Healing Hearts (2 page)

Then he moved in and nudged her leg underneath her skirt with his cold nose. Sarah bent down to pet him and he licked her face again. Her heart melted. She didn’t care how much it cost. She’d figure out at way to pay.

“Will that be cash, check or charge?” the matronly woman asked her as she tapped on the keyboard on the computer. “This thing had better work this time,” she muttered as she pushed another key, not giving Sarah another look.

Sarah hesitated, thinking about the $40 in her pocket, her grocery list, which now had dog food and accessories added to it, and the rent that was due next week. There was no way she could pay for this visit and make ends meet. “Um, can I speak to the doctor a second?”

“Certainly.” The receptionist turned to speak into the intercom, but not before Sarah noticed the look of disdain, contempt and pity in her eyes. It was starting already, and she’d only been in Greer three months. “Dr. Morrison, Ms. Churchill would like to speak to you.”

“Fine. Tell her I’ll be out in a minute.”

Thirty seconds later, he leaned against the doorjamb to what she assumed was his office. “Yes?”

Sarah glance around, making sure they were alone. The receptionist had hurried off to the back room. She inhaled sharply. “I can’t afford to pay you—”

She choked on the words. She hated the feeling of helplessness, the feeling of dependence, the feeling of incompetence. After she’d left foster care, she swore she’d never feel this way again. And she hadn’t. She’d always respected the fact that she could take care of herself. Until the addition of her new friend.

There was no way she’d give up the dog now because of a silly bill, but she wouldn’t beg for a reduced fee either. She had her pride.

Dr. Morrison stared at her as he rubbed a thumb across his bottom lip. A look she couldn’t quite decipher flashed across his face before he masked it with a half-smile. “My receptionist must have made a mistake. Let me have the bill a second.”

He leaned over and grabbed it from her hands. The longer he studied it, the more defensive she became. “I don’t have all the money right now, but I can pay part of it and make payments every week.”

He seemed to ignore her statement. “Let’s see, if we take out this part here,” he ripped a section of paper out, “and this part here”, he grabbed another area, “and this part here,” he crumpled the last of the bill in his palm, “it looks like you’ve got no balance.”

Sarah clenched her hands and struggled to breathe. Blood pounded through her veins as she opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. Free? He wasn’t going to charge her? She didn’t think so. Nothing in life came free. There was no way she’d be indebted to this man, this complete stranger, no matter how interesting she found him. She had her pride. It didn’t matter how much the darned bill cost, she’d cut some classes and work extra shifts at the diner.

“Ms. Churchill, is something wrong?”

“Wrong?” She advanced on him, ready to wipe that questioning grin off his face. “Wrong?” Using her finger as a pointer, she prodded him in the chest. “Of course something’s
wrong
. Listen, Dr. Morrison…” Sarah jabbed him again. “I didn’t say I couldn’t pay the bill, I just wanted to know if I could make payments. I don’t take handouts. Is that clear?”

“Yes. Clear.”

“Good. Now march over there and give me another bill. I’ll figure a way to pay it off, even if I have to work here to do it.”

A thoughtful expression crossed his features as he glanced toward the room were his receptionist had disappeared to earlier. “Fine. You want a job, it’s yours. You can start tomorrow.”

Sarah backed away, groaning. Her and her big mouth. She didn’t have enough time in the day to do what she had to do now. How was she going to fit a few hours in at the clinic?

“You’re also going to need to get him fixed.”

“Fixed?” Her thoughts flew back to the conversation.

“Neutered. Cut. Whatever word you want to call it. You don’t want to be responsible for more pups, do you?”

Sarah swallowed and saw dollar signs going ‘ka-ching’ in her head. “And just how much is
that
going to cost?”

Since you’ll be working here, we can do a trade. See you tomorrow.”

Sarah gave in and smiled weakly at the vet. “I get off work at two. I’ll be here by two-thirty.”

“Fine.”

She knelt down and picked up her new friend, along with the starter bag of food and temporary leash and collar. “Come on buster, let’s get you home.”

Grant could have kissed her as she left the clinic, but he didn’t. He simply walked to the plate glass window and watched her fit the dog into the woven plastic basket attached to the front of her bike chained out front. The old-fashioned red girl’s bike suited her just fine. She bunched her skirt up around her knees and settled herself on the seat, answering his question as to how she rode the darned thing.

