Jamie was lapping up water by the time Jack had scrambled three eggs and was transferring them to a plate. The sound of water gushing out had him looking over his shoulder. Sure enough, Jamie had peed by the back door again.
Jamie tilted his head to one side as if to say, “I made it to the door again!”
“Too bad the door was closed.” He’d have to rig something up if Jamie was going to be living with him; the possibility that someone was looking for the little dog wasn’t something he wanted to consider and hoped he’d never have to worry about.
“OK,” he said, picking the puppy up. “You’re coming with me while I take a shower.”
Anticipating how the hot water would ease the dull ache and stiffness in his leg, he closed his bedroom door and told the dog to sit. Mistakenly thinking the dog would obey, he left him there to get cleaned up. The muffled thud and yelp that followed had him shutting off the water, reaching for the towel, and yanking the door open.
“What’s going…” His words trailed off as his gaze swept the disaster that used to be his bedroom. The comforter was on the floor and one side had a huge tear in it. The bedside table was on its side and the bowl he kept his change in was in pieces amidst quarters, dimes, nickels, and pennies.
Where was Jamie? The door was still closed so the dog had to be somewhere in the room. “Here, boy,” he called, tucking the towel around his waist and stepping over the mangled comforter and around the change.
The closet door was still closed, so the dog had to be under the bed. Getting down on his hands and knees, he peered beneath the mahogany four-poster that had been in the family for a generation. Spotting the little guy, he made a point to keep his tone quiet and even. “Hey, come on out.”
The dog was shaking. “I bet the table hitting the floor scared you.” Lying on his stomach, he reached a hand toward Jamie. “It’s OK, boy,” he soothed.
Jamie licked his hand and let Jack coax him out from under the bed. “We’d better go over those rules again, boy.”
But the dog wasn’t paying any attention; he was too busy licking and nibbling Jack’s chin. “I can probably barricade you in the kitchen for today and pick up a few baby gates on my way home.”
By the time he cleaned up what was left of the bowl and collected the change, Jamie was ready to play. “I’ve got to get dressed first,” he told the dog. His firm tone must have registered, because the pup sat down and waited patiently while Jack smoothed the comforter on the bed and got dressed.
“Hey!” he chuckled. “Give me back my shoe!” And as quickly as that, the chase was on. By the time he caught the dog, the dog had mangled one of his good shoes, leaving Jack no option but to wear his work boots.
“Serves me right for not thinking I’d need more than one pair of good shoes.”
Stepping into the boots, he tied them and stood. Despite the puppy’s antics, his left leg felt pretty good. The work boots were far more comfortable than his dress shoes. “Maybe I should thank that little force of destruction for ripping up my shoes so I had to wear these.”
Jamie trailed after him until he saw the card table come out of the hall closet and slide in front of the doorway. As if he sensed his play area had just been downsized, the dog hung his head and waited for Jack to finish.
“Now,” he said, going down on his good knee. “It’s like this, boy. I have to go to work. I have patients to see.” Jamie licked the back of Jack’s hand. “You be good,” Jack told him, “and before you know it, Caitlin will be here to feed you and let you out.”
He hated leaving the dog alone but had no other option today. His appointment book was full, and he wouldn’t have time to keep an eye on Jamie.
A glance at the clock told him he would be on time if he left right then. “I’ll see you tonight, boy. Kiss Caitlin for me.” As soon as he said the words, warmth slid through his system.
He shook his head as he closed the front door.
Jack thought about Caitlin…all the way to town.
By the time he was halfway through his morning, he had five minutes to down a cup of lukewarm coffee before the next of a half-dozen patients arrived.
“Well now,” he said, squatting down so he was eye-level with the youngest of the Doyle children. “Your mommy said that you have a rash on your belly.”
Six-year-old Christina Doyle nodded.
He deliberately kept his voice soothing and his eyes on the little girl’s face while he asked, “Can you show it to me?”
She lifted her pink T-shirt. “See?”
He studied the rash and asked, “Does your throat hurt?”