Nobody But You: A Single Dad Romance Read online

  Hannah reaches a hand out, but I shake my head.

  “Not yet, honey. We don’t know if he’s friendly. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  She pouts out her lower lip. “Daddy, please. Look, he’s nice,” she says, gesturing to the way the dog has started to lick the palm of my hand, desperate to get every ounce of flavor and nourishment he can.

  With another shake of my head, I gingerly lift my hand from the ground and hold it out for the dog to sniff. “Not until we know he’s not dangerous.” If this dog is going to bite anyone, it’s going to be me, not my baby girl.

  The dog backs away temporarily at my movement, but it’s not long before he’s back, his nose nudging against my fingers as he tries to look for more food. After a few seconds of this, I turn my hand over, tenderly running the pads of my fingers over his head and down across one of his ears, my breath caught in my throat as I wait to see how he’s going to react.

  A light groan rumbles up from the dog’s chest when my hand touches his ear, and instead of shrinking back or turning aggressive at the contact, he leans into my touch, his neck craning as he tries to position my hand exactly where he wants it.

  I give him a good scratch, and a loud belly laugh booms from my mouth when he falls over onto his side and starts kicking his leg when I hit just the right spot.

  “Oh,” I say when it becomes very apparent that the dog isn’t a boy at all.

  “What, Daddy?” Hannah asks from beside me, her eyes narrowing into slits as she tries to discern what caught my attention.

  “It’s nothing, Nana. Just that our boy here isn’t a boy after all. This pup is a little lady.”

  If possible, Hannah melts into an even bigger puddle of goo. “A girl, Daddy! Can we keep her? Can we? Can we?”

  My jaw falls slack at the request, though to be honest, I should’ve seen this coming. I was so concerned about making sure the animal was okay that it didn’t yet occur to me what would happen once Hannah laid her eyes on it.

  “Baby, I don’t know if that’s—”

  “Please, Daddy,” she begs, throwing her arms around my shoulders and smacking a giant kiss on my cheek. “Please, please, please, please. I promise I won’t ask for anything else in my whole life.”

  I chuckle at her pledge, knowing full well that won’t last longer than the car ride home, if it even makes it that far. Pushing up to my feet, I look between my daughter and the dog that’s now staring up at me with the saddest puppy-dog eyes the world has ever seen.

  Well, I can’t exactly leave her out here in the cold.

  “Tell you what. How about we take her home and get her fed and warmed up? Then, tomorrow morning, maybe we can post an ad online, saying we found her. There might be another little girl out there crying tonight because she lost her dog.”

  I don’t believe the words for a minute, the poor condition of the dog making her neglect all too apparent. But this will at least buy me some time until I can figure out what to do with her.

  As a single father to a rambunctious four-year-old, the last thing I have time for is a dog. Between work, Hannah’s preschool, and her many extracurriculars, it’s a miracle that I even have time to sleep. Adding a dog into the mix would only further complicate my life.

  Hannah’s face falls a little at my answer, as if she can sense the real meaning behind my comment.

  I reach down and gently chuck her chin. “What do you say we stop and get chicken nuggets on the way home?”

  This perks my junk food–loving daughter right up. Fast food isn’t something I let her indulge in often despite my lack of expertise in the kitchen. The day her mother walked out of our lives, I told myself I was going to do everything I could to make sure my daughter grew up wanting for nothing. And no matter how much easier it would make things to swing by a drive-through on my way home from work each evening, I’ve made it a point to put a home-cooked meal on the table every night.

  But there are certain times that call for French fries, and this is one of those times.

  Hannah jumps up and down a few times, pumping her arms in the air as she cheers. Dropping back down to her knees, she pats the dog on the head and assures her that she’ll share her nuggets.

  I watch as my daughter takes off for the car, the dog trotting along behind her, and I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face.

  Son of a bitch. Getting rid of this dog is already going to be more complicated than I thought.

  Dropping my eyes down to the ground before me, I set off to join them.

