Playing for Love (Summer Beach Vets 1) - Escape Down Under (3 page)

Jumping up, Sara grabbed her flip-flops and headed back up the beach. As she got closer, she could see that this was no mirage. This was a real, living, breathing pup. She ran over and dropped to her knees beside the Beagle, reaching out to pat it gently.

“Hello…” she said. “What are you doing here?”

The Beagle wagged its tail and shoved its cold, wet nose into her hand, wriggling its body in delight. It looked so much like her Coco that it was uncanny. Unlike the black, tan, and white Beagle she had met at the airport, this one was just brown and white, with a pale stripe between its eyes, just like her own dog. It was a boy, though, Sara realised. She felt around his neck. He wasn’t wearing a collar, but the way the fur was pressed flat around his throat suggested that he did wear one usually.

“Are you lost?” Sara asked. “What’s your name?”

The Beagle looked up at her with soft, brown eyes, its tongue lolling out in a wide smile. Sara felt her heart turn over. How many times had Coco looked at her just like that? She laughed and held out her hand.

“My dog, Coco, can shake. Can you?”

The Beagle wagged his tail and held up one front paw. But when Sara reached out and gripped it, he flinched and let out a whimper of pain.

“Oh… what’s wrong?” Sara gently turned the paw over. She was horrified to see a bloody gash on the paw pad. “Oh, you poor thing! That must hurt horribly.”

The gash was deep, exposing the pink, tender flesh beneath, and blood oozed freely from the wound, dripping onto the white sand. Sara realised that a trail of blood led back up the beach. Her stomach heaved. For a moment, all she could see was her own Coco, hurt and bleeding, and she couldn’t bear it.

Sara looked desperately around. She had to get help. The wound needed to be cleaned and dressed, maybe even stitched. Her eyes narrowed as she saw the rickety wooden stairs again in the distance, leading back up to the road.

The animal hospital.

Yes
, she thought feverishly. That vet surgery she had passed. She could get help and veterinary attention for the dog there. Turning back to the Beagle, she put her arms around him and gently picked him up. He struggled for a moment, then relaxed into her arms. Sliding her feet back into her flip-flops, Sara started across the sand, walking as fast as she could.

It was tough going. Unlike when she had first arrived at the beach and had run across the sand in giddy excitement, now Sara felt the strain in her calf and thigh muscles as her feet sank into the sand with each step. The Beagle was no lightweight either. He was slightly bigger than her own Coco and felt like double the weight as she struggled her way across the beach. She cursed under her breath and wished again that she had been more conscientious about going to the gym.

By the time Sara arrived at the wooden steps again, she was sweating profusely and panting. Pausing, she leaned the Beagle onto the wooden railing and eased his weight off her aching arms for a second before taking a deep breath and lifting him close again as she started up the steps. At the top, she staggered down the road towards the vet clinic and turned gratefully into the little parking lot.

A cool blast of air-conditioning hit her as she burst into the waiting room. A dozen pairs of eyes looked up at her in surprise. Several people were sitting on plastic chairs laid out in a semi-circle around one half of the room. Some had dogs with them and a few had cat carriers. One of the dogs—a scruffy little terrier that barely came up to her ankle—started barking. The girl behind the reception counter stood up hesitantly.

“I… I found him… on the beach…” Sara gasped, leaning against the reception counter. “He’s hurt… he needs help…”

“Can he stand?” asked the receptionist as she came around the counter.

Sara leaned down and placed the Beagle gingerly on the ground. He wobbled a bit, but managed to stand on three legs, holding his front right paw off the ground. Sara watched anxiously as the receptionist knelt beside him and examined him quickly—lifting his lips to check the colour of his gums, listening to his heart rate, running her hands over his body.

“If you’ll take a seat…” she said, standing up.

“What?” Sara gaped at her. “But he’s bleeding! He needs help now.”

The girl compressed her lips. “His vitals are okay and the blood flow isn’t heavy. I’ll wrap up his paw, but I’m afraid you’ll have to wait your turn.” She gestured towards the semi-circle of chairs.

“But… surely this is an emergency!” cried Sara.

