Chapter Two
“H ere, I’ll take her back now.” Sawyer Braxton parked in a space in front of a two-story log building, switched off his truck, and turned to her.
Anna glanced down at the puppy wrapped in the vet’s fleece jacket and sleeping comfortably in her arms. “No, she’s asleep. Just come around and open my door. I can carry her in.”
He quirked one dark brow. “You sure?”
For the first time since he’d hollered over the fence at her, Anna truly looked at him. He was not handsome exactly, more ruggedly studious, if that could be a thing. She had no idea how old he was, but definitely north of thirty-five. His face was a bit sun-weathered with lines at the corners of his eyes that told her he either squinted a lot or laughed a lot. Behind a pair of rimless square glasses, his eyes were brown—the color of rich milk chocolate—and there was a scar on his cheek right above his firm, square jaw. His hair was light brown, thick, and curling over his collar with a recalcitrant lock falling over his forehead. She wasn’t sure if the dark scruff of beard was a nod to fashion or simply lack of access to a razor for a few days. Either way, it was sorta sexy.
She nodded and cuddled the little dog closer to her chest.
When he jogged around the front of his pickup, she couldn’t help but notice how he moved—an easy loping stride. He was taller than her but not by much, broad-shouldered and muscular in his long-sleeved Purdue T-shirt. Discreetly, she eyed his butt in the worn jeans—nice. He smiled when he opened the door and as she started to swing her legs out, Anna’s heart did a little swoop thing—a reaction she barely recognized, it had been so long since anyone except Daniel had engendered that feeling. She paused, suddenly too aware of the way Sawyer Braxton filled the space in front of her, of how he smiled with his whole face. It gleamed in his eyes and his full lips parted over a funny little chip in his front tooth.
“You okay? You want me to take her?”
She blinked and slid out of the truck. “No. I’ve got her.” She inclined her head toward the log building that served as Dr. John Price’s veterinary clinic. “John’s probably in there or out in the barn.” Behind the clinic building, a red barn loomed large and next to it, in a fenced pen, a horse whinnied.
The puppy was warm and snug against her chest as they stepped up to the tall desk inside the door of the clinic. Anna recognized Avery Schwimmer, Clyde and Gloria’s oldest granddaughter, from the Boys some people call it parti-eye. It’s not all that common in Papillons, like it is in, say, Siberian huskies, but it would be a reason a breeder wouldn’t want her. According to the AKC and Papillon breed standard, the eyes must be dark. The vision in the affected eye is usually fine, and the dog could be a good pet, just not bred, that’s all. Leaving her out to die sucks, though. She could’ve been sold.” He turned back to tending the leg wound.
“Awww, poor Trixie, it’s not your fault, is it?” Anna bent down to croon at the whimpering, shivering dog. “It’s okay, the doctor’s going to fix you up.”
Immediately, Trixie calmed down and stopped trying to yank her leg away from Sawyer’s big hands.
“Keep talking to her.”
Anna nodded, racking her mind for something intelligent to say that might soothe the frightened critter. With a shrug, she put her hands around the dog’s upper body and simply introduced herself in a soft sing-song tone. “I’m an architect, Trixie. I design houses for my family’s company and, right now, we’re working up at…”
*
She was revealing herself. An architect. Interesting. Sawyer kept his satisfied smile under control as he checked through the cabinet for lidocaine to numb the area of the wound, but he was definitely listening as Annabelle Walker told the puppy about her job and the houses she’d designed, about her family—two brothers, both of whom worked at the family construction company. She talked about why she’d been in the meadow, told the dog about the photography class she was teaching at the local Boys we’ll figure it out later, okay?”
Annabelle’s remarkable eyes narrowed. “Fine.” She rattled off an address and phone number as Travis typed.
Sawyer tucked the information away in the back of his brain, put the final stitches in Trixie’s leg, wrapped it in gauze, and taped it up. “There we go.” He turned to Travis. “Put a plastic sleeve on this leg and bathe her as best you can. Towel-dry her, no blow-dryer—she’s too young to understand, and I don’t want her pulling out her stitches. I’ll be in to check her over after she’s cleaned up. Oh, and she’s going to need an e-collar—the smallest one you’ve got.” He gave Anna a smile he hoped would soften the curt tone he’d used earlier. “Do you want to help him?”
Anna stared at him as if he’d just suggested they all go on a murder spree. “No.”
“She’d do better with someone familiar,” he coaxed. “She seems comfortable with you.”
She moved her stare to Trixie, who lay shivering and looking tiny and helpless on the stainless-steel table. “Dammit.” Anna heaved a sigh. “Okay, Travis, let’s go get her cleaned up.” She narrowed her eyes at Sawyer, who was fighting to keep from grinning triumphantly. “But first I need to make a call.”
*
Annabelle slipped out of the room as the good Dr. Braxton, murmuring little comforts, bent to examine Trixie’s too-large-for-her-tiny-body ears. Hurrying out the front door of the clinic, she pulled her phone out of her back pocket and scanned down her call list. Who’d be most likely to come to her rescue because she was damn sure she wasn’t letting Dr. Braxton drive her home.