  I’ve only taken a few steps when Hannah’s concerned voice calls out, “Daddy.”

  It’s only one word, but the tone it’s delivered in tells me all I need to know.

  Something is wrong.

  I look up in time to see the dog stumble a few times before collapsing in a heap at Hannah’s feet.

  “Daddy!” she shrieks, and I set off at a run.

  The dog is unresponsive when I reach them, the poor thing’s chest rising and falling in a rapid rhythm as she struggles to breathe.

  “Daddy, help her!” Hannah pleads.

  I have no clue what could be wrong with this dog, and the thought of putting it in the car with my precious baby girl when it could have some sort of disease scares the shit out of me. But one beseeching look from my daughter, and I know I don’t have a choice.

  I scoop up the small animal and dash toward the car.

  2

  Maddy

  “That’s it, boy. That’s it. Just a few more, and we’re all done.”

  I use one hand to lock the dog’s face in place while my other hand clenches a pair of pliers. I give him a light scratch under the chin as I lift the pliers toward his face. With a nod at Cami, my vet technician, I grip one of the quills embedded in the dog’s snout as she tightens her arm around his midsection and gently covers his eyes with her other hand.

  “Shh, buddy. It’s okay. That’s a good boy. Such a good boy,” she purrs as the dog’s anxiety ramps up a notch, his paws skidding across the exam table as he struggles to get away.

  I wait for just the right moment when I feel the muscles in his throat relax ever so slightly, knowing that if he jerks at the same time I pull, I could end up with a much bigger problem than a few porcupine quills to the face.

  When the time is right, I pull the quill out, careful to pull it in as straight a line as possible so as not to break or splinter it. The dog jumps and whimpers a bit at the pain, but judging from the intact quill resting in the pliers, I’d say the procedure is a success.

  “Maybe next time you’re out, sniffing around in the woods, you’ll think twice before stuffing your face under a downed tree,” I chide, giving the yellow lab another pat on the head.

  He stares up at me with a sad expression, silently pleading with me to stop this evil form of torture. But if I don’t get these quills out as fast as I can, he’s going to be in a whole lot more agony than he is right now.

  Still, this is the part of the job I hate. The part where I have to see animals in any sort of pain or suffering. Growing up, I wanted nothing more than to be a vet. Working with animals all day seemed like the ideal job. And don’t get me wrong; I wouldn’t trade what I do for anything in the world. But it’s definitely not all rainbows and butterflies like I dreamed when I was a kid.

  Luckily, this fella will only need to be here a couple more minutes, and in a few days, I have no doubt he’ll be right back to his foraging ways.

  I make quick work of the rest of the quills, dabbing on some disinfectant before grabbing the dog’s leash and leading him back to the exam room where his owner is waiting.

  “Tucker!” a little boy squeals as he sprints across the room as soon as the door swings open, skidding to a halt on his knees in front of the dog.

  Tucker’s excited licks and wagging tail ensure me that all the trauma from the procedure room is already forgotten, only serving to remind me once again why I’ll always love what I do. Because no matter h
ow hard some days are, it’s times like this that make it all worth it.

  The boy’s parents stand to greet me.

  “Thank you, Doctor. Conner was so worried about his best buddy. As were my wife and I,” the man says as he extends a hand. I take it, smiling warmly at the relief evident in his tone. “Thank you for patching him up.”

  “No trouble at all. To be honest, I forgot how often this happens out here. You don’t see many porcupines in New York City. Just prickly people,” I say with a chuckle.

  The couple laughs with me, and I’m struck by just how different it is here, in Harts Creek, Montana, than in a big city like New York. I grew up here, but in the twelve years since I left, I guess I forgot just how … friendly everyone is.

  At least now that I’m a respected veterinarian.

  Quickly tamping down any thoughts of my past, I instead focus back on the people and dog in the room with me. I look down at Conner and Tucker, sprawled out on the floor, Conner’s face a radiant beam as he belly laughs at Tucker’s attempts to lick his face.

  “I truly can’t thank you enough, Dr. …” The woman trails off, and I realize I didn’t introduce myself.

