CHAPTER THREE
Palisade
Pinkish water swirled down the drain as I scrubbed my hands vigorously. My shoulders ached. My hands trembled slightly, but the kittens were breathing. Four healthy kittens. The warmth of that success spread through my chest, momentarily pushing back the exhaustion.
"Palisade?" Monique, my receptionist, poked her head into the washroom. "Your ten o'clock is here. The community service assignment?"
My stomach did an uncomfortable flip. "Thanks, I'll be right out."
Drying my hands on the rough towel, I caught my reflection in the dusty mirror.
Dark circles shadowed my eyes from the emergency C-section I'd performed on the mama cat at dawn.
My scrubs were wrinkled, spotted with small stains I hadn't had time to change out of.
My black hair had mostly escaped its messy bun, wisps framing my face.
Not exactly the professional image I'd hoped to project for this meeting.
When the court had contacted me about assigning a community service worker, I'd agreed with little thought.
The clinic could always use extra hands, and court-ordered volunteers usually needed direction and supervision.
College students, retirees, even a former stockbroker who'd been caught embezzling, and I'd supervised them all.
But I hadn't expected Easton Henley.
Holly:
Did he show up yet? Are you okay?
My best friend had been apologetic when she'd warned me about the assignment. Apparently, she'd found out through her marketing connections with the Shadow Wolves. I'd told her I could handle it. Told her I was over him.
All lies.
That night seven years ago still haunted me.
The way he'd looked at me across the crowded bar.
The careful way he'd asked if I wanted to leave with him.
How gentle he'd been when I'd admitted I'd never done this before.
I'd gathered my clothes in the pre-dawn darkness, too scared to stay and face what came next.
Left before he woke up.
Left before I had to explain that girls like me didn't end up with guys like him.
Left before he could tell me it was just one night and didn't mean anything.
And then, nine weeks later, I found out I was pregnant.
Taking a deep breath, I squared my shoulders. This was my clinic. My territory. He was another volunteer who needed to learn that actions had consequences.
I pushed through the door to the waiting room.
And there he was.
Easton Henley looked exactly the same, yet completely different. Deep lines etched across his forehead and at the down-turned corners of his mouth. But those blue eyes… God. The same shade I saw every time I looked at our daughter.
He stood when he saw me, and neither of us spoke. The waiting room seemed to fade away.
It was him and me, and seven years of silence stretching between us.
"Dr. Honors," he said finally, his voice deeper than I remembered, edged with something I couldn't quite place. "It's been a long time."
Professional. I needed to be professional.
"Mr. Henley. Thank you for being punctual." My smile felt brittle as I gestured toward the hallway. "If you'll follow me to my office, we can discuss your service requirements."
As I led him down the narrow corridor, every nerve in my body screamed awareness of him behind me. The space shrank; the air too thin. He seemed to take all the oxygen in the room.
In my small but organized office, files covered the desk, veterinary texts lined the shelves, and photos of rescues adorned the walls. I moved behind my desk, needing a barrier between us.
"Please sit."
He lowered himself into the chair across from me. He looked out of place. The man accustomed to the roar of hockey arenas now sat in my cramped office; the silence amplifying every breath.
I pulled up his file on my computer, buying myself a moment. "The court order specifies two hundred hours of service over the next six months. That breaks down to roughly thirty-three hours per month, or about eight hours per week."
"I'm aware of the math."
"Of course." I kept my words even. "Your duties will include cleaning kennels, feeding animals, assisting with basic medical procedures as needed, and general maintenance. You'll work under my direct supervision or that of my staff."
"Sounds thrilling." The words came through clenched teeth.
I looked directly at him, fingers interlaced on the desk. "Mr. Henley, I understand this isn't how you want to spend your time. But this is a working animal rescue clinic. We're understaffed and underfunded, and we save lives here. If you can't approach this with respect—"
"I'm sorry." The apology came quickly, surprising us both. He ran a hand through his hair. "You're right. That was uncalled for."
Something flickered in his eyes, but before I could process it, a knock on the door interrupted us.
Monique poked her head in. "Sorry to interrupt, but we have a situation. Someone just dropped off a box of puppies at the front door. They're in terrible shape."
I was on my feet immediately. "How many?"
"Five. Maybe six weeks old. Looks like Parvo."
