Chapter 27
Chapter twenty-seven
Rhys
Iwake up with an odd feeling. I am not alone in my bed. A small body is curled up right in the middle of the mattress, using my arm as a teddy bear.
“Noah?” I whisper. There is no way I can extricate myself from this situation without disturbing him.
“Huh?” he breathes sleepily. “Oh, shit, did I sleep all night?”
“That is what normal people do.”
“I'm not normal,” he shrugs, sitting up and looking around confused. “I usually wake up several times in the night to check on whelping bitches and newborn puppies.”
“You didn't need to check them the other night.”
“I still woke up.”
I just nod. I understand the routine. Speaking of which, I need to get on. My practice probably could survive without me, but I like to think it can't.
“I'm using the shower now. You can stay here or go to your room to get ready.”
“I'll make some tea.”
“Suit yourself.” I walk to the bathroom and begin my morning ritual.
He manages to get himself ready without getting in my way. He's occupied as little space as he possibly can since he arrived, but I expected last night to change things.
No one has ever thrown socks at my head before and then gone back to pretending they were invisible.
Not that I can ever recall anyone throwing socks at my head.
When we arrive at the surgery, Noah instantly goes to find all his puppies. At least he had one night without worrying about them.
“Morning.” Danielle greets me. She was on -call last night, ready to update me with a list on her clipboard.
“Bobo isn't putting on weight. Two of Honey’s pups aren't suckling.
They're not strong enough to fight for space.
We've brought a dog named Figarolle over from the large animal practice as she's showing the first signs of labor.
And we've got the court order for five of the non-pregnant dogs to be spayed, ready for re-homing.”
“Sounds like you had a busy night.” I give a sign, not of a defeated man, but of one entering a war zone. “Did you decide anything about the pups?”
“Yes, we removed all three.” Danielle nods. “Chloe did most of the work.”
I give her a nod of thanks. She has a morning of consultations before an afternoon off to sleep.
One of my other full-time vets, Rowan, has a full day of consultations, and I'm on surgery rotation. Five bitch spays plus our regular surgeries is going to be a hard slog, but I bet I can make Noah a pro at routine ops in just one day.
“Rhys,” Martha calls from the office. “Is Noah around? I have a call for him on line one.”
“I can find him. Who is calling?”
“He won't give a name. Says it's personal.”
“Tell him Noah is busy.”
Martha nods. We don't pass on calls to the nurses from strangers who won't give their names. Not after some weirdo called the practice wanting to talk to Tree after he saw her on TV. My reply only confirmed Martha’s opinion.
But it has me thinking back to the man at the window last night.
The man I now wanted to see lying on my special operating table.
I enter the prep room, where my nurses move around gracefully and the camera crew do their best not to get in the way.
Our usual filming for Follow the Vet was scripted, organized and rehearsed. That's my kind of logic.
This is raw and wild. Improvised.
This is where Noah thrives. This is the environment he thrives in.
And thriving he is.
The simple kennel hand is gone, and a confident man in green scrubs stands in his place. He's holding a clipboard and pen, using the writing implement more as a pointer than for notes.
“We need Figgy somewhere quiet. She's nervous during labor,” Noah calls out generally, hoping to receive ideas.
“Why not put her in the night nurse's room?” Tree calls back. The poor woman is supposed to do this, but she's too soft on the other nurses. Noah isn't soft, because he only cares about the animals and just sees the nurses as extra arms he always needed but never had.
Noah gives a nod of approval, and Figgy, who I'm guessing is Figarolle and in early labor, is led off to the quiet room used by whichever nurse is here on the nightshift.
I have to wonder how many owners would pay for a whelping service? I already have around the clock staff who adore puppies, and someone with eight years experience.
I'm already calculating a whelping package price when Martha returns.
“Same guy, same story.” She mutters.
“Same outcome. No name, no access.” I reply firmly. It's our practice policy, not special treatment for the guy pushing our ratings through the roof.
“Dr Calder, everything is ready for you.” Noah walks over to me, flipping a page in his folder. “You have five bitch spays for the council, a dental repair, one cat awaiting an X-ray and an exploratory laparotomy which Tree says means removing a mass from a kidney.”
“Dr Calder?” I raised an eyebrow. It was Rhys from the moment we met, probably for years before then, but after sex I became Dr Calder?
