Read Online Winter at Mustang Ridge by Jesse Hayworth - Free Book Online Page A

times, he looked like a million bucks, at least in comparison. The tangles were gone, his honey-colored fur was soft and flowing, and he smelled like lemons rather than funky wet dog and neglect.
    And best of all, his eyes were warm and soft, and as he took a couple of old-man steps toward them, his tail wiggled like he wanted her to know he’d be wagging furiously if he wasn’t so sore.
    Her grin felt wider than her face. “Wow. You guys did a great job!”
    “The clip is rough, but he was pretty tangled up.”
    “Considering what he looked like before, I think it’s better than a show trim.” She crouched down. “Hey, buddy. Remember me? I kind of hope you don’t, but if you do, I’m sorry for what happened with the truck.”
    He didn’t bother sniffing her fingers, just shoved his head into her hand for some scritches.
    “I’d say you’re the only one beating yourself up on that one,” Nick said, leaning a hip against the desk. “How about you cut yourself some slack and lose that guilt?”
    “I will. I am. It’s just . . .” Stroking the soft, smooth fur, she nodded. “Okay, you’re right. Consider it gone. And consider yourself a hero, because this guy looks great. It’s hard to believe this is the same dog I brought in here yesterday.”
    “It looked worse than it turned out to be. Which is something I wish I could say about all my patients.”
    “Nice of you to let him hang out in your office.”
    “Like you said, I’m a sucker. Though Cheesepuff is in the back room, sulking.”
    She kept patting the dog, but her attention was on the man—not just the way the light curled around his face and long, lean body, but the way the rise and fall of his deep, mellow voice sent an answering hum through her system. “That would be the chubby orange tiger cat I met the other day?”
    “Big boned, please. And, yes, that’s Cheese. Normally he’d be in here with me after hours, making sure I minded my Ps and Qs.”
    “Oh? Does he often need to worry about that?”
    A gleam entered his eyes, but he shook his head. “Not so much these days. And what does that even mean, anyway? Pints and quarts? Pens and quills?”
    “I think it was from old-timey printing presses, where the letters were backward and easy to confuse. Though, why it’s not ‘mind your lowercase Bs and Ds,’ I couldn’t tell you.”
    “Glad we don’t have to deal with that anymore. I’m bad enough at reading my own chicken scratches, which is why you should be grateful I’ve got a computer and a printer. Speaking of which . . .” He tapped a couple of pages on the desk. “These are yours.”
    “The grand total?”
    “Nah, we’ll get you for that later. They’re discharge instructions, otherwise known as ‘the quieter he stays, the faster he’ll heal.’ Keep him on limited activity for a couple of weeks—indoors, leash walks, that sort of thing—while his ribs knit. After that, you can start letting him have more freedom.” He shifted a small white paper bag to join the instructions. “These are his meds. Painkillers for the next few days and a course of antibiotics to get that infection on his leg cleared up. Directions are on the bottles.”
    “Is the infection a big deal?”
    “I’d say we’ve got it on the run. He might always have a limp, though. Time will tell.”
    “Considering some of Krista’s rescues, that’s pretty minor.” She ruffled the dog’s fur and took a look around the room, part curiosity, part stalling. “I like what you’ve done with the place.”
    Where Doc Lopes had packed the built-in shelves with yellowed journals and lined the walls with file cabinets, Nick had streamlined things way down, with just a desk and a couple of chairs. A sleek laptop was hooked to a flat-screen TV and keyboard, and the shelves held personal mementos ranging from a neon green Slinky and a battered Rubik’s Cube to a couple of diplomas and a framed photo.
    “Thanks,” he said. “It’s starting