My heart sank. Parvovirus was deadly to puppies, and treatment was expensive. "Set up the isolation room. I'll be right there."
When Monique disappeared, I turned back to Easton. "I'm sorry, we'll have to finish this later. There's an emergency."
"Can I help?"
I paused, studying him. "This isn't glamorous work. It's going to involve a lot of cleaning up bodily fluids and potentially watching puppies die despite our best efforts."
"I asked if I could help." He was already standing. "Not the job description."
Determination and genuine concern threaded through his tone. I nodded. "Alright, come with me. You're about to see what we really do here."
As we hurried down the hallway, a dangerous thought crept in: maybe the next six months wouldn't be completely unbearable.
Even though every time I looked at him, I saw Casey staring back at me.
Even if every moment in his presence reminded me of the secret I'd been keeping for seven years.
The isolation room smelled of disinfectant and fear. Five terrier mix puppies huddled in a cardboard box, their tiny bodies pressed together on a threadbare, musty-smelling towel. Limp bodies. Lifeless, dull eyes. One wasn't moving at all.
"Glove up." I pulled on a pair myself. "Parvo is highly contagious. Everything in this room stays in this room."
Easton followed my lead without question, his large hands dwarfed by the latex gloves.
"This one's critical." I gently lifted the smallest puppy. Barely breathing. Her tiny body burned with fever. "Aimee, I need an IV kit and lactated Ringer's. And see if we have any of the parvo antiserum left."
As my vet tech rushed to gather supplies, I turned to Easton. "Hold her gently and support her head."
He took the puppy with surprising care, cradling her against his chest. "She's so small."
"Eight weeks at most. Someone probably bought them without realizing what they were getting into, and when they got sick…" I didn't finish the sentence. Didn't need to.
For the next two hours, we worked in tandem. I placed IV catheters and administered medications while Easton held puppies, cleaned up messes, and followed my instructions without complaint. The shared crisis dissolved our earlier tension, replaced by a mutual determination to save these tiny lives.
"You're good at this," I said at one point, watching him syringe-feed electrolyte solution to one of the stronger pups.
"Mom had dogs when Holly and I were growing up," he said. "She used to foster the ones nobody else wanted. The sick ones, the old ones. I helped when I wasn't at hockey practice."
At that moment, I remembered Holly talking about her mom's rescue dogs, the house always full of animals in various states of recovery. "I forgot about that."
"There's a lot you must have forgotten about me." A question or accusation passed between us. Right now, I couldn't tell which it was. “I mean, we only had one night, but…”
He remembered.
"I…" The words stuck in my throat.
"Why did you leave?" Quiet, still cradling the puppy. "I woke up, and you were gone. No note. No number. Nothing."
My throat tightened. "It was seven years ago, Easton. Does it really matter now?"
"It mattered then." Soft but firm. "I had plans, you know. I was going to call you after I got back from one of the last away games. Take you to dinner. See if…" He trailed off, shaking his head. "Never mind. Ancient history."
Before I could respond, the smallest puppy stirred in its warming box. Her eyes opened a crack, and she made a tiny sound.
"She's waking up." A sense of wonder echoed in his voice.
I checked her vitals, grateful for the distraction. Stronger pulse. Steadier breathing. Not out of danger, but fighting. I smiled, looking up at him. My voice caught. "Looks like we might have a chance with this one after all."
As the crisis stabilized and the puppies settled into their warming boxes, the awkwardness crept back in. Easton helped me clean up in silence, both of us hyper-aware of the conversation left unfinished.
"Thank you," I said, stripping off my gloves. "For your help today. You did well."
"Is that my official evaluation?" He managed a small smile, but it didn't reach his eyes.
"Since you're here, you might as well start the official shift. Monique will show you to the kennels."
"Sure thing." He moved toward the door, then paused. "Palisade?" Using my first name made me look up. "I'm glad you're doing what you love. This place, what you've built here. It's really something."
And then he was gone, leaving me alone with five sick puppies and the ghost of a night I'd never forgotten.
Back in my office, I sank into the chair, suddenly exhausted. Working with Easton had felt natural. Easy, even. Despite everything, despite the years and the secrets, we'd fallen into a rhythm that shouldn't have been possible.
And that scared me more than anything.