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“Guess so,” I echoed, feeling the weight of Bear’s condition—and the owner’s trust—resting squarely on my shoulders.
* * *
The sterile scent of the animal hospital couldn’t hide the tang of blood that filled my nostrils as I stood there, scrubbed up and ready to play god with a scalpel. My hands, clad in blue surgical gloves, trembled slightly—not from nerves, I’d done this a thousand times. It was the sight before me that sent a shiver down my spine.
“Okay, buddy,” I whispered more to myself than to the unconscious form on the table. The dog, a large, brindle-coated mutt, lay motionless except for the shallow rise and fall of its chest. Its injuries were a mess of torn flesh and matted fur, the left hind leg hanging at an unnatural angle, evidence of broken bones beneath the skin. A deep gash along its side seeped blood slowly, like a dark tide creeping along the shoreline of its body.
“Damn,” I muttered under my breath. Coyotes don’t usually do this kind of damage. This looked personal, almost vicious. But I pushed those thoughts aside. Surgery first, Nancy Drew detective crap later.
“Scalpel,” I said, and Paula handed it to me. My fingers closed around the instrument with a practiced ease, even as my mind raced with the complexity of what lay ahead. The femur was shattered—I’d need to pin it. The risk of infection was high with puncture wounds, and there was the possibility of internal bleeding.
“Let’s start with the leg,” I instructed, directing the overhead light to illuminate the injury better. “I’m going to need some plates ready—3.5 mm cortical screws. And tell Ellen to keep that blood on standby; he might need it.”
“Got it, Dr. Wilson,” Paula replied, her voice steady but her eyes wide as she took in the severity of the situation.
“Here goes nothing,” I said, making the first incision. The blood welled up, warm and vital against the steel of my blade, and for a moment, it felt like I was cutting into the very heart of the ocean itself—the crimson bloom in the saline solution mirroring the way blood disperses in seawater.
The anesthesia hummed through the sterile room, and Bear lay motionless on the operating table, his chest rising and falling with a rhythm that kept time with my racing heart. His fur was matted with blood—too much blood—and the wounds... they were jagged, angry-looking slashes that spoke of violence.
“Alright, big guy,” I murmured to the unconscious dog, my fingers gently probing around the lacerations. “Let’s see what we’re dealing with here.”
“Pressure’s dropping,” I called out. “Stay with me,” I urged the poor creature, though it couldn’t hear me. Every slice, every stitch, was a battle, but I’d be damned if I lost.
* * *
After checking that Bear was settled in recovery, I walked straight outside for some fresh air. My head was full of terrifying images and my heart hurt for this poor dog.
“Doc?” Doug’s voice pulled me from my thoughts. He stood against the building about ten yards away, arms crossed, an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips. “How’s he doing?” He walked toward me, stopping just outside a reasonable bubble of personal space.
“He’s resting now. We’re keeping him asleep until his vitals improve a bit.” I looked past him, a sudden rush of bravery hitting me. “Actually, Mr. Samuels,” I began, still analyzing the marks on Bear’s body, “I have some doubts about the coyote attack theory.” I took a deep breath. “Bear’s injuries... they don’t quite match up with what I’d expect from a wild animal encounter.”
“Whaddya mean?” He sounded frustrated, defensive even, but I couldn’t let that sway my clinical judgment.
“The tearing, the angles—wild animal attacks are violent, that’s not a surprise. But the manner of the injuries, it suggests something he wasn’t able to fight back. Or, perhaps something else was involved after all.” My eyes didn’t quite make it to his, but I could feel Doug’s presence looming over me, waiting for an explanation he might not want to hear.
“Something else like what?” There was an edge to his voice now, the words rough like sandpaper against my resolve.
“Could be any number of things,” I said, keeping my tone steady. “It’s hard to say.”
“You accusin’ me of lyin’?” The anger in his voice was almost palatable.
“I’m not accusing anyone of anything,” I clarified quickly, the weight of implication heavy on my tongue. No matter what had happened, the result was the same. An innocent animal on the brink of death. I did all I could and now it was up to Bear to do the rest. I only hoped he had the strength to pull through.
twenty-one
HANNAH
I tooka deep breath as I closed the front door behind me, trying to stop the tears from falling. The day had been a nightmare. The intense surgery on Bear took most of my energy, but later I’d dealt with a scared family begging me to save their sweet kitten that just hadn’t made it. Being a vet was rewarding some days, and devastating others.
I let the tears flow. I was only one person. I wished I could save them all but even I had limits.
Wiping my eyes, I stood and walked to the window. The ocean glittered in the moonlight, waves rolling gently against the cliffs. At least out here, away from the city, I found some peace at the end of the day.
This was my dream, to help animals and live a simple life by the sea. Was I naive enough to think it would be easy?
I heard the front door open and close and I quickly wiped my eyes.
Sawyer approached, his reflection in the window appearing over my shoulder as I felt him wrap his arms around me from behind.
