“Thank you, Tripp. You’re always so good to me.”
The moment she looked up at him with those sad eyes, his out-of-control lust for Ashley’s body faded. Mrs. Harrison was trying to hide her tears, like most women of her generation did. Acting brave when her world was falling apart.
“You are never a problem,” he murmured. He couldn’t let her face whatever lay inside the vet’s office alone.
Ashley was perched on the edge of the truck seat by then with her bag hanging off her shoulder, looking down at the distance to ground level. Which for a woman her size, probably seemed like jumping off a cliff. She’d sucked her bottom lip in, biting it as she studied the drop.
“I’ve gotcha,” he told her as he carefully transferred Ashley to Mrs. Harrison’s side, without inadvertently groping her at all. “Why don’t you ladies go inside? I’ll park and join you in a minute.”
He would’ve done just that, but Ashley grabbed his wrist before he turned away. “Thanks for letting me come along.”
Man, he could’ve stood there all day, staring into her sapphire-blue eyes and at her peaches-and-cream complexion. “My pleasure,” he replied, his voice softer than he cared to admit.
The slender fingers touching him were light as feathers—until she jerked her hand away, as if touching him burned. He had a feeling he could thank Trish for that.
“You have to understand something, Ashley. Your report’s one-hundred percent wrong about me. I’m not that kind of guy,” he told her firmly.
She tossed her head and sent that ponytail ruffling down her back, like a shiny, ebony wave, body language for, ‘Yeah, right. That’s what guys like you say.’
Tripp let further explanations go for now. Chipper needed his mistress and, God willing, there’d be time to set things straight with Ashley later. Once inside the small lobby, he stood at Mrs. Harrison’s side while she spoke with the receptionist.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” the young man with thick, horn-rimmed glasses behind the counter said as he rushed into the hall that led to the backroom. “Wait here. Umm, don’t go anywhere, okay? I’ll go get Doctor Myers. He really needs to be the one to tell, err, umm, talk with you.”
That didn’t sound good.
A quiet sob broke free from Mrs. Harrison. She closed her eyes and whispered, “He’s gone. I just know it. He’s already gone, Tripp. I’m too late. What am I going to do?”
He did what he would’ve done if she were his mom, just pulled Mrs. Harrison into his side and held her, his heart breaking for this lonely woman. “You’re stronger than you realize,” he told her quietly, “and I’m just across the hall whenever you need me. I’m in Alexandria for good now. You’re always welcome at my place. But let’s wait and see what Doctor Myers says before we panic, okay?”
She nodded, but she was falling apart, and he was falling apart with her. Dogs should live longer, damn it. The world needed them more than it needed the crowds of selfish, entitled people currently overpopulating every damned open green space on the planet. Humans were the current plague. Not dogs.
“And I’m right next door to Tripp, Mrs. Harrison,” Ashley added timidly. “You can call me any time. I’ll give you all my numbers on the ride back home.”
He looked at Ashley then, but she was blurry as hell. Damn it. His eyes were leaking.
Doctor Myers appeared out of nowhere and took Mrs. Harrison by the hand. He pulled her into the hall, then into an empty exam room and shut the door. Tripp took position just inside the door and crossed his arms, prepared for the worst. Ashley went to sit alongside Mrs. Harrison on the padded bench beside the shiny, stainless steel, but empty, exam table. She tucked her bag next to her.
“I’m so sorry, ma’am.” Doctor Myers grabbed a box of tissues from the counter, then took a knee at Mrs. Harrison’s feet and put the box at her side. “We tried everything to save your little Chipper. I did emergency surgery to insert a trocar, but he went into shock. He was badly dehydrated, and I believe the stress was too much for his heart. Remind me, when did he last eat?”
“When he ate my slipper, l-l-last week. Friday, I think.” She buried her face in her hands, her shoulders trembling.
Tripp pursed his lips. Four days ago. Wow. Poor Chipper. That was a long time for the little guy to suffer. “What’s a trocar?” he asked the vet.
Kindness gleamed in the gentleman’s eyes when Doctor Myers lifted his chin to address Tripp. “It’s an obturator, essentially a cannula with one sharpened end. Once it’s inserted into distended abdomens, like Chipper’s, it allows built-up gases, if there are any, to escape. Unfortunately, his little stomach had twisted by then. I couldn’t save him.”
“But you tried,” Mrs. Harrison cried, patting the vet’s shoulder. “Th-thank you for trying to help my little boy, Doctor.”
He clasped her wrist. “Chipper didn’t suffer, Barbara. Honest. We gave him whatever he needed to stop the pain. I wish I could’ve done more.”
She dabbed tissues under her eyes as tears flowed freely. “I know you do. You’ve always been real good to me and my baby.”
Ashley was dabbing the corners of her eyes by then, and Tripp was eyeballing the box of tissues. “He must’ve really enjoyed that slipper,” he offered evenly, trying like hell to lessen the tragedy by focusing on the joy that smelly fur baby had brought into his mistress’s life.
Mrs. Harrison’s head bobbed. “Oh, he did, that little rascal. But now he’s gone, and… and that’s that, isn’t it?”
“I can take you to see him
