agree.
“I wouldn’t miss this concert for anything,” the brunette purred.
There was a noise at the side door, scratching and howling.
“Oh, it’s that dog,” the brunette muttered. “He’s filthy. For God’s sake, Winnie, you aren’t going to let him in? The Persian rugs are priceless! He’ll get mud all over them!”
“Bailey is a member of the family,” Winnie said icily as she opened the door and pulled a towel from a shelf nearby. “Hello, old fellow!” she greeted the old German shepherd. “Did you get wet?”
She started toweling him dry and wiping his paws. He was panting and whining. His tongue was purple. He shuddered. His stomach was swollen.
With a practiced eye, Keely observed him. Something was wrong. She got up and joined Winnie at the sliding glass door, going down on one knee. Her hands touched the dog’s distended belly.
She clenched her teeth. “He’s got bloat,” she told Winnie.
“What was that?” Boone asked, taking the steps two at a time.
Keely looked up at him, trying not to betray her pleasure at just the sight of him. “Bailey’s got bloat. He needs to be seen by a vet right now.”
“Don’t be absurd,” Boone shot back. “Dogs don’t get bloat.”
“Big dogs do,” Keely said urgently. “You must have seen the condition in cattle at one time or another. Here. Feel!”
She grabbed his hand and carried it to the dog’s belly.
He felt it and scowled.
“Look at the color of his tongue,” Keely persisted. “He isn’t getting enough oxygen. If you don’t get him to the vet soon, he’ll be dead.”
“Oh, that’s ridiculous,” the brunette spat. “He’s just eaten too much. Put him in his kennel. He’ll be fine by morning.”
“He’ll be dead,” Keely repeated flatly.
“Listen, you, I’m not missing that concert for a stupid old dog with an upset stomach!” the brunette raged. “You’re just trying to get Boone to notice you by telling him something’s wrong with that dog! He knows what a crush you have on him. This is a pathetic act!”
Boone looked at Keely, who was pale and sick at heart to have her innermost secret spoken aloud for Boone to hear.
He ran his hand over Bailey’s stomach one last time. “It’s not bloat,” he pronounced. “He’s just had too much to eat and he’s got gas.” He got to his feet, patting the old dog on the head, smiling. “You’ll be fine, won’t you, old man?”
Keely glared at him. The dog was still panting and now he was whimpering loudly.
“He’s not your dog,” Boone shot at her. “Misty’s right. This is a bid for attention, just like old Bailey whining so that I’ll pet him. But it won’t work. I’m taking Misty to the concert.”
Keely was so infuriated that she wouldn’t even look at him. Bailey was dying.
“Let’s go,” Boone told Misty.
He didn’t speak to Keely again, or to Winnie. He and his date walked back to the garage. Minutes later, his car roared out down the driveway.
“What are we going to do?” Winnie asked, because she believed her best friend.
“We can let him die or take him to the vet,” Keely said curtly.
“Who’s driving?” was all the other woman asked.
The oldest of the three vets, Bentley Rydel, and the owner of the clinic, was on call. He was the best surgeon of the group. At thirty-two, he was the only unmarried one. People said it was because he was so antagonistic that no woman could get near him. It was probably the truth.
He helped Keely get Bailey into the X-ray room and onto the table. She held him while the X-rays were taken, petting him and talking soothingly to him. For a man who resembled nothing more than a human pit viper with other members of his own species, he was the soul of compassion with animals.
He and Winnie were back in ten minutes with the X-rays. He looked somber as he showed them the proof that Bailey’s stomach had turned over. “It’s a complicated and expensive procedure, and I can’t promise you that it will succeed. If I don’t operate, the necrosis will spread and he’ll die. He may die anyway. You have to make a decision.”
“He’s my brother’s dog,” Winnie said uneasily, petting the whimpering old animal.
“Your brother will have to give consent.”
“He won’t,” Keely said miserably. “He doesn’t think it’s bloat.”
Bentley’s eyebrows arched. “And what veterinary school did he graduate from?”
Winnie’s phone playing the theme from Star Wars interrupted the conversation. She answered it nervously. She’d recognized Boone’s number on the caller ID screen.
“It’s Boone!” she whispered with her hand over the phone. She grimaced. “Hello?” she said hesitantly.
“Where the hell is my dog?” he demanded.
Winnie took a deep breath. “Boone, we brought Bailey here to the vet…”
“We? Keely’s mixed up in this, isn’t she?” he demanded, outraged.
The vet, seeing Winnie’s pained expression, held out his hand for the phone. Winnie gave it to him gladly.
“This animal,” the vet began firmly, “has a severe case of bloat. I can show you on the X-rays where necrosis of tissue has already begun. If I don’t operate, he will be dead in an hour. The decision is yours, but I urge you to make it quickly.”
Boone hesitated. “Will he live?”
“I can’t promise you that,” Bentley said curtly. “He should have been brought in when the symptoms first presented. The delay has complicated the procedure. This conversation,” he added acidly, “is another delay.”
The curse was audible two feet from the cell phone. “Do it,” Boone said. “I’ll give you permission. My sister can be your witness. Do what you can. Please.”
“Certainly I will.” He handed the phone to Winnie. “Keely, we need to prep him for surgery.”
“Yes, sir.” Keely was smiling. Her boss was a great negotiator. Now, at least Bailey had a chance, no thanks to the heartless woman who’d have sacrificed his life for a concert ticket.
The operation took two hours. Keely stood gowned beside the vet, administering anesthetic to the dog and checking his vital signs constantly. There was only a small amount of dead tissue, luckily, and she watched Bentley’s skillful hands cut it away efficiently.
“What
