Page 32 of The Twelve Days of Christian
He breaks away and I follow his progress down the hallway, in his t-shirt and baggy sweats, the photo frame clutched to his chest. The sight of him reminds me of a small child, one who needsmyprotection. It only hardens my resolve to follow through with the decision I made earlier.
I pick up my phone and look at the texts. No going back now.
HALEY:Rache, I need your help. Can you get us Loreena Bunt’s address?
I said us, but I meant me. I know she has access to investigators who do lots of this sort of thing. Like all celebrities, Loreena probably doesn’t advertise where she lives. But I know from Ollie’s experience that type of information can be found, if you know where to look.
I stare at her reply.
RACHEL:Absolutely. On it already. Loreena is definitely your best bet. But don’t let Christian go there. Us on Saturday?
HALEY:Sounds a plan. We need that address.
My answer is deliberately vague. If Rachel knew my real plan, she’d try to talk me out of it. I call the dogs in, dancing wet feet tracking prints up the hallway in an exuberant celebration of their unexpected extra time out in the yard. I was meant to sit my exam tomorrow—but I’m not. I should take Tully to get her stitches out—but I won’t. There’s less than a week before the show is over. I’m hoping it’s enough time to do what’s needed, whatever that might be. For that reason, I must start tomorrow.
Chapter 16
Day Seven
“Hey, do you thinkyou could help me out here?”
Haley’s voice drifts up from where she sits cross-legged on the lounge floor. She’s in another set of those crazy pyjamas. The girl seems to have a different pair for every day of the week. These are possibly the least offensive I’ve seen.
On her bottom half, the pants cling tight to her legs, following every curve, even the riotous tartan pattern unable to mask the shapeliness of what lies beneath. The top is a simple white sweater with a huge red tartan heart and the words ‘Santa Baby’ in gold. Yep, I’d sign up to be Santa if she’d come and sit on my lap.
Tully sprawls beside her, legs dropped wide like a harlot, exposing her soft beige tummy and saggy teats. Haley says she was used forbreeding, maybe to produce guard dogs, or worse fighting dogs. It’s hard to imagine anything produced by this amiable boofhead could have an ounce of aggression.
The hated cone lies discarded on the floor. Free of it, no wonder Tully’s mouth hangs open in a broad smile, huge pink tongue unfurled.
“I need help to hold her. She’s so damn wiggly.”
“You’d be wiggly too, if you’d just got rid of a plastic neck wrap you’d been forced to wear for a week.”
I slide to the floor, facing Haley across the furry bundle of writhing joy. She reaches a hand to the coffee table where a small curved scissors sits on a cloth. There’s a long set of tweezers and some small foil packets of antiseptic wipes.
“Figured I’d do the job myself.” She slides the blunt tip of the scissors under one plastic knot of suture thread. “It’s healed really well. I don’t think a vet’s going to have any concerns. No point paying someone to do what I can do myself.”
Trapping her lip between her teeth, she leans in closer and carefully lifts the thread away from the skin of the crinkled seam. With a click, the stitch is cut. She swaps to the tweezers and pulls the thread clear.
“Nice work, Dr Templeton,” I say as she settles to work on the next stitch.
“Nice assist, Nurse Steele. One down, nineteen to go. Just keep the patient steady,” she says, a grin pulling her mouth wide.
I tickle at Tully’s bristled neck, and she relaxes under my touch. Haley’s hands are so careful I hardly need to distract the dog. I’m sure she doesn’t feel a thing.
Remembering that same gentle touch, those soft fingers trailing over my stomach the other day, when she helped me dress after Sam checked my arm, I crave to feel it again. But I swallow hard, focus my mind on the task, and try to damp down the surge of desire at the closeness, the smell of her.Her. Not only the green apple of her shampoo, or the delicate floral perfume she wears—but her own sweet scent that hints of warm secret places. I inhale slow and deep, enjoying the time afforded by the unhurried movements of those dainty hands. It’s precious moments like this I never expected to have, without Ollie’s presence always there between us. I savour it knowing there’s a deadline looming, where I’ll be gone and he’ll be back.
“Not going into work?” I watch as she tackles the next stitch, her pink tongue caught between her teeth, eyes narrowed in focus.
“It’s my exam today. One o’clock. They’ve given me the morning off as well for study.”
“Ever thought of doing the full vet training?” I say. “You’d be good at it.”
She says nothing at first. Have I upset her? Then she sighs.
“I have. But it’s not easy.”
“Bullshit,” I protest. “You got your A-levels, right?” I’m sure her parents would have insisted. There’s no way two teachers would let their kid drop out of school early. “And to get your vet nursing qualification is no small thing. What did it take? Two or three years?”
