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“Come on,” Ana called again, interrupting as she hurried toward them, then dragged Stone back with her toward the gathering group. “You, too,” she called over her shoulder to Clay.
Clay whirled around, then stopped to glance back at Freddie. “It was nice to meet you.”
“Same here,” Freddie said, her heart fluttering like a trapped sandpiper. “Could…could Samson sit here with me while you go pose for posterity?”
A sigh of obvious relief left his body as he walked backward a couple of steps. “That would be nice. He’s had a rough time lately. He’s recovering from an injury he received while on duty and well…”
“He needs some nurturing?”
He nodded, his blue-green eyes melting her with an intense look of appreciation. “Yeah, he could use some tender loving care. Just until I can get him to the local vet next week for a follow-up checkup and the rest of his therapy sessions.”
Freddie watched as Clay turned and trotted toward the group gathered for a picture, with Greta Epperson in her big-framed glasses and satin fifties-style pink dress issuing orders and posing people.
“But…I am the local vet,” Freddie said to Samson, her smile secretive and sure as she rubbed his thick, furry neck. “I’ll take care of you, Samson. I promise.”
Samson’s big black ears shot up, then he settled his nose against the fabric of her floral dress and smiled back.
“She’s—”
“Pretty,” Rock said before Clay could finish. “Is that the word you were looking for, brother?”
Clay shot a grin toward Rock. “Not exactly. I forget I’m not out on the streets of Atlanta. Have to watch my mouth and my manners.”
“Please do,” Ana said as they all smiled for yet another picture from the photographer Greta had dragged along to the wedding. Then Ana leaned close to Clay. “Freddie has had a rough time. Her husband was killed about a year ago—I’m not sure what happened. She has a six-year-old son named Ryan.”
“Really?” Clay wanted to know more, but the photographer was jostling them around so he was forced to face forward and step out of the way.
“Really,” Ana replied over her shoulder. “And she’s not interested, by the way.”
“Who’s asking.” Clay shrugged, then looked toward where Fredrica Hayes sat patting Samson’s head. The dog seemed content to keep right on sitting there while the dark-haired, dark-eyed woman scratched him between the ears.
Clay couldn’t blame poor Samson. When he’d come around the corner and found her standing there, his heart had skidded to a stop just about as screeching as Samson’s big feet. Even now, it was beating rather erratically. Fredrica Hayes was pretty, but there was something more. She looked very lithe and athletic, as if she worked out on a regular basis. She didn’t have many curves, but what she had fit the package perfectly.
“Are you sure?” he asked Ana under his breath.
Ana’s eyebrows lifted with purposeful intent. “About Freddie? Well, she said she wasn’t ready for any type of relationship. She’s only been on the island a couple of weeks and she’s still getting adjusted…but you never know, now do you?”
“No, you never know,” Clay replied. “At least she likes dogs.”
“It’s a start,” Ana said, her expression a little too pleased. Then with a little laugh, she gave him a shove. “What are you waiting for?”
Clay wondered that himself. What was he waiting for? He’d come home to find some peace and quiet and to do some soul-searching. This was supposed to be a time to heal, not a time to fall for the first woman Samson happened to buddy up to. But then, Samson was a very smart animal. Maybe Clay should just do what he’d always done regarding his K-9 partner.
Follow his lead.
Chapter Two
The Sunset Island Animal Hospital was located just off Lady Street, the main thoroughfare through the island. The hospital was on a quaint side street that boasted tiny private cottages mixed in with boutiques and restaurants. The clinic sat at the end of the street near the bay, on a large lot away from the other houses and buildings.
Clay had walked Samson here, hoping to give the eager dog some exercise. He wasn’t sure what to expect in the way of follow-up therapy. Lately, it seemed his dog was in therapy more than he’d been…after the accident.
“But we’re here to get you well, fellow,” Clay said to his partner. “We want to get back to work, right?”
Samson whimpered his answer, as if he understood completely what Clay was saying. Clay was about to answer him when a bicycle came whizzing by them.
A bicycle ridden by Fredrica Hayes.
Clay felt a rush of breath leaving his body as he halted Samson by tugging on his leash. “Hmm, how ’bout that, Samson. Looks as if our new friend is headed to the clinic, too.”
Maybe she had a sick animal there. Maybe she’d hang around and Clay could take her to lunch later. Maybe he’d been off the dating circuit for way too long now.
A lot of maybes.
“Hi,” Clay called as she turned to smile at them.
“Hello.” She parked the bike beside the building then headed up the narrow stone steps to the creamy yellow clinic. “What brings you two out so early today?”
Clay watched, amused, as Samson tugged at the leash. He let the dog go, laughing when Samson headed to Freddie for an ear rub. “We’re supposed to check in with the vet—get Samson started on follow-up therapy.”
