The Cupcake Queen. Patricia Coughlin
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least, but we can make him reasonably comfortable. It’s Dan I’m really worried about. Did you know he was allergic to beestings?”
Owen shook his head. “He is?”
“Severely so, judging by the difficulty he was having breathing.” Her lips tightened as she added, “Of course, a hundred or so beestings would overwhelm just about anyone’s nervous system.”
The mental image made him grimace. “What the hell happened?”
She shook her head and plunged her hands deep into the pockets of her wet, rumpled lab coat.
For the first time he noticed that she was wet all over. Her hair was hanging in damp clumps, and her makeup was streaked across her face.
“You look awful, Doc.”
“Thanks. I feel even worse.” She dragged her hair back from her forehead. “As for what happened…I’m not exactly sure myself. Oh, I have a grasp of the highlights, but the details are sketchy, and to tell you the truth, I’m a little afraid that if I don’t get a handle on my temper before I try to get details, I might end up behind bars before this day is over.”
“Would the charge be justifiable homicide?”
“You tell me. I found out only a few minutes ago that you’re the guy who had the coffee dumped on him.”
“True.”
“Why?”
“Long story. Comes down to her not liking to have her butt squeezed without her permission. Now let me hear the highlights about this afternoon.”
She turned to Gretchen.
“Keep an eye on him, will you?” she asked with a nod toward Romeo. “Let me know when he starts to come around.”
She motioned for Owen to follow her to her office. “Come sit down and I’ll tell you what I know. If I’m in luck—which would be close to a miracle considering how it’s been running lately—there might be a couple of cold beers hiding in the back of the fridge. My guess is I’m not the only one who could use one about now.”
In the outer office Olivia was pacing and rehearsing her apology. When it came to apologies, she wasn’t what you’d call a seasoned veteran. Oh, she’d uttered her share of sorrys for bumping into someone or not returning a phone call or breaking curfew when she was younger, but this was different. Her brow puckered as she tried to recall ever making a seriously heartfelt apology to anyone, for anything. She couldn’t.
Not that she never made mistakes. Not by a long shot. But when she did mess up or fail to do something, there was always someone to step in and handle it. There were never any unpleasant consequences. Not for her anyway.
The realization bothered her. It was bad enough that she had been buffered her entire life from the consequences of her own actions, but to be so utterly oblivious, so completely self-focused that she never gave the matter a second thought, was not something to be proud of.
Perhaps if she had taken the heat on occasion, she wouldn’t be fumbling for the appropriate words now that she needed them. This was a major-league screwup and it required a major-league apology. Even if she came up with one that was letter perfect, and even if Rancourt and her boss remained calm long enough to accept it, there was no hope of saving her job. She had only slightly more experience with work practices than with apologies, but it was enough to know her days at Danby Animal Hospital were history.
She wouldn’t think about that now.
Instead she looked around to see what else she could do to demonstrate how truly sorry she was. So far she had swept up the mess outside, rescheduled the few patients who hadn’t fled and searched—unsuccessfully—for the real culprit in all this, Izzy, the feline Houdini with the disappearing act.
While she could happily strangle the cat, part of her longed for the sound of his bandaged paw tapping on the door for someone to let him in. Not for his sake. For hers. Losing a patient only added to the body count. It would also squelch any slight chance she might have of Doc Allison giving her, if not a favorable recommendation, at least not a warning for potential employers to run for their lives.
She couldn’t think about that now, either.
Who was she kidding? She had to think about it and fast. If she didn’t find another job immediately, she would be heading home with a white flag flying from the antenna of her dilapidated car. She shuddered, then stiffened her backbone. That was not going to happen, she promised herself. She would do anything, anything, to win this bet.
She drummed her fingertips on the desk, brooding about how much less humiliating this would be if one of the offended parties hadn’t turned out to be the man from the diner. She’d toyed briefly with taking the stance that this somehow evened the score between them. Very briefly. Having your fanny patted seemed benign compared to being hauled away in an ambulance.
If only she’d had enough self-control to stop herself from dumping coffee on him, everything would be different. She might still be wearing her ruffled apron. And her father’s frequent reminder that “What goes around comes around” wouldn’t be ringing in her head loudly enough to bring on a migraine. But she didn’t have that much self-control, and the prospect of apologizing while trapped in the glare of Rancourt’s steel-and-ice gaze made her wish she knew where Izzy was hiding so she could join him.
She wondered how Rancourt would react once he heard her out. Not by shouting or lashing out, not if the tightly leashed control she’d witnessed last time was any indication. Not knowing what she was up against added to her anxiety. She dealt with it by rearranging the objects on the desk, all the time listening for footsteps so she wouldn’t be taken off guard. She was willing to say she was sorry because it was the honest truth, but she wasn’t willing to have anyone think she was nervous enough to jump out of her skin. Even if that was true, too.
After what seemed hours, Doc Allison walked in followed by Owen Rancourt. The instant he walked into the room, his gaze found Olivia and settled on her. And from that same instant, an edgy awareness of the man tingled inside her. As if that weren’t distraction enough, Olivia had a sense of the air around her becoming heavy, as if a storm were brewing.
She got to her feet, cleared her throat and tried to keep her eyes on her boss. It wasn’t easy with Rancourt’s unwavering gaze drawing hers back to him.
“How is he? Romeo, I mean?” she asked.
“Resting,” the vet replied, her tone clipped. “Has the hospital called with any word about Danny?”
Olivia shook her head. “I could call over there and—” Eager to please, she was already reaching for the phone when Doc Allison’s voice cracked like a whip.
“No.”
“I was just going to call and see if there is—”
“No.” Her tone was razor edged. “Don’t call. Don’t check. Just don’t do or touch anything. Do you understand?”
Olivia nodded.
“I understand you two have already met,” the vet continued.
“Not formally,” said Rancourt.
Doc Allison made it formal.
Olivia cleared her throat. “I’m glad I have this chance to talk to both of you together. I want to apologize…to both of you.” Her voice held steady in spite of the fact that every word she’d prepared had slipped away like water down a drain. “Everything that happened today was entirely my fault. I didn’t mean for it to happen. I was trying to do the best job I could, but somehow… First the cat wanted to use the litter box…at least that’s what he wanted me to believe, when in reality he was planning to escape all along. I chased him, which was probably my second mistake…”
The expressions on their faces made her feel as if she had suddenly lapsed into Swahili.
“Where was I?” she asked. “Oh,