Page 16 of Vetted for Vengeance
It’s hard to believe those hands were inside a man only hours ago.
“Oh, my goodness! It's an honor to meet you. I've watched all your shows. I listen to your podcast every night. Thank you so much for seeing me. I didn't know where else to go.”
“You mentioned something about early labor?” He asks stiffly.
“Uh yes. She's day 63.”
“Oh. Very close. Come in and tell me everything.”
I nod and approach him slowly.
“I can't believe I'm meeting the face of Follow the Vet!”
The door closes behind us, and his smile drops. “Did you make the calls?”
“And texts. Booked the ticket just as you said. Walked to the station. I got on the train at one end, went down three carriages and nearly knocked someone over getting off. Made a point to apologize profusely. Then got a cab here.”
“Well, you certainly played the part out there.”
“Doesn't everyone act like that the first time they see you? Hunky vet with the sexy voice?” I freeze, words tying in knots on my tongue. My brain desperately searches for a shovel big enough to bury that sentence. A slow, knowing smile creeps across his face.
“Are you saying…”
“I was guessing what other people would do, seeing you naturally, without their lives on the line.” I recover quickly, but it is already too late. “So I'm here telling you about the dogs. I'm just a kennel hand, pretending I rely on Derek and Frank for complicated stuff like whelping and nursing. They've disappeared. I didn't see them all afternoon yesterday, but that happens; they have lives. But they aren't there today, and I can't handle it alone. You're a super vet. Can you help?” And forget I called you sexy.
“Have you called the police?”
“No, that wasn't part of the plan.”
“The plan is to pretend I don’t know that,” he says, scolding lightly.
“No, I could only think about helping the dogs, and you are the only vet I know.”
“Right. Action.” He moves to the door, his hand closing around the handle. “Stick to your role, okay?”
I nod and watch him walk out. He becomes every bit the TV vet in that moment; the reassuring expression, the straight back, the quick check of how the light hits him. His shoulders broaden, his smile widens half a degree, and suddenly he’s no longer the man who dissected two people last night.
He’s Dr Calder.
Television’s favorite veterinarian.
I fight back a chuckle and slip out behind him.
“Claudia, I have to deal with this emergency. Can you get Danielle to cover my remaining appointments, please?”
The receptionist nods and instantly follows his instructions. Rhys leads me into a communal office. I assume he has a private office of his own, and that picking this public space is part of the cover story, but I’m not used to having eyes on me.
“Martha, could you get this young man a coffee? He's had a stressful morning.”
“Uh. Tea,” I correct as the woman called Martha stands up.
Rhys picks up the phone. It’s one of those old ones with a base and a coiled wire running to the handset. I've only played with them in drama class back when I was at school.
“Hey, kid,” Rhys nudges me, the handset tucked under his chin. “I'm on the phone with the police. They're asking where the kennels are.”
“Oh, Maple Green Farm, Old Green Lane. Milford.”
“Do you know the postcode? They can't find a farm or kennels there.”
