Page 35 of Animal Instincts
“Scrawny. Which, on your broad frame, was not a good look.”
Oliver ignored him. James was right but he wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of admitting it. He threw back the last of his drink and got up; it was time to get back to the practice.
“I told you I didn’t have long,” Oliver said, when James raised a questioning brow.
“What have you got this afternoon? A long line of poorly puppies?”
“A cat who’s projectile vomiting, a parrot with a cyst which needs lancing, an elderly mutt with a bad case of the worms—”
“Okay, I get the picture.” James stuck his hands out as his face scrunched in distaste.
Oliver grinned. Served James bloody well right.
“The life of a country vet is one of never ending glamour. Fortunately Joss is coming in to help, even though he’s got the afternoon off from…”
Heat seared Oliver’s cheeks. The last thing he wanted was to give James anything more to latch onto, but instead of the expected smirky grin, arched brow, and caustic remark, James’ lips turned up in a small, soft smile.
“That’s good, Oliver, it really is.”
Oliver mumbled his goodbye, and made his way out of The Fisherman’s Arms, his face burning as hot as the gaze boring into his back.
* * *
“You really didn’t have to come in this afternoon, Joss.”
“I know, but I had the afternoon free, so thought why not. I mean, if you really want to deal with Reverend Porter’s pus filled parrot on your own…”
Oliver barked out a laugh. “Not if you put it like that.”
Joss answered with a smile that wrapped itself around Oliver. Turning away, he closed his eyes, just for a second. Maybe saying yes, when Joss had offered, hadn’t been the wisest decision, but the practice felt lonely and empty without Joss’ easy company, no matter how busy he was.
The afternoon’s work consisted of the parrot, one cat who wasn’t much more than a kitten, three dogs, a hamster, and a newt. The animals had behaved impeccably, which wasn’t always the case with the owners. Joss, as ever, calmed them down, as he asked about mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers, sons and daughters, sending them and their much loved pets away happier and full of gratitude. At last they were able to lock the door, and turn the sign toClosed.
“Thanks for all your help today.”
“I was more than happy to come in. I mean, who wants to deal with a vomiting cat on their own?” Joss pealed off his tunic, wrinkled his nose and held it out at arm’s length. “How can one small, fluffy kitten have so much sick in it? I’m going to put this on to wash. Give me yours.”
Moments later, the small washing machine in the attached utility room rumbled into life.
They worked, clearing away the day, to the rhythmic swoosh and thud of the washing machine. Oliver restocked his medicine chest, as Joss cleaned instruments at the large stainless steel sink. Oliver kept his head down, but he couldn’t help throwing surreptitious glances Joss’ way.
The removed scrubs revealed long legs cased in indigo denim, and a light blue T-shirt stretching over his torso. Oliver knew he should look away, but he couldn’t, not as Joss leaned over to pick up a glass measuring jug, his stretch tugging his T-shirt free of his jeans, revealing a hint of lightly defined abs — and the tantalising glimpse of a tattoo, peeking up from under the waistband of his jeans, a vibrant flash of colour on Joss’ pale skin.
Oliver’s mouth dried, and his dick stirred. Tattoos… He had none himself, but on other men… He swallowed hard… Another animal care assistant, in another life and place, had had a tattoo…
He shook his head hard, throwing away thoughts and memories which had no place in Love’s Harbour.
“Oh, fuck.”
Joss’ cry wrenched Oliver back to the present, and he swung around. Joss was holding his hand up as blood oozed through the tear in the rubber glove he wore.
“Sorry… I was being too heavy handed. The glass beaker, it just snapped in—”
“Quiet.” Oliver dashed across. “Let me take a look. Come on, you need to sit down,” Oliver added as he glanced at Joss, pale lipped and white faced, and with his brow crinkling in pain. “Sit on the bench, it puts you at the right height.”
When Joss was settled, Oliver carefully peeled off the glove. The cut was long and oozed blood.
“I think it just needs cleaning up and bandaging. It’s not deep, thank god.”