As she struggled to pedal away, he wondered if he should have mentioned how big the puppy would be when he grew older. Probably not. Sarah didn’t look like she needed any more surprises right now.

He turned and walked back to his office to catch up on some paperwork but couldn’t keep his mind on the task. The vision of a certain blonde kept intruding. The same blonde who’d officially become part of the team until her debt was paid off.

Sarah. Another worker he couldn’t really afford. He sighed. Looked like he’d done it again. He’d picked up another stray—a two-legged kind this time. When Gillian found out, she’d kill him.

Chapter Two

Sarah struggled to hold on to her newfound pet that evening. She’d named him Rocky, after the man of her dreams—Rocky Balboa. Strong, dedicated, a fighter. He never gave up when he was down and neither would she, even if she was soaking wet from head to toe.

Obviously, Rocky didn’t like baths, and at this moment, Sarah didn’t either. She reached up and pulled a wet strand of hair out of her eyes, glad she’d shut the bathroom door before she’d started. If she hadn’t, Rocky would have run through her tiny apartment, leaving a trail of water behind him. He’d already jumped out of the tub three times, and what water he hadn’t splashed out with each bounce, he’d shaken all over her and the pale, beige walls.

The picture on the bottle of shampoo was a lie. The smiling dog siting calmly in the blue tub had to be a fake, or drugged beyond belief. Maybe she should have asked Dr. Morrison if doggie Valium existed, but then again, she’d had no idea how hard a simple bath could be.

She lunged at Rocky again, determined to get him in the tub if it killed her. Her beloved little monster still stunk to high heaven and there was no way she’d let him run loose until she washed off every speck of dirt from his cold, damp nose, to the tip of his golden tail. He skittered around the small room and settled behind the toilet.

“Come here, Rocky, sweetie.” She crawled toward him. “I won’t hurt you, honest.” Rocky stared at her, panting, his tail thumping against the white, peeling linoleum.

“Okay then, if begging won’t do it, maybe a treat will.” She reached over and grabbed a liver snack out of the bag she’d added at the last minute to her grocery cart, instead of that bottle of nail polish she’d been coveting.

Sarah dangled what she supposed was some tasty little treat—that’s what the label said but now she knew labels lied—in front of Rocky’s face. He licked his chops and stared at her, but he didn’t move.

“C’mon, boy. Look what I’ve got.” She inched the morsel closer to his nose, praying he’d take it. He looked at her with brown, sad eyes…and stayed where he was. “C’mon, Rocky. I can’t have you smelling up my place.”

She continued to dangle the liver treat in front of him. “Please? You can sleep with me tonight if you’ll just take a silly little bath.”

The dog squirmed out of his hiding place and grabbed the treat from her hand. The doorbell rang just as she’d managed to grab hold of Rocky’s slick hair. Surprised, her grip relaxed just enough for her dog to wiggle his way out of her grasp and bound back out of reach.

“Darn it, this’d better be good, Lorraine.” She flung open the bathroom door, stalked across her living area floor, unlocked the deadbolt and muttered, “What is it now?”

But the person taking up space in her hallway wasn’t Lorraine.

“Dr. Morrison?” All six-foot hunk of him. A smile tilted the corners of his mouth, and he’d raised his hand, as if ready to push the doorbell again. Sarah swallowed a groan.

Bathed in dim light from the hallway of her apartment, he looked good. No, better than good. Fantastic. How had she missed his lip-sided grin and incredible dimples, or the way his dark, way hair and twinkling eyes softened his chiseled features?

Great! Sarah straightened her shoulders as her heartbeat accelerated. It was amazing what a lab coat could cover. She blushed. A Greek Adonis, clothed in snug jeans and a cream-colored polo shirt filled in her doorway while she stood covered in water and wet dog hair.

Not that it would matter anyway. Someone with Dr. Morrison’s standards wouldn’t even give a girl from the wrong side of town a second look. Even if she was trying to change that, she knew better than to expect too much from him, or anyone. She could rely only on herself.

“Hi, Ms. Churchill,” Grant greeted her lightly, not sure how Sarah would feel about him dropping in like this.

