Page 15 of Midnight Mate
“Right at the light,” Clint said.
Again, Bayne was already signaling before the words came out. Downtown spread before them, brick buildings and hanging flower baskets trying their best to look quaint. Cyril’s Café on the corner had a line out the door. The hardware store next to it displayed wheelbarrows and garden hoses like trophies.
“You’ve been here before.” Not a question from Clint this time.
Have I? Bayne searched the blank spaces but found nothing but fog. “I’m not sure.”
“Recent head trauma does weird things to memory.” Clint’s clinical tone didn’t quite hide his curiosity. “Sometimes people lose days. Sometimes they lose years. Sometimes they just lose random pieces, like their phone number but not their address.”
“What about losing everything except how to annoy veterinarians?”
“That’s a new one. I’ll add it to the medical journals.” Clint pointed ahead. “Blue house on the right. Park anywhere.”
Bayne pulled into the small lot beside a Victorian that had been painted the color of a robin’s egg. White trim made it look like a wedding cake, and a sign out front proclaimed Crimson Hollow Veterinary Clinic in cheerful script. Picket fence and everything. All it needed was a rainbow.
Inside, the clinic smelled like every vet’s office ever. Wet dog, disinfectant, and fear-sweat from a dozen different species. A woman behind the counter, maybe in her early fifties, looked up from her computer, did a double-take at Bayne, then tried to pretend she hadn’t.
“Janet, this is Bayne. He’s helping out today.” Clint moved past the desk like he hadn’t noticed his secretary’s reaction. “Bayne, Janet runs this place. I just pretend to be in charge.”
Janet’s eyes traveled from Bayne’s too-tight shirt to his face and back again. “Nice to meet you.” Her smile suggested she had about forty questions but was too professional to ask them. “Dillan’s in back with the Pomeranian.”
She was probably thinking about Clint’s plumber excuse and deciding Bayne was the cause of it. She wouldn’t be wrong.
“The one that ate the sock?” Clint was already moving toward the exam rooms.
“Different Pomeranian. This one ate rubber bands,” Janet called out, her blue eyes twinkling.
“Why do they all eat things?” Clint muttered, then glanced back at Bayne.
“Coming?”
I wish. Watching his mate’s ass had Bayne half-hard and ready to bend the vet over the nearest exam table. Who knew scrubs could be considered sexy lingerie? The pants made Clint’s ass look plump and inviting.
Bayne followed Clint down the hallway, past walls covered in photos of animals and thank-you cards from grateful owners. They ended up at a room right next to the EXIT sign. Inside, a guy who couldn’t be older than twenty-five was trying to calm a vibrating ball of orange fur.
“Dillan, Bayne. Bayne, Dillan.” Clint washed his hands at the tiny sink. “How’s Princess Butterscotch?”
“Anxious. As usual.” Dillan’s attention locked onto Bayne like a tractor beam, though he tried to play it off by focusing very hard on the Pomeranian’s chart. “Is he your…friend?”
“He’s helping out.” Clint dried his hands with those rough brown paper towels that never actually absorbed anything. “Can you prep exam room two? Mrs. Chen will be here soon with her rabbit.”
Dillan left, still shooting glances at Bayne like he was trying to solve a puzzle.
“They’re going to talk,” his mate said once Dillan was gone. “Janet’s probably already texting everyone she knows.”
“About what? My terrible fashion sense?” Bayne plucked at the shirt that was slowly cutting off circulation to his arms.
“About me showing up with a random guy who looks like he could lift the x-ray machine with one hand.” Clint’s ears had gone pink. Interesting. “This is a small town. By noon, everyone will think we’re…you know.”
“Fucking?”
Clint dropped a thermometer. It clattered across the floor and rolled under the cabinet. “Jesus. Yes. That.”
While his mate retrieved the thermometer, Bayne examined the Pomeranian, who had stopped vibrating long enough to sniff his hand.
Most dogs either loved him or wanted to tear his throat out. No middle ground. This one apparently voted for love, turning into a puddle of orange fluff the moment he scratched behind her ears.
“Huh.” Clint straightened, thermometer in hand. “She usually hates everyone except her owner.”