The receptionist sighed. “Yes, but we have several other emergencies as well. Two of our vets are away and the other one is working on a case off-site, so we’re a bit short-staffed today. Dr Murray will see you as soon as possible. In the meantime…” she picked up a clipboard from the reception counter and thrust it at Sara. “It would be helpful if you could fill this out.”

“But he’s not my dog,” Sara protested weakly.

“Well, just fill in what you can,” said the receptionist as she quickly bandaged the Beagle’s paw. Then she looped a thin, nylon leash around his neck and handed the other end to Sara before hurrying back around the counter to answer the ringing phone.

Reluctantly, Sara led the Beagle over to the nearest chair and sat down. The scruffy terrier approached on the end of his leash and sniffed the Beagle’s butt suspiciously. The Beagle tried to return the greeting, but the terrier stiffened and uttered a low growl.

“Oh shush,” said the old lady who was obviously his owner. She gave Sara an apologetic smile. “Bit of an old grump. His bark’s worse than his bite, really. Come here, Gizmo.” She tightened his leash and hauled him in closer to her.

At any other time, Sara would have found the little terrier amusing, but now all she could feel was the frantic pounding of her pulse.
What was the vet doing?
she wondered, biting her lip.
How much longer was he going to be?
The Beagle sat at her feet and whimpered softly, the sound nearly breaking Sara’s heart.

She reached down and stroked the velvety ears. “It’s all right, sweetheart. Someone will see you soon.” In her mind’s eye, Sara saw Coco back in California. What if this was her own dog? What if Coco was hurt and in pain somewhere, ignored and neglected? She knew it was silly—she knew that Coco was safe back in her house, with Fern looking after her—but she couldn’t push the images from her mind.

To distract herself, Sara looked down at the clipboard on her lap and tried to fill in the form. There wasn’t much information she could provide. Aside from his breed and gender, there was nothing else she knew about this dog. He didn’t even have a collar and tag with his name. “
Found wandering on the beach”
, she wrote in the “Notes” section at the bottom of page. Then she added her own name and Ellie’s name, address, and home phone number.

She looked up as there was a commotion by the doorway and a family rushed in, carrying what looked like a Jack Russell puppy. They said something to the receptionist, who immediately got up and disappeared down the hallway.

A minute later, she came back with a tall man striding behind her. He was wearing blue scrubs beneath a white coat and had a stethoscope around his neck, but even without the clothes, Sara would have known that this was Dr Murray. He had an aura of calm authority about him, his gaze keen and intelligent as he looked at the puppy. His sleeves were pushed back to reveal tanned, muscular forearms and the hands which reached out towards the puppy were strong, but gentle. He murmured something to the woman holding the puppy, then turned and gestured towards the back of the clinic.

Sara watched in disbelief as the woman and her two children began following him down the hallway. They had gotten here after her! How come he was seeing them first? Sara felt a surge of anger and, without thinking, jumped up from her seat and rushed down the hallway after them.

“Hey! Wait!” she cried, reaching out to grab the vet’s arm.

He swung around to face her and Sara dropped her hand in surprise. His eyes were blue, but not soft blue like her own eyes—no, they were a deep cerulean, vivid and intense in a tanned face that was dominated by a strong nose, chiselled jawline and thin, sensual lips. His hair was a rich brown, waving slightly back from his forehead, and his shoulders beneath the white coat were broad and powerful. Sara took a slight step back. She didn’t know what she had expected, but somehow she hadn’t expected the vet to be this…
hunky?

Feeling ashamed of her thoughts and her sudden awareness of him, Sara started babbling. “I… my dog… I mean, it’s not my dog, but I found him… on the beach… anyway, he’s hurt… you need to see him…”

His brows drew together. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ve got to attend to this patient first. If you’ll take a seat—”

“I
have
been taking a seat!” cried Sara. She pointed to the woman holding the puppy. “I got here before them! How come you’re seeing them first—”

“This is an emergency,” he said shortly.

