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“Mrs. Glass.” I tsk again as I pull the blood pressure cuff off her arm. “You’re too naughty for me.”
“How is Dr. Daniels? How’s he faring?”
I update her on Doctor, who’s away visiting his ill father.
“You must be exhausted. Ready for his return.”
“Certainly so. But I’m faring quite nicely for the moment.”
“It’s a bit of pressure, I suppose. Bearing the responsibility for so many poorlys.”
I laugh, and she smiles quite charmingly, and that’s a person for you, I think—any person. Bits of good and bits of not-so-lovely. I’ve learned to take the bad with the good. It’s all that one can ever really do. I find other people quite foreign—especially after years of silence—but there’s almost always something to love.
I send Mrs. Glass away with a freeze-dried pack of strawberries Mayor Acton’s sister gave me when she came by for assistance with an ingrown toenail.
As she starts toward her home, across the lane and two doors down, I hold Baby’s hoof up in a wave. Mrs. Glass chortles.
A few moments after I step back into the clinic, I hear a soft thump outside. With a vision of dear Mrs. Glass tripping on the ramp, I yank the door open and nearly suffer heart arrhythmia.
Declan.
He’s leaning over, his long arms bracing against the wooden rail beside the stairs. As I watch, wide-eyed, he turns his head toward me and straightens.
“Hi.” A soft smile curves the corners of his mouth. His hair is messy, dimple showing. I realize he’s wearing sport clothing and breathing like he’s just been jogging.
“Hi.” I can’t help smiling, even as I realize with some horror it’s the first time I’ve seen him since the closet.
He brings his hands together in front of him, and for a moment, I feel he looks perhaps a bit bashful. “Thank you for the basket.”
My cheeks burn. I nod. “You’re welcome. I’m glad you found it.”
Something warm pushes at my calves.
“Baby.” I scoop her up, holding her against my frantic heart. “She’s a wee rascallian.”
He grins. “She’s what?”
“A wee rascallian.” Now I’m blushing.
“What’s a rascallian?” He look so smug, I’d like to pop him.
“I don’t know. It’s like a rascal I suppose.” I pet Baby’s head, then stroke her soft nose. “Your people created duck face.” I smile up at him. “So don’t you say a word.”
His easy smile widens. “What’s duck face?”
“You know…duck face.”
“Show me.” He smirks.
I give him my best ridiculous pout, and both his dimples show. “I scarcely noticed them inside the burrow.” I nod at him.
His hand runs over his wild hair. “What?”
“The dimples. That one’s deeper.” I point to his left cheek.
He flattens his mouth and smooths his face out, giving me an exaggerated, “o”-lipped face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says without moving his mouth.
I roll my eyes. “As if there’s not a fan club for your dimples.”
