched the dry dirt with the brutality of a furnace. The temperature was hitting the high nineties, and only the breeze coming off the lake made it even slightly bearable.
Alex wasn’t in his truck or the parking lot. Instead, I found him on the opposite side of the road from the office, sitting in the shade of a sprawling white oak, his eyes closed.
He was shirtless, too, and I let my thirsty eyes drink in his beautiful body, his firm chest rising and falling rhythmically, his strong forearms resting in his lap, his long legs stretched out in front of him.
He hadn’t shaved for a few days, and light brown scruff darkened his jaw, softening those hard edges. His lashes were long and thick, shading his eyes, making them seem bruised with shadows.
As I drew nearer, his e
yes opened.
There was no slow rise to wakefulness, no confusion about where he was. He went from deep sleep to awareness with the flicker of his eyelids. It was disconcerting.
“The operation went well,” I said, speaking quickly. “I had to remove four teeth in the end, so he’ll need to be on soft food for a week. That will give his gums a chance to heal. Maybe some plain scrambled eggs tonight, and then something easy on his stomach—boiled rice and shredded chicken.”
I saw relief rush through him and he stood up gracefully, grasping my hands.
“Th-thank you!”
His palms were warm and slightly rough. I smiled awkwardly, aware that I was blushing as I politely tugged my hands free. His touch felt too personal, too intimate, and it was uncomfortable because I knew it was only me feeling this way.
“He’ll be waking up soon. Do you want to wait with him?”
He nodded, unable to speak anymore as I watched his raw emotions expressed on his too handsome face.
“He’s going to be a bit groggy for a while; as an older dog, he might find it hard to throw off the effects of the anesthetic, and it might make him a little nauseous for a couple of days. Just let him rest and make sure he drinks plenty of water. I have a packet of antibiotics for you to give to him, three times a day with food.”
Immediately, he turned and started to walk toward the clinic.
“Uh, Alex, you might want to put your shirt back on, or I’ll have to resuscitate Ashley.” Then I muttered under my breath, “Or peel her off of you.”
I hadn’t meant for him to hear that, but he turned and looked at me, surprise, confusion and a little irritation stamped on his face.
Without a word, he scooped up his t-shirt and yanked it down, not even bothering to shake off the grass and leaves clinging to it.
I led him into the recovery area, a small white room with several cages of different sizes. We’d put Stan in a large one at floor-level, an old quilt beneath him.
Gary was there, checking Stan’s breathing as he worked off the effects of the anesthetic.
“You remember Gary? He’s our Chief Veterinarian and the owner of the practice,” I said, uncertain whether Alex would remember him from Spen’s Fourth of July party.