Then Came You

“And us?” he asked with his characteristic bluntness. “Did we not factor at all?”

“I wasn’t sure there was an us.”

His eyes merely darkened, his mouth going more grim.

“It was a difficult decision,” she said softly.

“Doesn’t sound like it was difficult at all.”

“I told myself I couldn’t pin my future on a crush,” she said, and paused, waiting for a response. A bread crumb. Anything.

But got nothing.

“We both know this started out as just a fun thing,” she said as calmly as she could. Not easy when she was so close to tears that she didn’t dare blink. “Not a forever thing. How am I supposed to throw away everything I thought I wanted on a fun thing?”

“So you’re what, going back to a job in a fancy zip code?” he asked. “And then what, Emily? You find your John? Is that the dream? Really?”

“I have to take care of my dad,” she said. “Before he ends up in a cardboard box with eighteen dogs.”

“Your dad’s fine. Your dad’s happy. Happier than you.”

The barb hit hard. So hard she actually staggered back a step and put a hand to her chest, which didn’t assuage the ache. “Why should I stay?” she asked. “Give me one reason.”

He stared at her, a muscle ticking in his jaw as her heart shriveled a little bit inside.

“I hope this is what will make you happy, Emily,” he finally said quietly. “You deserve to be happy.”

And then he was gone, vanished into the dark night.

Twenty-seven

Emily sat straight up with a start and looked at the clock. She had no idea what had woken her. Beside her, Woodrow stirred and raised his head.

“Stay,” she said, sliding out of bed. “I’m just going for some water.”

He didn’t stay. He hopped down off the bed and sat at her feet, looking up at her.

She sighed. “Okay, you can come. But you have to be very quiet.”

She moved down the hall and peered into Sara’s room.

Empty.

Figured. Even her sister, more of a city woman than Emily could ever hope to be, had found a nightlife here in Sunshine.

The night was warm, and they’d left a window open. As she pulled a glass from the cupboard, a long, thin howl of pain came through the screen, making all the hair on her body stand up.

Another dog, she was certain.

She was equally certain that she couldn’t ignore it any more than she’d been able to with Woodrow. She ran to her room and threw on clothes.

“I know you’re go

She ran to her car, following the cry that tugged at every heart string she owned. Three minutes later, she slammed on the brakes when her headlights caught the dark huddled form on the side of the road near where she’d found Woodrow. “No,” she whispered, ru

It was another dog, this one much more injured than Woodrow. It hadn’t been hit by a car, but in a vicious fight, and was bleeding from so many deep wounds she didn’t know where to start. She flew back to her car, grabbed a blanket from the backseat, and carefully scooped up the dog, who whimpered in pain.

“I know,” she whispered, heart in her throat. “Hold on, baby, just hold on.”

She broke a few speed limits heading toward the clinic, and also the no cell phone law when she hit Wyatt’s number.

He answered with a low-pitched, sleepy, “I hope this is a break-up sex booty call.”

She let out a half laugh, half sob, and he came immediately alert. “Emily?”

She pictured him putting on his glasses to check the screen. “You okay?” he demanded.

She swiped her nose on her sleeve and swallowed hard. “I’m heading to the center.”

“What’s wrong? What do you need?”

“I forgot my keys and don’t have time to turn around.”

She heard some rustling and knew he was getting out of bed. Normally she’d wonder if he was naked, and maybe even indulge in picturing it, but right now she just wanted him to hold her, as much as that set feminism back fifty years. “Is there a set of keys hidden anywhere on the property?” she asked.

“No, but I’ll be here waiting for you. What’s the matter?”

“I don’t want to get you out of bed—”

“Emily,” he said, “I’m already halfway there. Talk to me.”

She felt her eyes fill again and quickly blinked away the tears. What was it going to be like in L.A. without him in her life?

Your own doing . . .

“Emily?”

“I’ve got another injured dog.”

“ETA?”

“Ten minutes.”

“I’ll have a room ready,” he said calmly. “Drive safe, sweetness.”

Because she didn’t trust her voice, she nodded, for all the good that was going to do him. Then she ended the call and tossed her cell to the passenger’s seat and drove.

Wyatt did indeed get to Belle Haven before Emily. He hadn’t expected to hear from her, and for a moment, when her number had come up on his cell phone, his heart had squeezed, hard.

She’d changed her mind.

He’d been unprepared to hear her tear-ravaged voice, and fear had gripped him.

When her car pulled into the lot, he strode out into the night to meet her, opening the driver’s side as she turned off the engine.

“The dog’s in the backseat—” she started.

He pulled her from the car and gave her a quick once-over.

“I’m fine,” she said, opening the back passenger’s door. Wyatt gently pushed her aside and eyed the dog. Ah, shit.

“It’s bad,” she whispered.

Yeah. Real bad. He scooped the injured animal up while Emily ran ahead of him to get the front door.

“Where was he?” he asked her.

“About a quarter of a mile from my house, between my place and my neighbor. Right near where I found Woodrow. I heard him crying.”

And she’d gone out alone. He hated that. He shouldered himself and the dog through the door, striding directly to the back. “You went out at this time of night by yourself.”

“I had no choice,” she said. “You’d have done the same thing.”

The dog hadn’t moved, but was breathing heavily, a distressed pant. He’d gone into shock and was badly damaged. Torn to shreds really, bleeding through the blanket from too many places to count. Wyatt gently set him down on the exam table and turned to Emily, who’d immediately shifted closer to stroke the dog’s face and murmur softly to him.

She stood there, bent over the dog, tears shimmering in her eyes, balancing on her lower lashes. “It’s going to be okay,” she whispered.

Wyatt’s heart tightened painfully. He knew that devastated look, he’d felt it all too many times himself.

It was one of the things that few people realized about being a vet, how much death and devastation they really faced every single day.

It took its toll on even the most distant and cool, levelheaded of people. And Emily was one tough cookie—he loved that about her—but she was never distant and only sometimes cool and levelheaded. Everyone had their breaking point and she looked to be at hers. “Emily.”

“I . . .” Lifting her gaze from the table, she stared at him. She was covered in blood. The dog’s, he told himself as she shook her head helplessly. “I—” Without another word, she whirled to grab some supplies and started assessing the dog as he would. “Shock,” she choked out. “He’s in shock.”

“Yes,” he agreed quietly. Waiting. It didn’t take but another two seconds. “He can’t take a surgery,” she realized. “He can’t—” She shook her head as it sank into her that the dog wasn’t going to survive, that the humane thing to do was put it down. “I have to . . .”

“I’ll do it,” he said.

“No.” She shook her head again. “This is on me. He’s my responsibility—”

“Did you attack this dog?”

“Of course not!”

“Then it’s not on you. Let me,” he said.

“But—”

“I know, you want to handle it all on your own, and you do. You handle everything on your own better than anyone I know. But let someone help, just this once.”