Page 102 of Vetted for Vengeance
That doesn't frighten me as much as I thought it would. As much as it should.
“Why don't you clean up and sort out your puppies while I clean up down here.” Rhys dismisses me, but it doesn't feel like a rejection. It feels generous.
Which is nice because I feel tired.
Chapter forty-seven
Rhys
Iwake with a start before remembering I had fallen asleep on the living room armchair. Noah looks a million times more comfortable spread out on the sofa with the quilt pulled up around him. Not that I can see much; the quilt is tucked up around his head, just his arm sticking out, fingers resting against the door of the incubator. The most worrying part of this otherwise very domestic setting is that Honey is sleeping against the edge of the sofa on a corner of quilt dropped on the floor.
She's not with her puppies.
I jump up and hurry across to the bedding, housing a pile of tiny, wriggling puppies.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six
One tucked down the side.
And the eighth rolled down the back.
They're warm, thanks to the heat lamp, but hungry.
“Hey sweetie.” I stroke Honey’s head as she appears beside me.
“You only had a box before, one bed. Either you stayed with your puppies or you sleep on the cold floor.” Now she's sore, exhausted, and free to choose.
She has chosen Noah over her puppies.
Well, I have work to do.
Last night, Noah slipped into my secret life as if he was born to be there. Now I'm going to show him I can slip into his life just as seamlessly. I warm a fresh jug of puppy milk, sterilize every bottle we have, and make two mugs of tea.
Back in the living room, I set the tray of supplies down on the floor and start pouring milk into bottles.
Soon the hungry pups are lined up, each sucking frantically on the teats. Their tiny little front feet kneed against the bedding like fury. It's supposed to encourage their mother's milk, but all it's doing here is knocking the bottles away from their hungry mouths. It's a full-time task just keeping the bottles in their mouths.
“Is one of those for me?” Noah calls sleepily.
For him? A bottle or a puppy?
Oh, he means the mug of tea.
“Yes, here.” I lean over with the mug in my outstretched hand. After he takes it, I hand him the milk jug too.
“She's made our decision for us, hasn't she?”
“Yes, she's part of the family now.”
“I mean about her puppies.”
“I know you did,” I smile. “But she made two decisions last night. Both I'm sure all the dogs would like to make.”
“We still have so many litters left to support.”
“I know. We can't hand-rear them all. But at least you can take comfort knowing it is their last.” It's all the comfort I can give him.
I went to the puppy farm only caring about easing the itch, and I walked away with a whole different view. I didn't just ease the itch that builds like a tense muscle until it's unbearable.
