“Would you like to see him?” Sharon's voice carried that careful neutrality that meant she was up to something. “Doc Sterling's monitoring him in recovery.”
“Oh, I don't want to intrude if he's busy?—”
“He's not.”
I shot a glare at the door.Thanks, Sharon.
“Really? That would be amazing.”
Footsteps approached. I straightened, one hand still resting on Pudding's side as the door opened.
Rosie stepped into the recovery room, and I forgot how to breathe.
Gone was the mud-splattered woman from this morning. Her hair fell in soft waves around her shoulders instead of escaping a messy ponytail. And a yellow sundress hugged her frame in a way that made my brain short-circuit.
Professional. Stay professional.
“Hi.” Her smile was immediate, genuine, aimed directly at me. “I hope it's okay that I came by.”
“It's fine.” The words came out rough. I cleared my throat. “He's stable.”
Sharon made a small sound behind Rosie that might've been a cough. I ignored it.
Rosie moved closer, her gaze dropping to Pudding. Something in her expression softened—the same way mine did with every scared animal that crossed my path.
“Poor baby.” She kept her voice low, instinctively understanding he needed quiet. “You've had quite the day.”
“The surgery went well.”
“That's wonderful.” She looked up at me, those hazel eyes bright with relief. “Thank you for saving him.”
“Just doing my job.”
Sharon definitely coughed that time.
Rosie's mouth curved, amusement flickering across her face. “Right. Your job. Which apparently includes rescuing strays on top of everything else.”
Heat crept up the back of my neck. “Someone has to.”
“And that someone's always you?”
I shifted my weight, suddenly aware of how close she was standing, how her perfume—something light and floral—cut through the antiseptic smell of the clinic.
“I have the facilities.”
“Mmm.” She tilted her head, studying me in a way that made my pulse kick up. “And the twelve other dogs in your barn? They all just needed your facilities?”
How did she?—
“I saw the posters outside.” She added, gesturing toward the waiting room. “Adoption event this weekend?”
Posters.
My mind went blank for a second before the memory surfaced—Sharon mentioning something about flyers this morning, about getting the word out about the dogs. I'd been more worried about the abandoned puppy, so I nodded without really listening.
“Right, Sharon is taking care of that.”
“They're adorable.” Rosie's smile widened. “I'd be happy to help. I've got a booth at the farmers' market anyway. We could do a joint thing, farm-fresh eggs and adoptable dogs.”
