nodded quickly. Too quickly. “Huge.”
He should send her packing. Mentally, Garrett started ticking through the inconsistencies in her tale. “Why—”
“Well, let’s get to work,” she said, interrupting him with an enthusiastic clap. “I bet the animals are starving.”
“I don’t need an assistant.”
“I find that hard to believe. There are lots of animals here. You definitely need help.”
“I can’t afford an assistant. I can barely afford me.”
“I’ll work for peanuts.”
She had an argument for his every reason not to hire her. “But—” he tried one last time, sputtering like an engine that couldn’t quite quit.
“Give me a trial run this morning and if I don’t work out, I’ll take off your lab coat and leave you alone. Sound fair?”
A mental image of her stripping off his jacket popped unbidden into Garrett’s mind. For a second, he considered firing her just to see her remove it and walk out the door.
She would never do. For one, she was too distracting. For another, she was much too pleasant to be working with him. He’d have to be nice, and that was something Garrett rarely succeeded at.
“I don’t work well with other people hovering around me,” he said.
“You won’t even know I’m here. I’ll be quiet as a cat.” She winked.
He thought of the dozens of patients that would be in and out today. The paperwork still sitting on his desk that he hadn’t gotten to in weeks. The stack of unreturned phone messages. The supplies list he needed to go over. The records he needed to finish updating. Not to mention the three dozen animals currently residing in the shelter.
And today was Miss Tanner’s annual visit with Sweet Pea. That alone was enough reason to bring in reinforcements.
He wasn’t about it to admit it, but the stranger in his office had impeccable timing.
“Okay, I’ll try you out today. But,” he held up a finger before she could say anything, “just today.”
She beamed. “Great! I love working with animals.”
“You might want to—” he gestured at her, not knowing what words to use.
“Want to what?”
“Ah, put something on beneath the coat.”
“Oh.” She blushed, and the red extended down her chest, flushing bright against the white fabric. “My clothes probably won’t be dry for hours. Any chance you have something in a size eight here?”
He thought of telling her to just go buy something, but the thought of her parading down the street in nothing more than his lab coat stopped him. “Try the storage room. Tiffany probably left a few things there.”
“Tiffany?”
“Assistant number three. She had a backup closet of clothes here in case she wanted to change.” Garrett scowled. “When she quit, she left pretty fast. And left behind part of her wardrobe.”
“Why’d she quit?”
“We had a disagreement over which kind of mammals Tiffany should be tending to.”
The woman raised her eyes.
“Tiffany had more interest in creatures with two legs than the ones with four.”
“Oh.” She paused, then her mouth opened. “Oh.”
Garrett shifted on his feet. The room seemed awfully warm. Furnace must be on the blink again.
Yeah, that was it.
“I have to get to work,” he said. He went to reach for the hook that normally held his lab coat, realized where it was, and jerked his hand back. Without a second glance at the woman or his jacket, Garrett turned on his heel and left the room.
He headed down the hall, looking for the cat that had escaped his grasp that morning but he didn’t see her anywhere. Odd how she had disappeared like that. Usually, Charlie would have tracked down any strays running around the office, but there was no sign of the sassy feline from last night.
Garrett entered the shelter and went first to the animals that needed him most. They were the abandoned and unwanted pets society forgot. Garrett found most people never gave a second thought to strays—unless they were messing up the front lawn.
That attitude was what he was fighting against in his quest to get funding for a bigger shelter. So far, he’d had no success. If things didn’t work out on Saturday, he wasn’t sure what he was going to do. His building was too small to house more than a few dogs and cats. And there were so many, more than one office could hold.
With more money, he could hire help, expand the space, make a difference. And maybe, just maybe, find a little peace. He’d spent the last three years working himself to death and that hadn’t brought him one inch of serenity. Maybe if the shelter were a success and he could save just a few more animals, Garrett could regain a little of what he’d lost in that fire.
He turned on the light, dimmed the switch to gently light the room. “Hey, Rags,” he crooned to a motley-colored dog in the first kennel. The mutt leapt to his feet, tail wagging furiously. He let out a few yips and pressed his nose to the kennel’s bars. Garrett chuckled and rubbed Rags’s nose with two fingers. “I’ll feed you in a second. Let me check on the others.”
He moved down the line, greeting each animal in turn. He’d given them all names, humanizing each a little bit. Most were as excited to see him as children at Christmas.
Except one. In the last cage, a thin white cat sat on her haunches, nose in the air, seeming to ignore him even though she was looking straight ahead. “Hi, Queenie,” he said. “You gonna look at me today?”
She raised her nose more, stood, turned three quarters of the way around, and gave him her back.
“You’re one tough cookie.” He reached forward, testing the waters. He’d never gotten very far with Queenie, a stray he’d found a week ago. She had the personality of a wolverine and clearly didn’t appreciate his gestures of kindness or his presence.
Someone must have been very cruel to her at one time. It would probably be a while before she stopped hating everything human.
When his hand was three inches from the cage, Queenie whirled around, hissing and batting at the bars.
A long while, he amended.
“Okay, we’ll try again later.” Garrett frowned. Her food bowl was still untouched. “That’s three days, Missy. You can’t go on a hunger strike.” She hissed some more. He shook his head. He couldn’t save them all.
But, Lord, how he wanted to.
He walked back to the dog kennels and started collecting food bowls,
