“He does seem to like sticking his head there.” I press my hand over my mouth, but it does nothing to stem my giggles.
“Do you suppose I should be flattered? Buy him a thank-you gift?”
“Maybe you could just adopt him? He’s alreadysofond of you.”
“Not a chance,” he deadpans.
“Nora wouldn’t let you, anyway. He’s staying until she finds a family who can convince her they’re going to keep him.”
Next, I slip into Bella’s run, the elderly beagle waddling her way over to me.
“What’s wrong with the way she walks?”
“Bella has cruciate ligament damage.”
“A torn ACL?”
“More like a chronic wearing,” I reply as I run through a quick checkup.Eyes. Ears. Teeth. Fur.No need for the works. She hasn’t been ill since she escaped and helped herself to a whole bin of kibble a few months ago, the greedy pup. It was touch and go as to whether her stomach would need to be pumped, and I’m sure she had the worst case of tummy ache, but that’s greedy beagles for you.
“You can operate to fix that, can’t you?”
I make a noncommittal noise as I pull out a liver treat. “She’s doing okay on anti-inflammatories, which is good, because Nora doesn’t have the funds to cover her surgery. Never mind a recovery.”
“What’s Change of Heart still doin’ here?” Nora’s strident question arrives before she does, rounding the corner with a chipped but steaming mug in each hand. She directs her beetle-browed look toward Oliver.
“I beg your pardon?” he asks blandly.
“You heard.”
“Nora,” I half laugh, half correct as I turn her way. “Oliver is not a volunteer.”
“If he’s here, he’s working. Them’s the rules,” she retorts, ignoring my gentle rebuke.
“I’m not sure you can afford my rate,” Oliver murmurs, though Nora pretends not to hear.
“There are a dozen fifteen-kilo bags of kibble that need moving into the stores. The pet shop on the high street donated it this morning.” The first she says to Oliver, the latter to me.
“Well, that’s great!”
“Would be even better if those bags could shift themselves.” She glares Oliver’s way.
“I take it you’d like me to move them,” Oliver asks with a completely straight face.
“Well,” she says, thrusting one of the steaming mugs in his direction. “Let me think. Does Barbie have a plastic fanny?”
Oliver blinks, taken aback.
“Is a duck’s arse watertight?” She glances my way. “You’re sure this one’s firing on all cylinders?”
“My cylinders fire just fine,” Oliver drawls. Thankfully, he doesn’t add,Just ask Eve.
“He looks like a chameleon in a packet of Skittles,” she says, disregarding his answer. “Confused. But they don’t have to be clever when they look like that, I suppose.”
“Nora!” I give in to a delighted snicker.
“You know that one stubborn hair you have on your nipple?” she asks out of nowhere. “The one you pluck, but no matter what, it just comes back?”
“No.” My answer sounds like a rusty violin string as my cheeks begin to burn hotter than a thousand suns.Lord, this woman!