“Oh, right,” she said, nodding as she petted the dog. “Hello there, Samson. Remember me?”
“How could he forget,” Clay said before he had time to think. Then he grinned and looked out past the porch to the blue waters of the bay. A party barge glided by, the occupants laughing and talking. When would he learn to let his brain catch up with his mouth before he spoke?
“Dogs do have good memories,” Freddie said, tossing her long brown braid over her shoulder as she unlocked the door. “I believe you two are my first patients of the day.”
“You work here?” Clay asked, thanking the heavens for this delightful coincidence. He’d get to see her a lot if she worked for the vet.
“You could say that,” Freddie replied, winking down at Samson.
Samson’s big tongue fell out of his mouth.
Clay felt sure his was doing the same. She smelled even better than the gardenia bush blooming next to the porch. And she looked so natural and girl-next-door that he wondered why more men weren’t lined up with their dogs. He was sure glad he was the only one so far, however.
“So…do you assist, or just work the front desk?”
“A little of both,” she said, still grinning.
Clay felt as if there was a joke he’d missed, the way she kept looking at Samson. He wished that dog could talk. Maybe Samson knew something he didn’t. She sure seemed to be more comfortable with his dog than with Clay.
As they entered the clean, open waiting area, Clay heard someone behind him. And then he found out the secret.
“Morning, Doc,” a young tawny-haired girl said as she breezed in through the door. “I see we already have a patient this morning.”
“Good morning, Kate,” Freddie said, her grin deepening to reveal dimples on each side of her tanned face.
“Did she just call you Doc?” Clay asked, his gaze shifting from Freddie to the girl.
“She’s the doctor,” Kate said with a shrug.
“The doctor?” Clay looked back at Freddie.
She nodded and patted Samson’s head again. “I see you didn’t let your human friend in on our secret. Good boy.”
“Oh, I get it. You told Samson this already, right?”
Freddie nodded. “We had a long talk the other day while you were busy taking pictures. But I did try to tell you, too.”
Clay rubbed a hand down his face, thinking now would be a good time for the earth to swallow him up. “It was a crazy day. I didn’t get to visit with many of the guests.”
“I understand,” Freddie replied, her smile softening. “Let’s start over then.” She extended her hand, all professional and very serious. “I’m animal doctor Fredrica Hayes. I took over this clinic about two weeks ago. And you can call me Freddie.”
Clay took her hand, noticing her clean, clear fingernail polish and her sensible nails. Everything about her was clean and fresh and sensible. And incredibly attractive. “You sure beat old Doc Bates. And you can call me Clay.”
“Oh, not Clayton? I’ve heard your mother call you by that name.”
Clay shook his head, winced. “Never that, please.” Then because he didn’t want to start stuttering, he asked, “So what happened to Dr. Bates?”
“He sold out to me and moved to Louisiana, to be near his grandchildren,” Freddie explained. “I hope to improve things around here, update this place a bit—it’s a lease with an option to buy, which I intend to do. But money’s tight right now, so I’ll have to wait awhile on that.”
“It’s looking better already,” Clay said, again wishing he could bite his tongue before he opened his mouth. “I mean, this place could use some improvements.”
Kate rolled her eyes, then moved past them. “I’ll get the office cranked up and make us some coffee. Oh, and I brought croissants.”
“You are an angel,” Freddie told the girl. “Kate’s going to school at night in Savannah. She hopes to be my partner one day.”
Kate nodded, tossed her wispy hair. “But until that day, I’m the office manager.”
“Nice,” Clay said, his gaze moving over the clean tile floors and uncluttered benches. There was a basket in the corner, filled with animal toys. Samson immediately headed over to sniff it out.
Freddie looked at her watch. “My other assistant should be here soon. His name is Lee Fletcher.”
“I remember Lee,” Clay said, relieved that something was the same. “We went to school together.”
“Lee is a character,” Freddie said as she opened doors and turned on lights, motioning for Clay and Samson to follow her into a small examining room down the hall. “He’s a perpetual beach bum, content to work here and spend his off time out on a sailboat or jet ski.”
Clay commanded Samson up onto the examining table. “Sometimes I wonder if the simple life might be the best life. Maybe Lee’s got the right idea.”
Freddie stood across the table at him, her big brown eyes making him think of hot chocolate and warm kisses on a moonlight beach. “That’s the reason I came here,” she said, her eyes darkening to a rich brown. “I wanted to raise Ryan away from the city, wanted him to have a more simple, structured life.”
Clay took in that information and the way her dark eyes turned so serious and intense, then said, “I grew up here, but I couldn’t wait to get away. I craved the excitement of the city.”
“But you’re back now.”
He saw the questions in her eyes, but Clay wasn’t ready to answer those questions. He didn’t have the answers yet.
“Just for a vacation,” he said instead. “Just to get Samson healed up and ready to go back on duty.”
