Page 54 of Vetted for Vengeance
Chapter twenty-seven
Rhys
Iwake up with an odd feeling. I am not alone in my bed. A small body is curled up right in the middle of the mattress, using my arm as a teddy bear.
“Noah?” I whisper. There is no way I can extricate myself from this situation without disturbing him.
“Huh?” he breathes sleepily. “Oh, shit, did I sleep all night?”
“That is what normal people do.”
“I'm not normal,” he shrugs, sitting up and looking around confused. “I usually wake up several times in the night to check on whelping bitches and newborn puppies.”
“You didn't need to check them the other night.”
“I still woke up.”
I just nod. I understand the routine. Speaking of which, I need to get on. My practice probably could survive without me, but I like to think it can't.
“I'm using the shower now. You can stay here or go to your room to get ready.”
“I'll make some tea.”
“Suit yourself.” I walk to the bathroom and begin my morning ritual.
He manages to get himself ready without getting in my way. He's occupied as little space as he possibly can since he arrived, but I expected last night to change things.
No one has ever thrown socks at my head before and then gone back to pretending they were invisible.
Not that I can ever recall anyone throwing socks at my head.
When we arrive at the surgery, Noah instantly goes to find all his puppies. At least he had one night without worrying about them.
“Morning.” Danielle greets me. She was on -call last night, ready to update me with a list on her clipboard. “Bobo isn't putting on weight. Two of Honey’s pups aren't suckling. They're not strong enough to fight for space. We've brought a dog named Figarolle over from the large animal practice as she's showing the first signs of labor. And we've got the court order for five of the non-pregnant dogs to be spayed, ready for re-homing.”
“Sounds like you had a busy night.” I give a sign, not of a defeated man, but of one entering a war zone. “Did you decide anything about the pups?”
“Yes, we removed all three.” Danielle nods. “Chloe did most of the work.”
I give her a nod of thanks. She has a morning of consultations before an afternoon off to sleep.
One of my other full-time vets, Rowan, has a full day of consultations, and I'm on surgery rotation. Five bitch spays plus our regular surgeries is going to be a hard slog, but I bet I can make Noah a pro at routine ops in just one day.
“Rhys,” Martha calls from the office. “Is Noah around? I have a call for him on line one.”
“I can find him. Who is calling?”
“He won't give a name. Says it's personal.”
“Tell him Noah is busy.”
Martha nods. We don't pass on calls to the nurses from strangers who won't give their names. Not after some weirdo called the practice wanting to talk to Tree after he saw her on TV. My reply only confirmed Martha’s opinion.
But it has me thinking back to the man at the window last night.
The man I now wanted to see lying on my special operating table.
I enter the prep room, where my nurses move around gracefully and the camera crew do their best not to get in the way.
