SBC Fighter: Tails Of Love Part 29

Paul offered Kendra his hand to help her stand.

The veterinarian smiled her greeting. "Kendra Wil is. I remember you from Tom's first fight. Or the first one we know of."

Kendra clasped the other woman's hand. "Dr. Maxwel .

I'm glad you were on duty. How's Tom?"

The doctor sobered. "He's lost a lot of blood, and needed a lot of st.i.tches. Wel over a hundred. But he should be fine. We'l have to watch for infection."

Relieved, Kendra leaned into Paul. "But he'l be OK?"

"Yes."

"Can we see him?"

The other woman's gaze moved to Paul, then back to Kendra. "Sure, but he's probably stil asleep."

"That's OK. We just need to see him."

Dr. Maxwel turned to lead them back through the doors she'd used to enter the waiting area. Her crunching steps led them down a hal way to a smal , sterile recovery room.

Thomas lay on his side on an olive green examining bed topped by a paper sheet. He was covered in st.i.tches and bandages from head almost to tail. They'd washed most of the blood from his fur. His stomach rose and fel in a slow, steady breathing pattern.

Kendra quietly approached her dozing cat. With the tip of her index finger, she brushed back the fur from the bridge of his nose over his forehead. His favorite spot.

"Oh, my poor Tom. My poor baby." She crooned in a whisper, not wanting to disturb him.

Paul put a hand on her shoulder, sharing comfort and support. He spoke over his shoulder to the doctor. "When can we take him home?"

Kendra looked at his profile in surprise. Harvey wouldn't have cared about reuniting her with her cat. He probably would have asked Dr. Maxwel if she knew of any animal shelters. Paul had just claimed another piece of her heart.

Dr. Maxwel glanced at Thomas before responding to Paul. "We'l keep him overnight to make sure he doesn't develop an infection. If everything goes wel , you should be able to take him home tomorrow after lunch."

Kendra sighed with satisfaction. "Thank you for taking care of him."

The veterinarian nodded with a smile. "I'l give you a few moments alone. Don't tire him." She left, closing the door softly.

Kendra turned back to Thomas. He was watching her through sleepy green eyes. She stroked his favorite spot again and spoke gently. "Hey. You scared me."

Paul squeezed her shoulder. "You scared both of us."

Kendra looked up at her neighbor. This was what she wanted. Someone she could share the important things with. Someone she could share her life with. Was Paul that someone?

She could tel he was attracted to her. Her gaze slipped over his tal , tight form. She was definitely attracted to him.

But she wouldn't rush into another relationship. She'd just broken up with Harvey that morning. It had taken her four months to realize how selfish, self-centered, and mean Harvey was. That must be some kind of world record for poor perception.

But Thomas likes Paul. He'd followed him home.

As much as she loved Thomas, she wasn't going to trust her love life to a cat.

Besides, did Paul really care about her cat or was he trying to impress her?

Don't even go there. Paul's concern for Thomas was real. After al , he'd carried Thomas to her wrapped in the afghan his mother had made for him, then raced through Westervil e to the clinic with her.

He real y cared, and it showed.

Paul gave her a quizzical smile. "What are you thinking about?"

"How glad I am that you're here with me."

His smile softened and the expression in his eyes warmed. "So am I."

Thomas could barely keep his eyes open. He wanted to see what was going on. He wanted to know who was with him, not because he was worried. He was just curious.

Kendra leaned over him, rubbing his nose. He sighed.

As always, her touch soothed him, easing his fear of this strange place and his remaining tension from the fight.

Shadow and his cats had done a number on him, but this time he'd been the one to chase them off. In the future, they wouldn't chal enge him.

He'd also brought the male to his mistress. He was glad.

Thomas strained against his drooping eyelids and watched the male smiling down at Kendra. He had a good, kind face. And, despite the concern in her eyes, Kendra looked happy. Content.

His mission accomplished, Thomas closed his eyes to nap.

A MAN, A WOMAN, AND HAGGIS.

Sue-El en Welfonder.

CHAPTER ONE.

Loch Lomond, Scotland.

'Tis the haggis you'll be wanting, la.s.s.

A sharp, high-pitched bark gave prompt agreement.

Jil y Pepper, American tourist on a mission, dropped her menu and whipped around, ready to tel the aged Scotsman that it wasn't necessary to whisper his recommendation so close to her.