  “Woods. Madeline Woods. You can call me Maddy though.”

  The woman smiles at me. “Thank you, Maddy. You know, we were so sad to hear about Dr. Bailey’s decision to sell this place and retire. But he’s surely left us in incredible hands.”

  A rush of pride fills my chest because even though I’ve only been back a few weeks, I already know this was the best decision I could’ve possibly made. “Dr. B was great. I actually worked here for him in high school. When he called to let me know he was putting the place up for sale, I think I might’ve scared him with how fast I told him I’d buy it. I was a little, erm … exuberant.”

  “Well, you’re doing a fantastic job so far,” the man says. “Tucker usually cowers and tries to hide under my chair the whole time here. But look at him. He already feels at home.”

  I look back to the dog and the boy, and at that moment, the dog lifts his face to me, his mouth falling open in the biggest doggy grin I’ve ever seen. It’s as if he’s telling me there’s no hard feelings for the pain I inflicted earlier.

  I crouch down and scratch between his ears. “It was good to meet you, buddy. Hopefully, next time, it’s under better circumstances,” I say, laughing when Tucker’s tongue flops out of the side of his mouth.

  He jumps off of Conner and leaps toward me, his front paws coming to rest on my shoulders as he gives me a big lick from chin to forehead.

  “Tucker!” the woman shouts, embarrassed by his lack of delicacy.

  I laugh, wiping my face with one hand as I stand. “It’s fine. I consider it a perk of the job—getting paid in puppy kisses.”

  “Well, if that’s all it takes,” the man says, turning to the dog. “Have at it, Tuck.”

  A smirk spreads across my lips. “Unfortunately, the bank doesn’t share my same stance on puppy kisses.”

  The man snaps and gives a small swing of his arm. “Rats. Well, it was worth a shot.”

  His wife rolls her eyes and grabs him by the arm. “Come on, honey. I think we’ve taken up more than enough of Dr. Maddy’s time. Do we need to bring Tucker back in for a follow-up?”

  I shake my head. “Nope, he should be good to go. Just keep an eye on him for any signs of infection. Redness, heat—you know, the usual. If that happens, then give us a call. But the quills came out smoothly, so I don’t anticipate he’ll have any issues. Just make sure to keep the area clean. And maybe give him some soft food for a few days. His mouth might be a little sore.”

  The couple both nod and thank me again before collecting their son and their dog and heading out to the front desk to settle the bill.

  I wince a little when I overhear the receptionist tell them their total. I meant what I said earlier. I’d be totally content to get paid in snuggles and kisses. But the mortgage on this place disagrees.

  I wave good-bye as the family walks through the door, smiling to myself as the receptionist, Morgan, follows shortly behind them to lock the door. We were about to lock up when they arrived, frantic that they wouldn’t be able to find someone to take care of their pup this late in the evening.

  Lucky for me, the girls who work for me all seem to be here because they truly love animals and not just to get a paycheck. In the few weeks I’ve been running this place, there have been several nights we’ve had to stay later than planned, and neither Cami nor Morgan have once complained.

  I’m going to have to keep that in mind come Christmastime. Hopefully by then, I’ll be on my feet enough to give them a decent bonus.

  I head to the back and find Cami washing up in the break room.

  “Thanks for all your help today,” I tell her, pulling open the fridge and grabbing a can of Diet Dr. Pepper. A wave of satisfaction rolls through me at the sound of the top popping open, and a swell of what can only be described as utter joy follows when I take that first beloved sip.

  Now, I love coffee as much as the next overworked thirty-something in America. But in my humble opinion, nothing beats the cool, refreshing burn of an ice-cold soda. Dr. Pepper has always been my drug of choice, the diet having been added when I turned thirty and my hips and stomach no longer appreciated the caloric goodness of sugar.

  Cami dries her hands and turns to face me, her back leaning against the counter as she crosses her arms. “No problem, boss lady. Can’t say a day around here is ever boring,” she adds with a wink.