If they went back on duty, he thought.
“Then let’s get started,” Freddie said, her whole demeanor changing from friendly to professional again. But Clay thought he saw something else in her big brown eyes, some evasive quality that seemed to effectively shut her down. She rubbed Samson’s furry back, then gave Clay a direct look. “Tell me exactly what happened.”
“Oh, here,” Clay said, shoving a large envelope toward her. “His records.”
“Okay,” she said, taking the envelope. “I’ll read over these later. But I want you to tell me what happened.”
“Why can’t you just read the file?”
“I can. But I need to understand what Samson went through, how he’s been since he’s healed. I need to understand your relationship with him.”
Clay wished Dr. Bates were here. That man would have just grunted and examined the dog. Then he would have probably handed them a list of exercises to complete. But Dr. Bates had gone west and Clay was here, staring at the lovely and determined Dr. Freddie Hayes. And he really didn’t want to go into detail with her about that night.
But she was waiting.
Finally, he sighed, folded his arms across his chest and took on his police-giving-a-report tone. “It was a Code Five—”
“Use plain English.”
“The narcotics agents had been on a stakeout in the area earlier that day. They tried to nab a suspect, but he’d fled into this building. They’d received a tip that he was gone, but he’d stashed some drugs there. We were instructed to watch for the suspect, and then search for illegal weapons and drugs if we didn’t find him. We—Samson and I—were supposed to proceed on a search for evidence once we heard the all clear. It was an old, abandoned warehouse. We thought it was empty.”
“And?”
He shrugged, dropped a hand onto Samson’s back. “And we got in there to begin our search, and it wasn’t empty. The suspect was there, trying either to hide or move his stash, I don’t know. Samson alerted immediately, but it was too late. The suspect started shooting.” He stopped, took a deep breath, tried to focus. “The DEA called for backup, but Samson and I had to hide out on some stairs. We were trapped inside with the suspect, in a shoot-out.”
Her eyes widened as her skin paled to a porcelain sheen. “Oh, my.” Clay watched as she protectively placed a hand on Samson’s head.
Clay sank down on a cushioned bench beside the table. “Yeah, oh, my. That’s what I was thinking, too, but in more graphic terms, when I had to return fire. I tried to wait for backup. I tried to retreat. But the bullets just kept coming. It was too dangerous to let Samson loose on the suspect, and I knew the boys would back me up. Anyway, I saw a chance and we took it. We headed up the stairs to what I thought was an exit door. The suspect came after us and we exchanged more gunfire. I wounded him and he dropped his weapon, but he kept coming. He fell against me and the weight of his body propelled us toward the exit door. I commanded Samson to attack then and he did. It gave me just enough time to get the suspect off me and down on the floor.”
Freddie was watching him now, understanding dawning in her dark eyes. “Something else happened then, right?”
“Right.” He looked down at the floor. “We wrestled back and forth. I could hear the other officers shouting. I called out, then I commanded Samson to attack again. He came at the suspect just as I rolled the man over against that old door.” He looked back up at her then, his mouth dry. Swallowing, he said, “The suspect found his gun and aimed it toward me as Samson leaped at him. I saw it coming. I pushed his hand away but our combined weight broke the door just as Samson lunged for the suspect. We all went over into an old elevator shaft. There was another struggle.” He stopped here, not ready to go into detail about his own wounds. “I managed to get a shot at the suspect. The suspect died and Samson suffered a broken hip.” He sat silent, then breathed deep again. “That was over three months ago. He’s doing pretty good—he does have a noticeable limp at times, if he’s been too active. He’s just not as alert and fast as he used to be. If we don’t get him back into shape, he’ll have to retire.”
“I see.”
She stood there, so quiet Clay wondered if she had a squeamish stomach. She looked pale, her wide lips drawn together. There was more to the story, but he wasn’t about to tell her that part. He was here to help Samson.
“So what do we need to do now?” he finally asked.
Freddie looked up at him, her eyes going wide. “Oh, well, of course you need to exercise him.” She flipped through the medical folder, then moved her hand down Samson’s right front leg. “This one, right?”
Clay touched Samson on the head to steady the big dog. “You might need to muzzle him. He’s still sensitive there.”
Freddie whispered something in Samson’s ear as she stroked his leg, then moved her fingers over his hip joint. “He seems to have healed up nicely. Some obvious signs of limping, you said?”
“Not as often now. The vet in Atlanta did a great job. And we’ve been through several weeks of intense therapy already. You know, the cart—that wheelchairlike thing—a leg trolley, then water therapy and the treadmill.”
“We’ll need to continue that,” she said, her gaze moving over Samson. “He seems in good spirits.”
“He’s recovering slowly. But my supervisor isn’t ready to release him back on to full duty yet.” Or me, either, he thought.
