Chapter 17 Elena
THREE YEARS LATER
Iwas good at building things now.
The sun wasn't up yet when I unlocked the front door of Millbrook Veterinary Care, but that had been my routine for three years. First one in, last one out.
I flipped on the lights and the clinic came to life around me.
My clinic. Not Dad's anymore—not the small-town practice that had limped along on farm calls and the occasional house pet.
I'd expanded the building, hired two more vets and three techs, brought in equipment that made the county hospital jealous.
We served Millbrook and three neighboring towns now, booked solid six weeks out.
I’d poured every dime from the divorce settlement into this place—sold the house, sold the furniture, hell, sold half my life—but it had worked.
Dad had retired two years ago, handed me the keys with a quiet nod and a "Make it yours, Ellie-bug." I had. And some mornings, when I unlocked that door and stepped inside, I felt something close to pride.
My office was exactly as I'd left it the night before: desk clear except for my laptop and a white coffee mug, filing cabinet organized by month, the small window overlooking the parking lot still dark.
Certificates and thank-you cards from clients covered one wall, along with the framed article from the Millbrook Gazette about the mobile clinic proposal I'd submitted to the county last month.
I sat down at my desk and opened my laptop. The surgery schedule loaded automatically: three spays, two neuters, one dental cleaning. A predictable Tuesday.
Through the window, the sky was starting to lighten.
Deep blue fading to gray, the first hint of pink at the horizon.
I wrapped my hands around the coffee mug and let myself sit there for a minute, just watching.
Three years ago, I couldn't have done this…
couldn't have sat still without my thoughts spiraling. But I'd learned.
I pulled up my email and got to work.
By six-thirty, the coffee was brewing in the break room and I'd reviewed the day's appointments, sent two emails about the mobile clinic proposal, and restocked the supply closet in exam room one. My hands were steady as I worked.
By seven, I heard Lucy's car pull into the parking lot.
"Morning!" She came through the front door in a burst of cold air and energy, her scrubs covered in cartoon cats. "Oh my God, it's freezing out there."
"Supposed to warm up by Thursday," I said, not looking up from the inventory list.
"Dr. Whitaker, are you already doing inventory? It's seven in the morning."
"It needed doing."
She hung up her coat and grabbed her coffee mug, the one that said 'Paws and Reflect' that she'd brought from home. "You ever think about taking a day off?"
"I took one last month."
"You had the flu. That doesn't count."
I felt my mouth twitch into a half-smile. "Pretty sure it counts."
She grinned. "Impossible."
"So I've been told."
"By who?"
"Everyone who's ever met me."
"Fair." She leaned against the doorframe, sipping her coffee. "So what's on the schedule today?"
"Routine morning. Three surgeries this afternoon. Dr. Mills has farm calls until noon."
"Sounds good." She started to turn away, then paused. "Hey, you still coming to dinner Sunday? I’m making that lasagna you liked."
"Maybe."
"That's a no."
"That's a maybe."
"I'm putting you down as a yes. Seven o'clock, alright? Don't make me hunt you down."
The front door chimed again, Dr. Harrison arriving with his usual thermos of tea and leather messenger bag, holding the door for Margie, who was already juggling her coffee and a stack of mail.
He nodded at both of us, polite and quiet as always, and disappeared into his office.
Ten minutes later, Dr. Mills' truck rumbled into the lot, and she came through the door smelling like horses and hay.
"Morning. Mrs. Patterson's mare is doing well. Checked on her before I came in. Foal's due in about two months."
"Good. Let me know if you need backup."
"Will do, boss."
The clinic hummed to life around me. Phones ringing, computers booting up, the autoclave starting its morning cycle. This was what I'd built.
I was updating a chart when Lucy poked her head into my office around ten-thirty.
"Dr. Whitaker? There's someone here to see you. Says it's urgent."
"Walk-ins go through Margie."
"I know. But I think you should come see this."
Caleb Wright stood near the front desk, holding a cardboard box with holes punched in the sides.
I knew who he was—everyone in Millbrook knew everyone—but we'd never had more than passing interactions.
He'd built the cabinets in the Lewises' kitchen last year, did the renovation work on the old Miller house, kept to himself mostly.