  I know I need to hire another vet tech. Having just the two of us here while seeing over a dozen pets a day is not only insane; it’s probably against some sort of code. But Cami seems to enjoy the fast-paced routine we’ve set up over the past few weeks, and the last thing I do every night before I fall asleep is pray to the vet gods above that the woman never leaves me.

  I say as much to her as I take another sip of my soda, and she tosses her head back in laughter.

  “Don’t have to worry about that, boss lady. I’m not going anywhere anytime soon.”

  “I’ll drink to that,” I say, holding up my can in a cheers gesture before bringing it back to my lips.

  Cami saunters over to me and pulls out a chair. “You know, that stuff will kill ya,” she says, her eyebrow raised as she takes a seat.

  I shrug. “At least I’ll die happy.”

  Cami giggles. “I don’t think I’ve met anyone over the age of seventeen who drinks as much soda as you do.”

  “Nectar of the gods,” I say, holding my can up once more before knocking back the final swallow.

  “I was going to swing by Pete’s on my way home, grab some food and maybe a drink. You game?”

  Her question catches me off guard. Cami has been a lifesaver to me since I got back into town, and as I said, not a day goes by that I’m not overwhelmingly grateful that she’s in my life. But this is the first time the idea of seeing each other outside of work has ever come up.

  And as if sensing my apprehension, she quickly adds, “I mean, you know, as friends. You’re pretty and all, but I, uh … like dudes.”

  Laughter bubbles up in my throat. Well, she might have picked up on my hesitance, but she totally misread the reasoning. “Don’t worry, Cami. I didn’t think you were hitting on me. I just, um … well, to be honest, I can’t remember the last time I had dinner with a friend. I’m not sure I even remember how to just sit and eat a meal without having to rush off to something else.”

  Cami lifts her brows in surprise. “You didn’t have girlfriends back in New York?”

  I think about her question. I certainly had women I called friends. Women I’d see at charity events and Jesse’s work functions. But in all the years I lived there, I never had a single person I could call up and invite to a movie. Never had a single woman in my life I could call and vent to when Jesse did something to piss me off. Looking back, I wouldn’t really call any of those women my friends. They were women carefully selected by
Jesse to help further his career. If his soon-to-be wife could get in with the right crowd, then that would only serve as more connections for his business and ultimately more money in his pocket.

  I give Cami a noncommittal shrug. “Didn’t have much time back in New York,” I lie. Well, partly lie. I was busy back in New York. But I would’ve made time for friends had the opportunity ever presented itself.

  “Well, that’s a damn shame. Those New York socialites didn’t know what they were missing,” she replies with a smile. And I love her even more for it.

  Truth is, I’ve always been what most people would call … boring. I was a studious child, which didn’t leave much time for friends, even back then. Not that any of my peers really had any interest in playing with me. Being known as the class nerd certainly didn’t do me any favors.

  And it was that same eagerness to learn and desire to be the best that had me graduating not only at the top of my class in high school, but also from veterinarian school. I was offered a job with a highly respected office right out of college and quickly worked my way up to becoming one of their most respected doctors.

  Jesse was fascinated by the rapid rise of my career the night I first met him. He asked me dozens of questions about my education and placement with the clinic, all the while listening astutely to every answer and seeming to hang on my every word. I misread his body language as interest back then. Interest in me, I should say. After three years together and one almost-wedding, and it is clear to me now that the only thing he was interested in was how good having an admired veterinarian on his arm would look.

  “So, you up for a night on the town?” Cami asks again, waggling her brows at me like she suggested a night of debauchery instead of dinner at the local bar.

  I chuckle in response. “Rain check? I feel like I have dog hair and cat puke all over me. I just want to head home and take a hot bath, try to wash away the smell of this place for at least a few hours.”

  Cami gives me an amused smile. “Good luck with that. I’ve worked here for two years, and I don’t think I’ve been able to get the smell of cat piss off my clothes since the day I stepped through the door. Probably why I’m still single,” she adds with a shrug.