“So is mine! My dog is bleeding. He’s hurt and in pain! You need to do something—”

“This puppy has been bitten by a paralysis tick. Unless he is seen immediately, he could die. Now, I understand your concern, but I assume your dog has been assessed by the nurse, yes?” His eyes flicked over her head towards the receptionist’s counter. “If it had been really serious, she would have come to inform me. Otherwise, we have to treat the cases according to medical priority. This puppy needs urgent attention now. I’m sorry if you find it frustrating, but your dog will just have to wait.”

His tone was soft, but the sharpness in his words still came through. Sara stepped back, feeling like she had been slapped. Flushing with embarrassment, she returned to her seat, not daring to look at any of the other pet owners in the waiting room. She knew that they had been sitting there a lot longer than her and they had all been waiting patiently.

Sara forced herself to sit without fidgeting as the minutes ticked past. Finally, she heard the sound of a door opening and saw the family filing back down the hall. The puppy was not with them. The woman’s eyes were red and the children had obviously been crying. Sara felt a stab of guilt. But before she could think more about it, she saw the tall form of Dr Murray following them. He bent and said something to the two children, patting them on the shoulder, then ushered them over to the receptionist. Then he turned and surveyed the waiting room.

His blue eyes met Sara’s and he gave a curt nod. “I can see you now.”

Keeping her chin high, Sara scooped the Beagle up in her arms and walked past the handsome vet. As he shut the door to the examination room, she carefully deposited the Beagle on the table and stood back as he reached for the dog. She watched as he listened to the dog’s heart with a stethoscope, took his temperature, probed his abdomen, and went through an advanced version of the receptionist’s initial check outside. His blue eyes were intent, his touch gentle but thorough, and he talked softly to the Beagle as he worked. Finally, he picked up the wounded paw and examined it carefully.

“Where did you find him?”

Sara jumped. She had been so mesmerised with watching him that she had almost forgotten why she was here. “Uh… down on the beach. By the water. It looked like he had come a long way… there was a blood trail on the sand.” She approached the table hesitantly, adding, “I think he’s somebody’s pet, though. He looked like he might have been wearing a collar.”

“Yes,” Dr Murray agreed. “He’s in too good a condition to be a stray. But he doesn’t belong to one of the locals. I know all the dogs in town. Maybe he’s here with a visiting family.” He frowned as he looked closer at the paw. “This is deep, but it’s not as serious as it looks. It should heal up nicely.”

Something in his tone made Sara flush. Something about this man just put her on edge in general. “Are you suggesting that I was over-reacting?” she demanded.

He straightened. Sara found herself craning her neck to look up at him. She was no petite flower herself, but this man towered over her. She realised that the blue scrubs he was wearing featured a deep V neckline, which showed a tantalising glimpse of bronzed, muscular chest. Sara flushed again and tore her eyes away.

“I wasn’t implying anything. I was simply stating a fact.” His tone was impatient.

Sara felt her cheeks redden even more. Biting her lip, she stepped back from the table and watched silently as he cleaned the wound and injected a local anaesthetic, then put a few stitches in. Finally he bandaged the paw securely and gave the Beagle a shot of antibiotics to prevent any infections.

He stepped back and looked up at her again. Sara felt a shiver of awareness run through her as those deep blue eyes flicked over her. She was suddenly very conscious of the way she must look—her legs covered with sand, her clothes wet and clinging to her body, her hair in a tangled mess around her face. She wished she had chosen something less revealing to wear that morning than her old cut-offs. They probably did nothing to flatter her full hips and thighs.

What are you thinking?
Sara chided herself.
As if you care whether he finds you attractive. You’re not interested in him!

“We can keep him overnight while we try to trace his owners. I’m hoping he might have a microchip.” His blue eyes were unreadable as he continued to look at her.

“Uh… yes.” Sara licked her lips. “That’s a good idea.”

“Would you like to be contacted about him? You don’t have to remain involved. We can take care of him from now on. But since you found him…”

“Yes, thank you. I’d like that.” Sara ventured a shy smile.

He didn’t return it, but she thought the deep blue eyes softened slightly. Before he could say anything else, however, the door burst open and a vet assistant stood there, her face taut with worry.

“Sorry, Craig, but I think you need to come and see the puppy…”

He nodded quickly and turned back to Sara. “I’m sorry—”

“No, no… that’s fine…” Sara was already backing out the door. “I… I’ll call later to see how the Beagle is doing.”