“Can't say nipples on TV,” he replies beautifully. “I've ordered the operations according to…”
“Let me see.” I extend my hand for his clipboard, expecting to see his beloved dogs first. But the order is impressive. He's put the X-ray first, so we have time to react to what we find on the results. Then he's put Poppy's operation next. Dental and then the spays.
“I usually do the easiest operations first. Start clean, end dirty.”
“No one is waiting for the results of the spays.
But Poppy's owner is pacing the floor. I put the dental between her operation and the spays so there's time to clean down the operating theatre, because Tree says you can do dentals in the prep room. That gives Poppy a longer recovery time before she goes home.”
“Tree,” I call to my senior nurse.
She trots over promptly.
“You normally do this part, but without dragging me into it.”
“I do, but the cameras were pointing at him and his ideas were good.”
“I want to know how you feel about it. He's taking over your job, and honestly, doing it better.”
“Yes. He is,” Tree admits. “But managing the other nurses is only part of my job role.”
I nod. Tree also runs clinics where she offers consultations for weight loss, dental, and so many other tasks. “You’re wasted organizing rotas, Tree. How would you feel about running clinics full-time?”
“Yes. Unless you want me to think for five seconds before answering?”
“Five seconds is good.”
She smiles at me, counting obviously on her fingers. “Yes.”
“I'd like you to shadow Noah for a week while you come up with ideas. We can start adding nurse consultations to the website.
“I have a few ideas I'd like to develop.”
“You could set up maternity clinics too,” I hint at my whelping package idea.
“I'll take Chief Nurse Consultant as my title if you want Head Nurse.” Tree uniform at Noah.
“I'm not a nurse,” Noah whispers.
“I have an office manager, a senior surgical nurse, a senior consultant nurse, and now an operations manager.” I push away from the sideboard I've been leaning against. “I don't care about titles; I only care that everyone is happy.”
“Thank you,” Tree sighs, a beaming smile on her face. “It felt like I was training my replacement for a while.”
“Right, Mr. Humphries, let's get the first patient ready.”
“Mr. Humphries?” he splutters.
I lean in close, my lips pressed against his ear, my hand tapping his scrubs pocket to confirm my suspicions that he's hiding puppies inside. “You can't say nipples on TV.”
I said it with the same teasing tone as he did, but the reaction is completely different. He starts blubbering.
Actual tears.
I feel a darkness cloud my mind, ready to kill whatever is upsetting him. I catch his wrist and drag him into the empty nurse's consulting room.
“Noah, what…?”
“There is too much to do,” he confesses. “Hand-rearing Bobo because he's fading. Bunny and Sunny can't get milk.” His hand gently cups the pocket where he has the sleeping runts hidden. “Figgy is in labor, and she's nervous as hell. She's been moved three times in twelve hours…”
“Stop.”
My single word halts the tears instantly, replacing his expression with one of surprise.
“When Tree organizes the morning, she thinks about coffee breaks and lunch rotas.
You think about post-operative recovery times and the individual animal's welfare.
She can still decide who's on days, nights, in the large animal side or branch surgeries. You decide where the scrub nurse goes, what the kennel nurse does.”
“It's too much.”
“You just need to stand still. You give the directions, you watch where progress slows, and you adjust accordingly. And you don't walk around with puppies in your pockets.”
“I can't do it all.”
“You are amazing at organizing in chaos. I struggle to adapt quickly. Tree priorities people over situations, but you put the practice first. Just like you did with the kennel. All you need to learn now is to let go of the tasks.”
“I'm not good enough,” he confesses, though I don't believe him.
“Give Chloe the puppies. Trust her to feed them hourly while she sits with Figgy. When she goes on lunch or breaks, you can replace her. You supervise, you watch, but you let her do the work.”
Noah thinks for a moment. He had been doing this successfully for the last eight years. The only difference is that before, he only had himself to delegate to.
“I'll check on Figgy,” he sighs, slipping his hand into his pocket. “And put these guys back.”
“And I'll start X-raying Ginger's leg with my scrub nurse.”
“Louise,” he glances at his board. “Can I have a hug first?”
I nod and open my arms. I can handle hugs if I can see them coming. And I give wonderful hugs.
Noah steps into them like a man who has finally stopped running. For a moment he just stands there, his forehead pressed against my shoulder, his whole body going heavy with exhaustion.
I tighten my hold on him.
“One minute,” I murmur. “Then we save the world.”