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Guess I won’t know now. I’m a lot of things, but I’m not a poacher. If Ricky and Libby are happy together, good for them.
But does Libby know that he’s planning to be “done with her”? Ricky verbally tossed her to Minegold like they were playing catch!
A minotaur would never, ever do that to his mate. He would treasure her.
I would treasure her and give Libby whatever her heart desires. In this case, I guess that means a sexy human-looking guy and a kitten.
Air leaves my snorting nostrils in shaking huffs. I’m not crying. I’m just hurting. It was dumb to fall in love with someone out of my league and from “afar.”
But I’ll show her that minotaurs are good, decent, kind, caring people. I can’t be the handsome human she wants, but I can still bring her a Valentine.
Felix. Felix and flowers.
I pack.
“Milo? It’s not even ten. Where are you going?” Genesis asks me from under the dark cloak of his wings.
“Home. I’m tired.” I can’t wait to go curl up on the couch with my baby boys.
Libby probably wouldn’t like someone like me. I’m a big sap.
Chapter Twenty-Three: Libby
“Hi. Um. My name is Libby. From Dr. Peterson’s? I’m going to be adopting one of the kittens you’re fostering. Maybe we could meet up on Friday after work? Well, not after your work day, because I know you get out in the middle of the night. Maybe around 10? If you get a lunch break? Here’s my number. I look forward to hearing from you!”
I hang up the phone and immediately slap my forehead. Friday is tomorrow! Valentine’s Day. Milo is going to think I’m a loser with no plans. Or worse, he’ll think I’m assuming that he has no plans and he can just drop everything and rush me a kitten. Did I even say to bring the kitten?
I think my mind is still a little loopy from Ricky’s kiss.
No. That’s silly. People don’t react that way because of a kiss. It’s more likely that my cold last week was worse than I thought and being out again in the freezing cold was too much for me.
I am going to sound like a total ditz, but I have to call Milo back.
I take a sip of my second coffee of the day and enjoy the burst of warmth and rush of caffeine as I prepare to redial. I still feel a little more tired than normal, probably from being out in the cold last night. The freezing rain is tip-tapping on the windows outside, and the wind is really picking up. By tonight, the Night Market will be a skating rink with shopping options. That's the only reason I didn't ask to meet Milo there this evening. I guess I'll have to ask him for Saturday afternoon.
I bite my lip and take another swig of coffee. Part of me wants to say Saturday morning because I do want to foster that kitty, but another part of me is hoping that Ricky and I will be enjoying a second (or maybe third) round in bed. I don't want to have to interrupt sexy times to set up a litter pan.
“Chloe! Chloe’s hurt! Doc! Peterson!”
I drop my coffee and my phone on the desk. I don't even feel the hot brown liquid hitting the knee of my thin teal scrubs as two people carry a bleeding golden retriever in on a homemade stretcher composed of a thick plaid blanket.
Peterson emerges from his office, running and stumbling, his white non-skid office sneakers only half on.
My gosh. Never noticed it before. Peterson’s peculiar gait is suddenly explained as I see that he doesn’t have feet—well, not real ones. My eyes are riveted to the dog, but my mind is pushing Doc farther up the pedestal. His legs were straight and brown, like sticks but fluffy. He must be wearing some sort of prosthetic. I don’t know how I never noticed it before.
Even while my mind is fuzzy and my brain is on autopilot, I feel like the longer I’m in Pine Ridge, the more observant I become. Maybe it’s because, for the first time in my life, I’m not constantly worrying about money and shelter?
Yeah, all that is going through my head while I’m silently running triage and grabbing one end of the stretcher, walking backward while Doc talks to the couple.
His voice is so soothing. “It’s bad, but you got her here fast. Tell me what happened.”
Chloe, the big golden, stops whimpering and flailing, lying still as she pants frantically. Blood is still oozing from her hip, matting her beautiful fur.
“We were out for a walk. The roads are slick as goblin snot out there,” the husband half-sobs, his voice high.
His wife picks up the tale. “The sand truck was coming through—you know they won’t use salt. They should use salt in our neighborhood, the ice would melt faster! The truck had the plow blade down and it skidded. Chloe ran at it, barking, and we stepped back! Oh, God! The leash slipped out of my hand!”
“Shh. It’s going to be fine. She’ll walk a little slower, but she’ll still be your Chloe. And maybe she’ll stop chasing any truck that comes near your driveway. Libby, scrub up, you’re assisting.”
