“I don’t know a thing about him,” he said honestly, getting down next to her. “Is he in a lot of pain, Evie?”
“Likely only when he moves his neck a certain way.” She stroked his head again, holding the animal’s gaze. “You’ve figured out how to cover it, haven’t you, buddy? Because you’re beautiful and smart.”
Exactly like the veterinarian in front of him. “There’s an X-ray at Waterford,” Declan said, a plan clicking into place. “Will you come with me and check him out? It sounds like something we’d want a neurologist for anyway.”
She opened her mouth to respond, and he was positive she would say yes. There wasn’t an animal in the world she wouldn’t help. It was like breathing to her.
“Molly can do the X-ray and email me the pictures. I’ll be happy to give a diagnosis and recommend treatment.”
“Evie…” He stood and took her hand to guide her up, knowing that one of them had to do something to break this pattern. Lusky helped, but Declan had to close the deal. “That dog needs you.” And so do I.
She held his gaze with the same expression she’d used on the dog, her eyes full of warmth and hope and caring. A look he remembered on the darkest nights when he went down to that emotional basement and unpacked all the baggage.
“Okay,” she whispered on a sigh. “I’ll take the croissants to Granddaddy and meet you there.”
“Thank you.”
She got down again and let the dog give her a swift lick on the cheek. “And we’ll do what we can to get you out of your misery, mister.”
And maybe, just maybe, she could get Declan out of his misery, too.
Chapter Five
As Evie neared Waterford Farm, she admitted the truth to herself. There wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell that she was going to walk away from that handsome creature making such a valiant effort to hide his pain.
Either one of them.
Lusky had Wobblers, she’d bet her professional reputation on it. And Declan? He had…something. Deep inside, she could see the spark of the boy she’d spent so much of her childhood laughing with, clawing to get out of a cage of his own making. He didn’t laugh quite as easily as he used to. He didn’t tease her with playful observations and inside jokes. He didn’t even talk as much as she remembered, not that he was ever that talkative.
Exactly like the dog, she could see that shadow of distress when he swallowed his thoughts and tried to hide them, and she could hear the ache in his voice when he tiptoed around tough subjects the way Lusky limped on his back paws.
And Evie had only one mode when it came to animals in pain—fix them all.
On a sigh, she forced herself to focus first on the one she understood. If left untreated, Wobblers could make a dog’s life absolutely wretched. And, except for a professor at Vestal Valley, there wasn’t a highly qualified veterinary neurologist for miles in any direction. So she might have been wary about Declan’s invitation, but she couldn’t actually let that dog far from her sight.
As she drove through the white gates of Waterford Farm, she let herself sink back to the moment when she’d looked up and seen Declan Mahoney at the bakery. Her first thought?
Good God, did the man simply get better every year?
He’d always had that smoldery, understated appeal that had made him such a cute teenager and attractive young firefighter. But maturity, experience, a few silver threads at his temples, and a body honed to perfection by his physical work had notched him up way past attractive. Now he was…
Declan.
She still didn’t know why he’d iced her out of his life—not exactly, anyway. Maybe it was time she did. Maybe he was ready to let go of some of that pain and grief and blame and ice. Maybe he could do a little explaining.
Then, could she trust him not to disappear emotionally again? His pain, unlike his dog’s, wasn’t something she could slice away with a scalpel or mitigate with medicine.
But, of course, Evie Hewitt would try.
She followed the long, winding drive onto the property, not surprised when the tree line broke and opened up to a gorgeous vista that spread like an emerald blanket to the horizon. Waterford Farm had always been a picturesque homestead outside of town, teeming with family and more than a few dogs.
She’d been here dozens of times with Declan, for dinners and barbecues, four-wheeling with his many siblings and cousins, and she’d come to visit Molly not long after her sweet mother, Annie Kilcannon, had died suddenly.
But Waterford hadn’t been anything like this even as recently as four or five years ago. No longer a “homestead” in the country, this was a professional and welcoming paradise for four- and two-legged creatures. The old handmade outdoor stalls Dr. Kilcannon had built for his wife’s constantly growing pack of foster dogs had been replaced with a cream-colored clapboard kennel building that stretched around a grassy pen she assumed was used for training and exercise.
Several other outbuildings dotting the landscape included grooming facilities, the vet office, and what appeared to be a small dormitory for trainees.
Overlooking it all, the yellow farmhouse, with its sunny wraparound porch and festive green shutters, perched on a rise that afforded breathtaking views of the Blue Ridge Mountains.
The homestead where Declan’s cousins grew up and now worked had aged gracefully and managed to look even better than she remembered. Kind of like…
Declan.
He stepped off the porch toward the driveway, most of his face covered by a ball cap and
