Dating The Millionaire Doctor(28)

His table had been moved against the wall. It was covered with a rich  tapestry, and a vast mirror set behind it so it reflected the warmth of  the lamps.

There was an antique desk against the far wall. The books he'd swept  onto the floor last night were neatly stacked, ready to be used again.

And then …

A faint noise had him moving to the bedroom. He opened the door and a  small brown cat stalked out, looking suspicious and curious and eager,  all at once. A half-grown cat, fawn with a tip of white on its tail.

It was followed by another brown cat, even smaller, but this one had no tip.

Burmese? He wasn't sure of his cats. They looked like Siamese cats, he thought, only different.

The first one sniffed his shoes, then carefully wound its way round and round his ankles.

The second one sat and watched, acting superior.

Cats …

There was a note on his bed-on top of the riot of an amazing patchwork quilt.

I looked for another Celtic love knot but couldn't find one. These are  my alternative. Meet Ferdy and Freddy. They're from the pet store on the  note stuck on their litter tray. I paid double their asking price on  condition that if you really don't want them they'll take them back. But  I'd recommend keeping them. They keep each other company all day and  when you get home … well, they might just mean you do come home.

He found himself grinning. Ferdy and Freddy.

Ferdy-or was it Freddy?-yowled. His brother joined in, then both of them set their tails high and stalked over to the fridge.

What was he supposed to do with cats?         

     



 

Bemused, he opened the fridge, and found what he was supposed to do with cats. Tori had thought of everything.

'You'll have to go back,' he told them as he fed them, but he couldn't do it tonight.

When would he find time to take them back tomorrow?

He had work to do before he went to bed. There was a case he needed to look up for the next day.

He sat down at his new desk and opened a textbook.

Ferdy was on his knee in seconds, followed by Freddy.

How was a man supposed to work when he was … when he was home?

Where was Tori right now? Somewhere around Hawaii?

Not that far.

Too far.

This place was wonderful.

It was missing something.

'I don't think I can,' he told the cats, fondling two ears. Fondling four ears.

'Impossible. My work is here.

'Yes, but …

'She's just given me two more complications.

'I can handle complications.'

He couldn't, though, he thought, or not immediately. It'd take some thought.

'Love takes time,' he told the cats. 'Months. Maybe years.'

Years didn't bear thinking of.

He closed his eyes. This was crazy. He was a man who walked alone.

Ferdy dug his claws into his thigh and gently kneaded.

'I don't do pets,' he said through gritted teeth. 'I don't do … love?'

He had this all the wrong way round. He'd go to sleep and he'd wake up in the morning being sensible.

Maybe, or maybe not.





CHAPTER ELEVEN




T HE operation on Harley had been long and perilous. The big schnauzer  was only seven years old, but the liver abscess he'd developed was as  unexpected as it was lethal and the only option if he was to survive was  to remove part of the liver.

At least Tori was no longer working by herself. Her new workplace had  specialist canine surgeons. She'd been able to call for help, and then  work as the assistant of a far more experienced surgeon.

All the same, she was exhausted.

She should be feeling perky and full of energy at five months pregnant,  she told herself, but it wasn't happening. Try as she might, she  couldn't be perky. Ever since she'd come back from New York-okay, even  before that, ever since Jake left, she conceded-there'd been something  exhausting her that wasn't pregnancy. Something was trying to tug her  back into the grey fog she'd been in after the fire.

And she wasn't going to be tugged, she told herself fiercely as she  worked. She had great friends, a lovely new job, caring colleagues;  she'd just saved Harley, and Rusty and Itsy were waiting for her back  home. Doreen and Glenda cared for the dogs during the day, but the dogs  knew who their mistress was and when Tori arrived they almost turned  inside out with joy.

They'd be expecting her now. Tori glanced at her watch and winced. She  still needed to talk to Harley's owners, and stop off and buy something  for tea, and then collect the dogs … and the tiredness was insidious.

Two more days 'til the weekend, she promised herself, two more days  until she could spend the whole time at home. But the weekend brought  more problems. Most of the population of the relocatable village spent  their weekends up on the ridge, working on their new homes, but for some  reason her head still wouldn't let her go there. And there was the  other thing. At the weekend she had time to think of Jake.