He was tall, broad-shouldered in the way of men who worked with their hands. Worn jeans, canvas jacket, work boots that had seen better days. Dark hair, close-trimmed beard. He didn't smile when he saw me.
"Dr. Whitaker," he said. His voice was quiet but certain.
"Mr. Wright." I crossed my arms. "Lucy said it's urgent."
"It is." He shifted the box slightly, and I heard movement inside. Something small. Or, rather, multiple somethings. "Found these at the Morrison place. Old barn I'm tearing down. Someone left them."
I moved closer, and he tilted the box so I could see inside.
Six puppies. Yellow labs, maybe six or seven weeks old, piled together in a tangle of fur and paws. They looked up at me with dark eyes, and one of them whimpered.
Something in my chest caught. "How long have they been there?"
"Don't know. Came in this morning to start work and heard them crying." He looked down at the box, then back at me. "They need help."
"Yes, they do." I gestured toward exam room one. "Bring them in."
He followed me without a word, his boots heavy on the tile floor. I washed my hands at the sink while he set the box on the exam table, then pulled on gloves and reached for the first puppy.
They were dehydrated and flea-infested, but their eyes were bright and they had fight in them. I examined each one methodically, making notes on my clipboard.
Caleb had settled against the wall, arms crossed, watching me work. Most people would've hovered or peppered me with questions, but he just waited.
"How far out is the Morrison place?" I asked, checking the third puppy's gums.
"About eight miles. Off Route 12."
"Anyone living nearby?"
"Not anymore. Whole stretch has been empty for a couple years now."
I set the puppy back in the box and reached for the fourth. "So someone drove out there specifically to dump them."
"Looks like it."
My jaw tightened. "People are—"
"Yeah," he said, voice flat. "They are."
I glanced up at him. His face gave nothing away, but I recognized something in the silence that followed. He wasn't the type to waste words on people who didn't deserve them, it seemed.
I finished examining the fifth puppy and was reaching for the sixth when I realized she'd already climbed out of the box. She was sitting at the edge of the exam table, watching me with her head tilted slightly to one side.
"Hey," I said, picking her up. "Your turn."
She was the smallest of the litter, coat a shade lighter than the others. She held still while I examined her, holding my gaze without a sound.
I set her back in the box with the others and turned to wash my hands again.
"They’ll need treatment. Deworming, vaccines, parasite check.
It'll take at least an hour. After that.
.." I looked at the box, running through the options.
"County shelter's full, and they don't take puppies this young anyway.
I've got a couple foster contacts, but six at once is a lot to ask. Might have to split the litter."
He was quiet for a moment, then pushed off from the wall. "I’ll take them."
I looked up. "What?"
"Until you find placement. I’ve got the space."
"All six?"
"Five," he said, nodding toward the exam table.
The smallest puppy had climbed out of the box again. She was sitting at the edge, eyes on me. Her tail wagged once.
"Well, I suppose she can go in the kennel overnight," I said. "I’ve got an empty run in the back."
"That’s not what I meant."
"I know what you meant." I turned back to the supplies. "But I don't need a dog."
"Didn't say you did."
"I work twelve-hour days."
"Mm."
"I'm here six days a week."
"Okay."
The puppy made a small sound and pawed at my ankle. I sighed.
"Fine, she can stay with me. Just for tonight. That's it." I looked back at Caleb. "But you're sure about the five? It's a lot of work. Feeding every four hours, constant monitoring. If it's too much—"
"Grew up with dogs. I'll manage."
"All right." I picked up the smallest puppy and held her against my chest. She settled against me immediately, trusting and still, and I didn't like how natural it felt. "I'll have Lucy get you set up with supplies. Formula, heating pad, the basics."
"Appreciate it."
He gathered the box with the other five puppies, handling it carefully. At the door, he paused.
"Dr. Whitaker."
"Yes?"
"That one climbed out twice before I even got to the truck. Kept trying to sit up front." He shrugged. "Knows what she wants, I guess."
Before I could respond, he was gone.
I looked down at the puppy. She looked back at me, perfectly calm, like she'd already known how this would end.
"This is temporary," I told her.
She wagged her tail.