Maddie. The bike would fit in her truck, and Anna wouldn’t have to endure her brothers’ or her male cousins’ snark about checking her tires before she set out. Which she did do, by the way. She filled both tires to the PSI shown on the sides. A quick text and Maddie had agreed to come out to John Price’s vet practice and pick her up in about thirty minutes. That would give her time to help bathe the puppy and then be on her way—out from under the nagging sense of responsibility she was nursing for the poor little critter and the too-intense gaze of Dr. Sawyer Braxton.
When she got back into the office, Avery stopped her. “Did you move?”
Heat rose up from the round neck of her Lycra shirt and Anna shook her head. “No.”
“For some reason, Travis thinks you live in Vevay. I’m going to fix it, okay? What’s your address at the Box Factory?” She looked up from her computer with a sprightly smile.
Down the hall, Sawyer, whose head was tilted as he listened to John Price, glanced up and over the older vet’s shoulder to give her a raised eyebrow.
Dammit. That little ruse failed spectacularly. Sometimes this town was way too small. Anna merely nodded brusquely, but didn’t offer the correct information.
Instead, she asked, “Where do I go to help clean up that puppy?”
Avery slanted her head toward the two conferring docs. “Down the hall, third door on the left.”
Anna squared her shoulders and marched down the hall, turning sideways as she passed Sawyer and John Price who obligingly stepped to the side. Sawyer’s inscrutable expression bugged her more than she cared to admit. Where did he get off being smug? He was the one who couldn’t find his way from one end of town to the other. A town that wasn’t all that confusing—except that, okay, maybe the whole Sunrise Ridge versus Sunset Ridge thing was a head scratcher, but still…he’d had how many years of veterinary school? Surely he could tell east from west.
Travis was snuggling Trixie when she opened the door and despite her general feeling of irritation, his grin was infectious. The puppy was cute, and as they bathed her, careful not to get her injured leg wet, she seemed only a little nervous. Moreover, she seemed tired and uncomfortable and maybe even hungry.
Anna wrapped her in the clean towel Travis provided, sat on a chair with the puppy in her lap, and gently dried her curly fur. It was the first time she’d really taken a good look at Trixie. She was mostly white, but had black and dark brown ears and dark brown on her face, except for around her mouth, which was white. Lighter brown fur streaked along each side of her face and she had two patches of black on her back—one right behind her front legs and one back by her tail. Her legs were short, her white tail curled over the black patch on her hindquarters, and damned if she didn’t smile at Anna just now.
“Do dogs smile?” Anna continued toweling the puppy while Travis rinsed out the deep sink they’d used as a bathtub.
“You bet.” It wasn’t Travis who answered, but Sawyer, who’d suddenly appeared in the open doorway. “Paps have very expressive faces.”
Was it stupid to believe that a puppy actually smiled at her? She didn’t really even like dogs, but this one… Trixie whimpered, scratched at the towel, and then proceeded to pee all over Anna’s lap.
Horrified, Anna gasped and lifted the puppy, soaking towel and all from her lap. “She… she peed on me.”
Sawyer was clearly trying not to laugh. “When they make that little whining noise, it usually means they need to empty their bladder.”
“Ya think?” Anna scowled, stood up, and handed the dog off to Travis, who had no compunction at all about snickering at Anna’s wet pants.
Sawyer pointed to the door. “Take her to the kennel, give her some kibble and water. I’ll come take a look at her in a little while. We’ll let her rest a bit after her stitches and antibiotic shot, but we need to get a fecal sample.” He yanked some paper towels from the dispenser on the wall above the sink and handed them to Anna, who was even more repulsed at the mention of poop. “Here.” Then he took another handful and swiped the spots of urine from the chair and the floor.
With a disgusted sigh, Anna swiped futilely at her leggings, then tossed the towels in the trash bin. She opened her mouth, but snapped it shut again when she realized there was nothing left to say.
“Let me take you home”—Sawyer grinned—“wherever that might be.”
She gathered up what was left of her dignity. “That’s okay. My friend is coming to get me.” She stalked to the door, then stopped and turned. “Is your truck bed unlocked?”
When he nodded, that lock of brown hair fell across his forehead. “I’ll come and lift the bike out for you.”
“No need. I put it in, I can get it out.”
He gazed at her, his brow furrowing between his dark brows. Then he shrugged. “Okay, fine, but be sure you open the tailgate. I’d hate for you to scratch the paint on my magnificent vehicle.”
Again, she started to reply; he’d be so easy to flirt with, but instead, merely gave a quick nod and walked out. Safer to avoid this one, for all sorts of good reasons, not the least of which was that, despite currently being Trixie’s owner of record, she really, truly did not want a dog. Not right now when her life was finally on a safe and sane track, and her heart was just beginning to heal. A puppy would totally mess with her new no commitments lifestyle.