The surgeon was closing. 'It's as good as we can get,' he told her. 'You want to go tell Harley's mum and dad the good news?'

Of course she did. She pinned on a bright smile and opened the door-and Jake was in the waiting room.

He was reading a copy of Horse & Hound, as though it was totally riveting.

Harley's owners, an elderly couple who'd been frantic about their dog,  sprang to their feet. Jake gave her a tiny smile, acknowledging her  priorities, and retreated again to his horses. Or hounds.

'Hi,' Tori said, as much to him as to Paul and Ida Clemens, and then  somehow forced herself back to professional mode. 'It's okay,' she told  them quickly. 'More than okay. It's good. We've taken about twenty  percent of the liver but that includes a wide margin of healthy tissue.  We're sure we have it all. As long as we can keep his cholesterol under  control there's no reason why he shouldn't live happily into a ripe old  age.'

The elderly couple stared at her in silence for a long moment-and then  Paul put his hands on his face and sank back into his chair. The elderly  farmer's shoulders shook with silent sobs. His wife sat down and hugged  him. Tori produced a box of tissues and Paul grabbed about a dozen.

He needed them all.         

     



 

They waited then, all of them, for Paul to recover. Tori was achingly  aware of Jake watching from the sidelines, but she couldn't hurry this.  Paul and Ida had lost their farm in the fires. They'd barely survived by  holding blankets over their heads as they lay in shallows of their dam.  Harley had been under the blankets with them.

If they needed time, she'd give them all the time in the world.

Finally Paul had himself under control-or almost. He sat while Ida held  his hand, and while Tori gently repeated the good news. Then their  questions started. She repeated the initial diagnosis.  Hypercholesterolemia-massively elevated cholesterol-had caused the liver  abscess. Schnauzers were genetically prone to it, and of course Paul  and Ida had treated Harley as a human before the fires, and afterwards  they could refuse his pleading eyes nothing. So Harley had eaten cheese  and sausages and chocolate, and finally his liver had started to  disintegrate under the strain.

'So you think you can resist now?' Tori asked them, and Ida managed a strained smile.

'Once upon a time we were firm parents,' she said. 'We can go back to that. Can't we, Paul?'

'I guess … '

'And we move into our new home next week.' Ida was sounding firmer,  ready to move on. 'We'll be able to take Harley home to somewhere  permanent.'

'No chocolate?' Paul said.

'No chocolate,' Ida said and looked speculatively at Paul's rotund  girth. 'I have the men in my life back, and I'm not risking anything  again, thank you very much. Can we see him?'

'Of course you can. Our nurse will be taking him through into recovery,'  Tori said-and they thanked her and Tori was left with Jake. He put down  Horse & Hound.

'Hi,' she managed finally, but it didn't come out properly. 'Um, why are you here?'

'You're supposed to say, "Welcome."'

'You're very welcome,' she said, and he was. Could he feel it, she wondered. Just how welcome he was?

'I was hoping for five minutes of your time.'

'Five minutes?'

'All the best dates are five minutes,' he said. 'You can meet the love  of your life in five minutes. Or, as it happens, in one and a half  minutes if you try hard enough.'

There was enough in that to take her breath away. It did take her breath  away. She wanted to sink onto the seat Paul had just vacated and maybe  hyperventilate.

Where was a paper bag when she needed one?

'So Harley really will be okay?' he asked, giving her time to recover,  and she thought she could do this; she could talk medicine until she got  herself coherent. Maybe.

'It was a beautiful resection of the liver,' she managed. 'Textbook case. Guy Saller's our surgeon-he's the best.'

'So you didn't do it.'

'I don't have the skills.'

'You tried antibiotics and closed drainage first?' He was definitely giving her time.

'We tried everything. I know, resection's last-resort stuff, but believe  me, this was last resort. If we'd waited any longer we risked rupture.  He's young and healthy. The liver has every chance of regenerating, and  best of all he's abstained from alcohol so cirrhosis isn't a problem.'

'You checked for cirrhosis?' he said faintly.

'It's happened,' she said, recovering enough now to start to smile. 'Ida  and Paul have given him everything else-why not a wee drop of sherry  with theirs at night?'