Page 11 of Animal Instincts
It didn’t seem to bother Gran, though.
“With all the new people we’ve had come into the village things have opened up here. More establishments which are, what’s the term? Guy friendly.” She jerked her head in a nod of satisfaction.
“I think you mean gay friendly.” Although he hadn’t beenfriendlywith aguyfor… Joss had forgotten for how long.Oh god. Why am I talking to my gran about…this?
“That’s what I said,” she grumbled.
“Gran, please stop.” He cringed at the whine in his voice, like an awkward and embarrassed teenager.
He threw the rest of his bacon to Bingo, who snatched it up, his stubby tail wagging with glee.
“But love, it’s my job to embarrass you and make you squirm.”
Joss looked down into her weather-beaten face, her eyes bright and full of mischief.
“But hear me out. I do have one suggestion you might want to think about. The new vet.” She raised her brows, as though he should know what she was talking about.
She couldn’t mean the new vet should be his boyfriend…? His stomach muscles tightened, and his mouth dried to dust.
Oliver Strachan. Dark-haired, stormy-eyed, sexy as fuck — and the man into whose groin he’d deposited a large slice of frosting-covered cake.
If Oliver had any sense, he’d never set foot in Harbour Coffee again.
Joss cleared his throat. “What about the vet?”
“Why not ask him if you can do some work experience at the practice? Voluntary work, the way you did at the shelter before it moved? Just a few hours a week. It’d give you current experience, if you’re looking to work with animals, although with all the farms around about, I’m sure you could—”
“It’s getting on for ten o’clock, Gran. You don’t want to be late for Joyce’s trim, do you?”
“In other words, shut up and mind your own business. But think about what I just said. And anyway, Joyce is having a blue rinse today although I might try and persuade her to go summer cherry, instead, to bring her a bit more up to date.”
Gran pushed herself to standing, groaning about her poor old bones, and made her way out of the kitchen; Joss was relieved she didn’t see his shudder of horror.
Hair by Doreenshould have been renamed Disasters by Doreen, but his gran was much loved by her many aged customers, especially those who lived on the more remote farms and in the many isolated and scattered hamlets.
Along with the local gossip, they relied on her for rinses in all the colours of the rainbow, curly perms, and extravagant bouffant blow drying. The results were… interesting. Gran approached her work with gusto and enthusiasm, but without any formal training, talent or skill. Joss sniggered, and then immediately felt guilty. Gran’s earnings from her mobile business had put food in his belly and clothes on his back.
Gran had a point, about approaching Oliver. He had nothing to lose, but in the one time they’d had anything to do with each other, he hadn’t exactly made the best of impressions.
A called out goodbye was followed by backfiring from the exhaust on a battered little van that should have been resigned to the scrap heap long ago. Joss poured himself a cup of tea, thinking about what Gran had said, and a man with brooding grey eyes, silver streaked dark hair, and a wide, full lipped mouth that looked like it hadn’t smiled in too long a time.
EIGHT
Oliver didn’t know which was better, the nutty, aromatic, single estate coffee, or the rich, sweet and buttery almond biscuit. The flavours vied for first place on his tongue, and the only way he could decide the winner was to crunch down on another biscuit and take another long and appreciative mouthful of coffee.
The package had been delivered earlier in the day, by Tony, one of the guys who ran Dante’s, the Italian restaurant. He’d pressed the gift into Oliver’s hands, thanking him again for mending poor Milly, his and his husband’s beautiful Rag Doll cat.
A small operation only, Oliver hadn’t done that much. He didn’t expect gifts or over enthusiastic thanks from his clients when he returned their pets to them in a better state than when they brought them in. Their joy at being reunited with one another was a reward in itself.
After years in the profession, Oliver supposed the little flare of warmth he got for lessening an animal’s suffering should have dimmed to nothing, but it hadn’t, and the day that happened was a day he should — and would — paste aFor Salesign on the practice door.
Another biscuit and cup of coffee later, Oliver decided he might even be up for tackling the admin. His last client of the day had been dealt with, taking his patched-up parrot with him. The man had paid in cash — and a dozen hens’ eggs, fresh laid that morning.
Oliver opened up the box of biscuits again, pretending he wasn’t delaying the inevitable. He frowned as he slowly chewed. He’d got to the point where he needed help, not another vet, but somebody to meet and greet, to help handle the animals, to look after the equipment, to take care of admin. In fact, to do all the things—
Oliver swallowed down the biscuit, which all of a sudden didn’t taste quite so rich, buttery and delicious. He closed the box, pushing down the lid on both the biscuits and the unwelcome reminder of the life he’d left behind in London.
Settling himself in his cubby hole of an office, Oliver stared at his computer. Taking a deep breath, he opened up the small business accounts package and began the long and tedious job that would be his evening’s entertainment. James’ words came back to him. Maybe it was time to peek out from under his stone… But first he had the admin to tackle.