Nor did she need his canine companion splitting her ear- drums.

She looked about, frowning.

Not that a scan of the inn's plaid-decorated dining room helped matters. The yappy little dog had high-tailed it. And the owner of the voice wasn't anywhere to be seen.

The cozy pub-restaurant loomed as empty as when she'd claimed a quiet corner behind the bar.

Jil y shivered.

Maybe the Colquhoun Arms was haunted? Yet she'd been traveling around Scotland for two weeks and hadn't seen a single ghost.

She had heard stories though.

Scotland was ful of such tales.

Her heart began to pound and she lifted a hand to her neck, fingering the antique silver locket that rested against her throat. If a Scottish ghost wanted a piece of her, Luss on Loch Lomond would be the place any such spook would come after her.

Or so she was wil ing to consider until she caught a movement near the door. A crusty-looking Scotsman in a kilt stood there, a walking stick in his hand. He was looking right at her, his blue eyes twinkling.

The dog was there, too.

Little, as she'd guessed. The cheeky creature appeared to be a brown and white Jack Russel terrier. He struck a jaunty pose beside the Scotsman, the same mischievous air about him as his master.

The haggis, la.s.s.

You'll no' regret it.

The words came as before, this time without an accompanying bark. Yap or not, the dog did wag his tail.

He also appeared to smile, displaying crooked teeth.

But what real y caught her eye was that, for a moment, she would've sworn she could see through the dog's wig- wagging tail.

Jil y blinked. The old man grinned and winked at her.

Then he turned on his heel to stride out the door, his little dog trotting after him.

Until both seemed to vanish into thin air.

"Huh?" Jil y's eyes widened. She leaned forward, trying to see out the windows if they'd nipped around the corner to the inn's car-park. But the parking lot looked as empty as the restaurant and nothing moved across the way except a flock of wooly sheep ambling about a large, tree-edged field.

The road down to the loch-Luss's only real thoroughfare-proved equal y deserted. Quaint stone cottages hugged the road al the way to the sh.o.r.e, but an air of stil ness prevailed there, too.

Jil y swal owed. A chil swept over her. An old man with a walking stick couldn't move that fast. His dog hadn't looked sprightly either. She hadn't missed the tel tale white on the Jack's muzzle and brows.

"Have you decided?" The soft voice startled her.

Jil y glanced up at the inn's proprietress. She hadn't even noticed the woman approach her table.

"Do you need more time?" The innkeeper's gaze flicked to the menu.

"No, I know what I want. I'l have haggis." Jil y blurted her choice before she realized what she'd said.

"Haggis?" The woman's brows arched. "Are you sure?"

Jil y nodded, certain her face had run beet red.

Of course, she wasn't sure. Everyone knew haggis tasted like moist, ground shoe leather and made hair grow in places it shouldn't.

But the order had slipped off her tongue and she wasn't taking it back. If only to prove that she was one American who did eat haggis.

So she bit back a shudder and flashed her best haggis- loving smile. "I eat haggis al the time," she lied. "I heard yours is real y good."

That, at least, was true.

Not that she was about to admit who'd said so.

"Wel , then." The innkeeper's eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "Deep-fried haggis with whisky sauce or traditional?"

"Traditional?"

"Haggis served with neeps and tatties." The woman's tone said she knew Jil y had never tasted haggis in her life.

"Neeps are mashed rutabagas and tatties are mashed potatoes."

"Oh." Jil y didn't bother to try a bluff. "I'l have traditional haggis."

If only because she was certain most American tourists ordered the deep-fried variety.

But as soon as a server set down her steaming, traditional-looking haggis, Jil y decided it didn't matter if she appeared ignorant.

She'd never seen such an unappetizing pile of goo.

But she'd be d.a.m.ned before she wouldn't scarf down every bite.

She was spared the misery when a fast-moving blur of black and white fur made a flying leap for her table, the dog's loud-slurping tongue lapping the haggis from her plate.

"Gah!" She leaned back against the booth.

The dog-a border col ie-was al over her.

Her eyes rounded as one of the beast's muddy paws slid across her thigh, his busy tongue making short work of the neeps and tatties.

The deed done, he kept his paw hard against her leg and simply stared at her.

He also looked incredibly pleased.

"Haggis!" A deep voice, richly-burred and suitably horrified, fil ed the restaurant. "Have done, laddie. Leave be!"