Page 38 of One Last Storm
“Oh, no, no we don’t.” The door had opened, and a nurse wearing Christmas tree scrubs came into the room. “Pets aren’t allowed in patient rooms.”
Moose shook his head, cleared his throat. “Ma’am, this is Caspian, certified search and rescue dog. He’s part of the patient’s therapeutic recovery team.”
The nurse cocked her head at him. “Don’t give me that, Moose Mulligan. We’ve never met, but trust me when I say I’m not intimidated by you.”
His mouth opened.
London smirked.
Moose looked at his coffee. “Please?”
She stared at him, gave a huff. “Okay. Fine. But you leave, you take him with you.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She took Dawson’s pulse, blood pressure and even gave the dog a pat before she left.
“Nicely done,” Dawson said. “But I’m not keeping him.”
“We’ll see,” Moose said.
“Therapeutic recovery team?” London said. “This is why I’m going to miss working with you. Pure creative problem-solving.”
He looked at her. “Then you know Shep talked to me.”
“I knew he was going to.” She sighed. “We’ll miss this.”
“I know.”
She stood up. “Take care of yourself, Dawson. Be nice to the dog.”
She patted Caspian on the way out.
“I’m really not keeping the dog.”
“Mmmhmm,” Moose said.
“Maybe you should keep him. Didn’t you say Hazel wanted a puppy for Christmas?”
Yeah, that. Felt a little far away, now. “Hazel will be fine.”
“Oh—wait—Moose, I’m so sorry. How’s Tillie.”
“Still pregnant.”
Dawson stilled, then… “Oh, that’s?—”
“Thanks, couz, for bringing her in. The bleeding could have gotten worse, and maybe displaced the placenta and…well, anyway, thank you.”
“Dawson makes a nice name.”
“For a dog.”
Dawson laughed, then winced. “Okay, I know it’s my leg, but even laughing hurts.”
The door opened again, and Moose turned to see Tillie in the doorway.
“Hey Tillie.”
