hung up without answering, and she stared at the phone’s screen. Maybe she should have said more, but not having any idea what the deal was with him, she hadn’t a clue how to offer comfort . . . or whatever he needed.
Didn’t mean she wouldn’t worry about him.
Riley was going over the instructions for care after spaying with a cat’s owner when Michelle opened the door and crooked her finger. Her receptionist wouldn’t interrupt if it weren’t an emergency.
“That’s it,” Riley said, handing the woman a sheet that detailed everything she’d just explained. “Call me if you see any of the symptoms on this list.”
Michelle rushed into the exam room as soon as Riley was alone. “We have another poisoned pet. Mr. Hatchel’s dog. Brooke’s in two with him. Doesn’t look good.”
“Dammit.” Riley went to the sink, and as she washed her hands, she scanned the day’s appointments pinned to the corkboard. “Tell Lisa that we might be running late. She can either wait or bring Barney back at five, unless she wants to reschedule him for another day.” The cockatiel just needed his wings clipped, so it wasn’t critical that she see him right away.
“Okay.”
Riley followed Michelle out, turning right to go to room two. “How is he?” She could hear the medium-sized mixed-breed dog’s labored breathing as soon as she entered. She pressed her stethoscope to his chest, alarmed at the rapid beat of his heart.
“I’ve got everything ready to flush him,” Brooke said.
“It’s okay, Sam,” Riley said when he convulsed. She kept talking to him, hoping to calm him as they rid the poison from his stomach. Anger that anyone would intentionally harm an animal simmered, but she would get mad later. Right now she had a dog to save.
When his stomach was empty, she washed her hands. “All we can do is wait. Stay with him, and I’ll go talk to Mr. Hatchel.” Before she went to the waiting room, she made a stop in her office and called Mike.
“Kilpatrick.”
“Hi, Mike. This is Riley. You have a minute?”
“For you? Always.”
Laying it on a bit too heavy, Mike. “Yeah, okay. Ah . . . listen, I have another poisoned animal. A dog this time. I’m about to go talk to the owner, see what he knows.”
“I’m finishing up a late lunch. I’ll swing by in a bit.”
“Thanks. See you soon.”
“Hey, Riley?”
“Yeah?”
“Looking forward to it.”
She disconnected, uncomfortable with how personal he’d made the call. Nor did her stomach flutter the same way it did when Cody said her name. Her focus was on finding the person responsible for harming the animals, and maybe she didn’t need the complication of a man in her life right now.
“Mr. Hatchel,” she said, walking up to the man.
He stood. “How’s Sam?”
“He’s not out of the woods, but we’re doing everything we can.” She hated this part of her job. He was a widower, a retired department store buyer, and a nice man. His dog was all he had.
“Please, Dr. Austin—”
“I know.” She placed her hand on his arm. “We’re doing everything we can for him. I want Sam to stay with us overnight so we can keep an eye on him.”
“Whatever you think necessary. What’s wrong with him? He’s only three years old, so he shouldn’t be getting sick, should he?”
“Does he spend time outside?”
“Yes. My back yard is fenced in, and I let him out back there.”
She asked a few more questions, learning that he lived on a corner lot, and that he’d not noticed anyone in the neighborhood he didn’t recognize. “I think Sam was poisoned,” she said. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to have an officer stop by and take a look around your yard.”
“Poisoned?”
“I think so.”
“Who would do such a thing?”
“I wish I knew. Give us a call in the morning, and we’ll let you know if you can come pick him up.”
He removed his glasses, pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, and cleaned them.
Didn’t mean she wouldn’t worry about him.
Riley was going over the instructions for care after spaying with a cat’s owner when Michelle opened the door and crooked her finger. Her receptionist wouldn’t interrupt if it weren’t an emergency.
“That’s it,” Riley said, handing the woman a sheet that detailed everything she’d just explained. “Call me if you see any of the symptoms on this list.”
Michelle rushed into the exam room as soon as Riley was alone. “We have another poisoned pet. Mr. Hatchel’s dog. Brooke’s in two with him. Doesn’t look good.”
“Dammit.” Riley went to the sink, and as she washed her hands, she scanned the day’s appointments pinned to the corkboard. “Tell Lisa that we might be running late. She can either wait or bring Barney back at five, unless she wants to reschedule him for another day.” The cockatiel just needed his wings clipped, so it wasn’t critical that she see him right away.
“Okay.”
Riley followed Michelle out, turning right to go to room two. “How is he?” She could hear the medium-sized mixed-breed dog’s labored breathing as soon as she entered. She pressed her stethoscope to his chest, alarmed at the rapid beat of his heart.
“I’ve got everything ready to flush him,” Brooke said.
“It’s okay, Sam,” Riley said when he convulsed. She kept talking to him, hoping to calm him as they rid the poison from his stomach. Anger that anyone would intentionally harm an animal simmered, but she would get mad later. Right now she had a dog to save.
When his stomach was empty, she washed her hands. “All we can do is wait. Stay with him, and I’ll go talk to Mr. Hatchel.” Before she went to the waiting room, she made a stop in her office and called Mike.
“Kilpatrick.”
“Hi, Mike. This is Riley. You have a minute?”
“For you? Always.”
Laying it on a bit too heavy, Mike. “Yeah, okay. Ah . . . listen, I have another poisoned animal. A dog this time. I’m about to go talk to the owner, see what he knows.”
“I’m finishing up a late lunch. I’ll swing by in a bit.”
“Thanks. See you soon.”
“Hey, Riley?”
“Yeah?”
“Looking forward to it.”
She disconnected, uncomfortable with how personal he’d made the call. Nor did her stomach flutter the same way it did when Cody said her name. Her focus was on finding the person responsible for harming the animals, and maybe she didn’t need the complication of a man in her life right now.
“Mr. Hatchel,” she said, walking up to the man.
He stood. “How’s Sam?”
“He’s not out of the woods, but we’re doing everything we can.” She hated this part of her job. He was a widower, a retired department store buyer, and a nice man. His dog was all he had.
“Please, Dr. Austin—”
“I know.” She placed her hand on his arm. “We’re doing everything we can for him. I want Sam to stay with us overnight so we can keep an eye on him.”
“Whatever you think necessary. What’s wrong with him? He’s only three years old, so he shouldn’t be getting sick, should he?”
“Does he spend time outside?”
“Yes. My back yard is fenced in, and I let him out back there.”
She asked a few more questions, learning that he lived on a corner lot, and that he’d not noticed anyone in the neighborhood he didn’t recognize. “I think Sam was poisoned,” she said. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to have an officer stop by and take a look around your yard.”
“Poisoned?”
“I think so.”
“Who would do such a thing?”
“I wish I knew. Give us a call in the morning, and we’ll let you know if you can come pick him up.”
He removed his glasses, pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, and cleaned them.
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