The woman seemed to get control of her surprise but her soft, blue eyes clouded with suspicion. Not that he could blame her since, with the exception of the time in the clinic, they were practically strangers. And strangers didn’t usually appear unannounced on your doorstep.

He thought quickly. “I was in the neighborhood delivering some medication to a client and wanted to stop by and see if you needed any help with your new friend. I hope you don’t mind?”

There was no delivery service and he’d gone several miles out of his way—only to check on her progress with the dog, he told himself. Not only was he feeling a bit guilty about pawning the dog off on her this afternoon, but for some unexplained reason, he wanted to see her again and couldn’t wait until tomorrow.

His words seemed to satisfy her. Her guarded expression dissolved into a neutral one. “No. Not at all, Dr. Morrison. As you can see, we’re getting alone fine.”

The sarcasm was not lost on him. Grant wondered if he’d made a mistake by sending the dog home with her, but then remembered the look on her face as she hugged the puppy and decided the answer was no.

“C’mon in.” She backed away from the entrance, holding the door for him. “You didn’t bring any drugs, did you?”

“Please, call me Grant. Drugs?” So captivated by her face earlier, Grant finally took a good look at Sarah and realized that her purple T-shirt didn’t naturally cling to her, it was wet, outlining the lacy details of her bra underneath. Upon closer inspection, he saw huge water spots on her jeans and drops of water still clung to her curly hair that had been casually pulled back in a ponytail.

Obviously, she’d been struggling to give Buster a bath and Buster was winning. He could only imagine the clash between them that had resulted in her appearance. Grant couldn’t help himself. He laughed.

“What’s so funny? She questioned tartly, staring up at him. Her nostrils flared and her lips thinned. She folded her arms under her chest, which only accentuated the fullness of her breasts. Apparently, she wasn’t as waifish as he’d first thought. Not even close. Her oversized outfit this afternoon had hidden some pretty tantalizing curves. His laughter died.

He rubbed his day’s growth of beard with the back of his hand, trying to think of a plausible explanation. Nothing came to mind and from the sparks flying from her eyes, he figured she wouldn’t quite appreciate the humor of the situation. “I—er—I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have laughed at you or your predicament. A dog’s first bath can be rather…traumatic for both parties.

She looked at him for a few moments, her expression grim, though her anger had subsided—somewhat. He could still see the muscles twitching in her jaw and the rigid stance of her posture. “Ms. Churchill? Should I leave?”

“No, Dr. Morrison—Grant. Don’t go, I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting any visitors. And please, call me Sarah.”

He liked the way his name rolled off her lips, like a bubbling brook over stones. Soft and inviting, the sound washed over him, relaxing him, yet leaving him breathless and longing for her to repeat his name. The sudden urge to kiss her crossed his mind.

But he wouldn’t. He was simply here to check on Sarah’s progress with her new pet.

“Okay, Sarah. How can I help?”

Her hesitation didn’t surprise him. Nor did the wariness of her tone, but her answer did. “Sure. Any ideas you can give me would be great. We aren’t seeing eye to eye, or hand to paw right now. C’mon.”

He followed her through her one-room apartment and into a tiny space that qualified as a bathroom. Grant realized as soon as he looked inside that it barely accommodated Sarah and the dog she’d rescued today, much less himself.

Maybe he should offer to wash the dog himself, but doubted Sarah would allow it. That she had a chip on her shoulder about accepting help was an understatement, he’d learned that this afternoon. He was amazed she’d even let him assist her now. Cautiously, he entered the room.

“Well, I see your first problem.”

“What?”

“That.” He pointed to the partially filled tub. As he leaned over to pull the stopper out his shoulder grazed hers. A jolt of energy surged through him. He wondered if he’d electrocute himself if he put his hand in the water. Under his breath he muttered a prayer for strength and pulled the plug. “Don’t put water in the tub, what you’re actually going to do is give him a shower?”

“A shower? That’s silly. Then why do they call it a bath?”

The way she wrinkled her nose in confusion amused him again, but he held back his laughter. From what he’d already figured out, Sarah didn’t have much of a sense of humor and now was not the time to try to get her to lighten up. She had access to gallons of water. The last thing he wanted was to get his new polo shirt drenched by a sudden show of her temper. His chest still ached where she’d poked him earlier at the clinic.