Page 26 of Run, Run Rudolph
“Cold ride,” I said matter-of-factly.
“Very cold,” she said. Her eyes twinkled for the first time tonight. “Also, he sheds a lot.”
No part of this scenario was amusing, but we grinned at each other like idiots over the image of her giving a caribou a ride in her convertible in a blizzard. The wary tension that had been thickening between us broke as we laughed. But it was just a quick, involuntary burble of mirth, similar to an air bubble in a stream as it split open at the surface.
Honestly, this was such a stupid thing for her to do. Completely reckless and dangerous. So why was I laughing?
Because charming a wild animal was so completely Tamara.
I focused on the reindeer again, still unable to sort out how she’d lured it into her car, and then kept it there while she drove down the road. Knowing sweet Tamara, she’d probably convinced it to put on its seatbelt.
Were there legal implications in regards to transporting an injured wild animal? As a veterinarian, was I liable or obliged to take some sort of action in this scenario? Fish and Wildlife would certainly want to know about this out-of-range caribou and its injury. And its unshed antlers.
“In your car,” I muttered.
“What else was I supposed to do?” Tamara asked softly. “I wasn’t going to leave him to get hit again.”
“No, yeah. Of course not.”
“And for your information, I missed more than I hit.”
“Caribou? There was a herd of them?” Oh, man. I definitely had to report this to Fish and Wildlife.
I pulled out my stethoscope. “What have you named him?”
“I haven’t.”
I shot Tamara a look. I’d known her for a few decades now, and she had a habit of naming every animal she met. This caribou certainly wouldn’t be an exception, especially with it being so close to Christmas. I was sure of it.
“Rudolph,” she said shyly.
I let out a huff of laughter. Of course.
I took a listen to the caribou’s chest and lungs, then moved cautiously toward his head, continuing the check-up.
Tamara refused to make room for me. I shot her a rather dark and slightly exasperated look, that hum of tension cranking up between us again.
“What? He’s scared and nervous! And I’m not projecting or anthropomorphizing or whatever.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“I can see you judging me, Haden Powell.”
“I need to check his pupils.” I waved my small penlight and edged closer while still in my crouch, my knee pressing against Tamara’s. She should have moved, giving me room, but she didn’t.
She was acting weird again.
I pressed harder. “Tamara?”
She wouldn’t budge.
“I thought you wanted me to hurry up?”
She sighed. “Fine.” She glanced up toward the stall’s half wall before shifting out of the way.
I moved in, carefully inspecting the deer’s pupils, stroking him gently across the forehead like Tamara had, then down his jaw when he allowed it. I could tell Tamara thought I was giving the wild animal snuggles, but I was actually checking for lumps and abrasions, as well as to see if the animal’s jaw was still properly hinged. Because what vet gave a wild animal chin scratches like this? I was acting as though this was the coolest part of my entire week.
Because it actually was. A reindeer just before Christmas Eve? Who would have thought it possible in our neck of the foothills?
