‘Are you sure it’s only dizziness? Are you feeling sick again?’ He glanced restlessly over his shoulder at the closed door and back at Kate, his eyes black with inner turmoil, clearly torn.
Drake never vacillated. He always knew what his priorities were and was never afraid to make harsh decisions.
‘Go,’ she urged, freeing him from his agony of choice. ‘I don’t need you—Prince does. Go and find out what’s happening to your dog.’ And when he still hesitated, she gave him a physical push. ‘For God’s sake, go ! I have to go to the bathroom, anyway, so there’s no point in your hanging around here. Go!’
And having given him the freedom to follow his heart, she went off to find her glass of water and have a short, but deeply satisfying cry in the toilet cubicle, under the beady eyes of six fat hamsters crowded onto the veterinary products calendar on the back of the door.
CHAPTER SIX
I T SEEMED an age, but it probably wasn’t much more than twenty minutes before Drake came back out into the waiting area.
Kate took one look at his shuttered expression and dry eyes and her heart sank. His body seemed tautly bunched under the woven cotton shirt and stonewashed jeans, simmering with unexploded tension, his mouth hard enough to chew nails.
Ken Cartwright, who was steering him with a consoling hand on his shoulder, was more relaxed—although he must face this sort of situation fairly often in his professional life.
‘Well, that’s it. I’ve done all I can. I think you’d better take this guy home and give him a stiff whiskey.’
He thought alcohol the best way to handle grief? Kate’s heart swelled in her chest.
‘Oh, Drake,’ she said helplessly, sharing his misery, ‘I’m so sorry. Your beautiful dog!’ She burst into tears and threw her compassionate arms around his neck, burying her wet face in his chest.
His arms came up to clamp around her shaking body, his strong, encircling arms almost muffling out the sound of the vet’s next words.
‘Beautiful? She surely can’t be talking about Prince—his ugly mug would win the booby prize at Crufts!’
Kate stiffened, her head bumping Drake’s chin, unable to believe her ears. She could feel the chest under her wet cheek silently vibrating…oh, God, was he actually crying ?
She turned her head and gave the grinning Ken Cartwright B.V.Sc. a blistering look.
‘You call yourself a vet? What kind of thing is that to say to a man who’s just lost his dog?’
‘Prince is lost? Are those tears of relief?’ Ken grinned over her angry head at Drake. ‘You should be so lucky!’
Kate’s jaw dropped. ‘Someone should report you to the—to the—’
‘The place where people report vets for making really bad jokes?’ he supplied. ‘I’m sorry, Kate. But it looks like Drake is going to have that ugly mug around for the foreseeable future.’
‘You mean he’s still alive?’ She jerked her head back to look up into Drake’s face through tangled wet lashes.
‘He’s more than OK. He’s perfect.’ The smile he was wearing was even bigger than Ken’s. It hadn’t been dammed-up grief, but fierce relief that he had been fighting to control when he’d walked out!
‘Is he?’ she sought professional confirmation from the man she had been vilifying only seconds ago.
‘A bouncing box of birds.’
Kate blinked at his cheerful alliteration and pulled her hands from Drake’s neck to swipe the wetness from her cheeks. ‘But there was blood—’
‘Rubbed a bit of skin off his nose, that’s all.’
‘I felt the bump, I felt the car go over him—’
‘No sign of any crushing, or marks on his coat. Are you sure it wasn’t something else you ran over?’
‘No…at least, there were some rocks along the side of the driveway…’ she faltered, remembering how the steering wheel had seemed to jump out of her hands when she had swerved to try and avoid the dog ‘…but he was lying there up against the tyre, whimpering and
Drake never vacillated. He always knew what his priorities were and was never afraid to make harsh decisions.
‘Go,’ she urged, freeing him from his agony of choice. ‘I don’t need you—Prince does. Go and find out what’s happening to your dog.’ And when he still hesitated, she gave him a physical push. ‘For God’s sake, go ! I have to go to the bathroom, anyway, so there’s no point in your hanging around here. Go!’
And having given him the freedom to follow his heart, she went off to find her glass of water and have a short, but deeply satisfying cry in the toilet cubicle, under the beady eyes of six fat hamsters crowded onto the veterinary products calendar on the back of the door.
CHAPTER SIX
I T SEEMED an age, but it probably wasn’t much more than twenty minutes before Drake came back out into the waiting area.
Kate took one look at his shuttered expression and dry eyes and her heart sank. His body seemed tautly bunched under the woven cotton shirt and stonewashed jeans, simmering with unexploded tension, his mouth hard enough to chew nails.
Ken Cartwright, who was steering him with a consoling hand on his shoulder, was more relaxed—although he must face this sort of situation fairly often in his professional life.
‘Well, that’s it. I’ve done all I can. I think you’d better take this guy home and give him a stiff whiskey.’
He thought alcohol the best way to handle grief? Kate’s heart swelled in her chest.
‘Oh, Drake,’ she said helplessly, sharing his misery, ‘I’m so sorry. Your beautiful dog!’ She burst into tears and threw her compassionate arms around his neck, burying her wet face in his chest.
His arms came up to clamp around her shaking body, his strong, encircling arms almost muffling out the sound of the vet’s next words.
‘Beautiful? She surely can’t be talking about Prince—his ugly mug would win the booby prize at Crufts!’
Kate stiffened, her head bumping Drake’s chin, unable to believe her ears. She could feel the chest under her wet cheek silently vibrating…oh, God, was he actually crying ?
She turned her head and gave the grinning Ken Cartwright B.V.Sc. a blistering look.
‘You call yourself a vet? What kind of thing is that to say to a man who’s just lost his dog?’
‘Prince is lost? Are those tears of relief?’ Ken grinned over her angry head at Drake. ‘You should be so lucky!’
Kate’s jaw dropped. ‘Someone should report you to the—to the—’
‘The place where people report vets for making really bad jokes?’ he supplied. ‘I’m sorry, Kate. But it looks like Drake is going to have that ugly mug around for the foreseeable future.’
‘You mean he’s still alive?’ She jerked her head back to look up into Drake’s face through tangled wet lashes.
‘He’s more than OK. He’s perfect.’ The smile he was wearing was even bigger than Ken’s. It hadn’t been dammed-up grief, but fierce relief that he had been fighting to control when he’d walked out!
‘Is he?’ she sought professional confirmation from the man she had been vilifying only seconds ago.
‘A bouncing box of birds.’
Kate blinked at his cheerful alliteration and pulled her hands from Drake’s neck to swipe the wetness from her cheeks. ‘But there was blood—’
‘Rubbed a bit of skin off his nose, that’s all.’
‘I felt the bump, I felt the car go over him—’
‘No sign of any crushing, or marks on his coat. Are you sure it wasn’t something else you ran over?’
‘No…at least, there were some rocks along the side of the driveway…’ she faltered, remembering how the steering wheel had seemed to jump out of her hands when she had swerved to try and avoid the dog ‘…but he was lying there up against the tyre, whimpering and
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