and he can have some anti-inflammatories to help with the pain. Beef-flavored tablets, he’ll love them.” Cassie drew up a syringe of milky-looking fluid. “You aren’t squeamish around needles, are you?” she asked, cocking an eyebrow.
“Not at all.” Nic eyed the syringe. “But shouldn’t you be calling his owner? She’s got to be missing him by now, right?” Nic looked first at Cassie, then at Jillian. “Shouldn’t she have to approve treatment or something?”
“Normally, yes,” Jillian answered. “But we have a standing permission for treatment in Murphy’s chart. Remember, this isn’t his first time getting away. Besides, Mrs. Rosenberg won’t be home tonight. She’s over near Orlando on an overnight trip with her seniors group. She mentioned it to me when she stopped in to buy dog food yesterday. Murphy will have to stay here tonight, I guess.” She grimaced. “I hate leaving him. If he scratches at the cage door, he’s going to make his paws worse, and after his big outing, I’d rather he have someone keeping an eye on him. But my apartment manager won’t allow me to take him home, and Cassie—I mean, Dr. Marshall—is currently fostering a dog at her house that doesn’t get along with others. He’d beat poor Murphy up. So he’ll have to stay here until Mrs. Rosenberg gets home.”
Nic’s eyebrows narrowed. “You’re going to just put him in a cage?”
Cassie responded matter-of-factly, “It’s not ideal, but he’ll be safe—a lot safer than he was a few hours ago, thanks to you. There really isn’t any other option.”
“Yes, there is.” Nic was firm, arms crossed. “He can stay with me. The Sandpiper Inn is pet-friendly, and I can bring him back here in the morning or to wherever you say to take him. I’ll keep an eye on him, give him his medication and make sure he’s okay overnight.” His eyes dared anyone to disagree. “I didn’t go through all the trouble of rescuing him to abandon him in the end.”
“I don’t think that will work…we don’t even know you. Mrs. Rosenberg doesn’t know you…” Jillian floundered. In her wildest dreams, she would never have expected this man to offer to play nursemaid to a gimpy dog. Knights in shining armor might be the norm in storybooks, but that kind of thing didn’t happen in real life. Saviors, she knew from personal experience, were few and far between.
Cassie stepped in. “Why don’t I call Mrs. Rosenberg and see what she has to say? We’ll let her decide.” Turning to Nic, she continued, “I’ll need your contact information, and you’ll have to fill out some paperwork, if she agrees. Does that sound all right?”
Nic nodded in agreement, still standing stiffly, as if ready to defend his newly found canine friend physically, if need be.
While he and Cassie worked out the arrangements, Jillian clung to the soft dog. She had lost control of this situation somehow, not something she generally let happen. Watching the gorgeous man in front her, she wondered what kind of man did this, dropped everything and did whatever it took to save the day. As if sensing her bewilderment, Murphy squirmed in her arms.
Comforting herself as much as the dog, she buried her face in his fur. The dog turned his head, straining to keep Nic in view, something he had done since the minute they’d arrived. “I know how you feel,” she whispered in the smitten animal’s ear. “I know how you feel.”
Nic pulled into the parking lot of the Sandpiper Inn and turned the key, content to sit for a few minutes before he had to wrangle the dog and luggage. He still couldn’t quite believe he had acquired a pet, yet another responsibility, even if it was just for the night. But he couldn’t have left him in a cage, scared and hurt, any more than he could have left him on the side of the road.
At some point, taking on responsibility, taking care of others, had become second nature. He had always been the one to get his kid brother out of trouble, even when it meant getting into trouble himself. Later, he had tutored his sister, taking it upon himself to make sure she passed the dreaded algebra class. Then, after graduation, it had been impossible to say no to a job working for his father, eventually ending up where he was now, Nic Caruso, Vice President of Property Acquisitions at Caruso Hotels. The internationally known chain had been his father’s dream, not his, and he found no joy in traveling from city to city, scouting out properties and securing new locations for the ever-growing company. He often wondered what it would be like to settle down in one place, to meet someone that appreciated him for who he was, rather than what he could provide.
A soft woof from the passenger’s seat brought him out of his daydreams and into the present. “Don’t worry, I’m coming. I didn’t forget about you.” Grabbing his overnight bag, Nic set out with Murphy across the covered breezeway connecting the parking area to the main house. In front of him the inn rose out of the darkness, spotlighted by the moon against the dunes behind it. It was hard to see details this late, but he knew from his research that it was two stories, built in the Florida Vernacular style. The buff-colored wooden siding would blend with the dunes in the daylight, and there were covered, whitewashed porches on every level, designed to offer a cool spot to enjoy the ocean view. Right now, though, all he could make out were the wide front steps and a welcoming glow from several of the shutter-framed windows.
Before continuing toward the inn, he took the sandy path that ran parallel to the dunes. Whether the inn was pet-friendly or not, he’d better give Murphy a chance to relieve himself before going in and getting settled. As they walked, Nic was impressed by the sheer size of the grounds, which were crisscrossed by walking paths and planted with a variety of tropical and coastal scrub plants. He stopped to lean against one of the many smooth-trunked palms, breathing in the humid air, richly scented by the jasmine that grew heavy around him. The scent reminded him of the vet tech he’d just met, Jillian. Even over the disinfectant and wet-dog smells, he had picked up on her flowery sweetness, some perfume or shampoo or something.
Straightening, he tugged on the leash and walked back to the hotel entrance. He wasn’t here to daydream about pretty brunettes or to soak up the night air. He had a location to scout. Caruso Hotels was very interested in this bit of land, and he was tasked with determining if they should make an offer to the current owners.
There was plenty of room here for a modern beachfront resort once the original inn was torn down. Most of the property was underutilized, a diamond in the rough. A high-rise hotel could change the entire community—bring in tourist dollars, chain retailers and more. A Caruso Hotel would move the town into the modern age, make it a hot spot on the Florida coast.
At the top of the stairs, the large carved door of the Sandpiper Inn opened smoothly, bringing him into the lobby, an eclectically decorated but surprisingly elegant room. Native pine floors gleamed in the light of an old-fashioned chandelier. An antique table to his right served as the check-in desk, and across the room overstuffed furniture offered a cozy place to read or chat. Bay windows with a view of the night sea were directly opposite him; a native coquina fireplace accented the wall to the left.
Bookcases held everything from leather-bound tomes to contemporary bestsellers, with conch shells and chunks of coral for bookends. The antique and modern mix was nothing like the seamless, well-planned lobby of a Caruso Hotel, but welcoming in a way no modern resort could match. For once, he felt like he was stepping into something real, a true home away from home, instead of yet another commercial space.
“Are you checking in?” The question startled him for a moment, returning him to the present business. A young girl—she couldn’t be more than eighteen—had come in from a doorway behind the check-in desk.
“Yes, Dominic Caruso. I have a reservation.”
She
