The Bachelor's Perfect Match. Kathryn Springer
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“Not in quarantine.” Dr. Voss was the one who answered the question. “He’s kind of a loner...being around the other dogs seems to agitate him. Our facility isn’t set up for long-term convalescence, so that’s why I called your mother.”
“Why isn’t it going home?” Aiden asked.
“He doesn’t have one at the moment,” Sunni said.
Dr. Voss’s steps slowed, and he matched his pace to Aiden’s. “A hiker found the dog caught in a trap by the river and called the sheriff’s department. When Deputy Bristow brought it in, the animal was dehydrated and hypothermic. Its leg wasn’t broken, but infection from the wound had spread, so we had to get that under control. What he needs now is rest and a little TLC.”
Aiden figured the “TLC” part was where his mom came in.
“What about its owner? Don’t you think someone is looking for him?”
A look passed between Dr. Voss and his mom, a hint they’d had this conversation before.
“I highly doubt it,” the vet finally said. “The X-rays I took show...older...injuries. The deputy found evidence the owner was hunting out of season, so if he does step up to claim the dog, he’d be facing questions he won’t want to answer.”
So rather than get into trouble, the owner had simply abandoned the animal.
Dr. Voss stopped in front of a door and slipped his hand inside to flip the light on. A row of large wire crates—all empty except the one filled with rags—lined the wall.
“Where—” Aiden’s throat convulsed, sealing off the rest of the sentence, when the bundle of rags moved. Took on the shape of a dog.
His mom’s gasp of dismay broke the silence, and the veterinarian’s lips flattened in agreement.
“Believe it or not, he actually looks better than he did when the deputy brought him in. Sunni, I’ll need you to sign a few papers, and then we’ll go over the list of medications,” Dr. Voss said. “He’s on a strong antibiotic and will need a dose of the pain medication every four to six hours for the next few days.”
“Every four to six hours?” Aiden hiked a brow at his mom. “You’re going to have to run back and forth to the shelter to give the dog a pill?”
“Of course not, sweetheart.” Sunni gave him a bright smile. “He’ll be at the house for a few days.”
At the house.
Aiden should have known.
“You can take a seat in the waiting room, Aiden,” Dr. Voss said. “It won’t take very long.”
After they left, Aiden approached the crate cautiously and bent down. A pair of bottomless, espresso-brown eyes stared back at him.
The dog was a mix of some sort. Coonhound and Labrador retriever, maybe, with a pointed nose, floppy ears and a tail hinged in the middle like a broken windshield wiper. It was also thin to the point of emaciation, with uneven patches of gray and brown bristles instead of fur. Even at the peak of health it wouldn’t be the adorable, cuddly kind of pup most people wanted to adopt.
“You know what Sunni is up to, right?” Aiden whispered. “We’re both invalids, and she’s hoping we bond during our convalescence.”
The dog bared its teeth and growled.
Aiden nodded. “I totally agree.”
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