She made her way back to the waiting room, which seemed to have swelled with even more pets and their owners. Sara hovered by the receptionist’s counter until the queue of people had dispersed, then went up and asked about payment for the Beagle’s treatment.

The girl behind the reception raised her eyebrows. “The owner will probably take care of that.”

“I’m happy to pay a deposit first,” insisted Sara. “Just in case it takes a while to find him or something.” She patted her pockets. She realised that she had just shoved her driver’s licence and one of her credit cards into her shorts pockets when she left the house. How stupid—what had she been thinking? “I haven’t got any cash on me though.”

“No worries. We take EFTPOS.”

“Sorry… what?” Sara looked down and saw the familiar credit card terminal. “Oh, direct debit. Yeah, I’ve got my card.” She swiped it through, keyed in her PIN number, and paid the amount.

Waving a goodbye to the girl behind the reception counter, Sara let herself out of the bungalow and back onto the street. It was nearly noon now and the sun was beating down relentlessly. Sara walked slowly back to Ellie’s place, her head spinning with thoughts and emotions.

Craig,
she thought.
His name is Craig
.
Dr Craig Murray
. It suited him, she decided with a smile, remembering the way he had looked after the Beagle. Strong and yet gentle, decisive but patient. Then she stopped her thoughts, horrified. What was she doing? She was behaving like some star-struck teenager! Annoyed with herself, Sara quickened her pace and almost jogged the rest of the way back to Ellie’s house.

“Here… have a coffee.”

Craig looked up gratefully as Megan, the receptionist, handed him a mug. This was the first time he had stopped all morning. The backlog in the waiting room had finally been cleared and there seemed to be a lull in the steady stream of patients coming through the front door. They might get an hour of relative peace now before the mayhem started again with the afternoon clinic.

Craig rubbed his neck, trying to ease the tension in his shoulders. He had just finished a difficult laparotomy to relieve a bowel obstruction in a young Staffie and completed the post-operative care orders. Now he hoped to grab some lunch before tackling more admin.

Friday mornings were often hectic but today had been especially bad, with a number of sudden emergencies straining the already heavily booked clinic. At the thought of the emergencies, Craig remembered the woman who had brought in the lost Beagle and felt his pulse quicken. She had been beautiful, in that simple, fresh-faced kind of way. Like a glorious summer’s day. Soft blue eyes, a smattering of freckles across a pert nose, and full, pouting lips that had been seriously distracting. He had felt his body temperature rise several degrees when she had bitten her lips, catching the bottom swell with her tiny white teeth. As for the rest of her… Craig shook his head. Crikey, she should have been arrested, walking around in clothes like that! That wet T-shirt had clung to every curve on her body and those shorts didn’t just tease—they tormented the imagination.

He had been so taken aback by his sudden attraction to her that he had been much curter than he had intended. He winced now as he remembered the expression in her soft blue eyes. She had looked like he had slapped her. She had been a bit hysterical, yes, but he knew it was only out of genuine worry for the Beagle. Besides, he had seen often enough how emotional people could get when their beloved animals were hurt and in pain.
I shouldn’t have been so sharp with her
, he thought regretfully.

Her name was Sara. He had made an effort to look up the form she had filled in—telling himself that he was just checking in case he needed to contact her again to ask more questions about the Beagle. But who was he kidding? He had wanted, needed to know her name. In fact, he wanted to know more than her name. He wanted to know everything about her.

Who was she? he wondered. She had sounded American—there had been a definite twang in her soft voice. She had given Ellie Monroe’s name and address in her contact details. Craig had met Ellie a few times and liked her. Ellie was American too—was Sara a visiting friend? He was sure he hadn’t seen her around before. Summer Beach was a small place and there was no way he would have forgotten Sara if they had met.

He sighed and stood up, stretching. It was time he stopped daydreaming and got on with work. Still, he couldn’t quite stop himself walking out to reception and saying to Megan:

“If the woman who brought the lost Beagle this morning calls to check on him, put her through to me. I’ve… uh… got a few things I want to ask her.”