Chapter 33

It was a nightmare.

Pop Talbot was hunched over the examination table. Ryker was laying on yet another homemade blanket, this one crocheted, with something like bunnies on it. Washed many times, worn to smoothness, it was almost as soft as his baby blanket.

Pop himself was in a stretched-out tank and pj bottoms, a hunter green and black checkered man’s dressing gown billowing around him as he moved around the table. When Nathan had given him a surprised glance, the old man had thrown him a look from under tufted eyebrows that would have scared a beaver away. Or a Canadian elk. Possibly a moose.

Nathan had shut up, simply handed the precious bundle to him. “Ryker.”

He had to trust that Amy was right when she’d told him on the way over that Pop was an accomplished vet from Toronto, and that he’d served some of the most expensive dogs in Rosedale. “He’s used to the fanciest surroundings, but he chose to come up here, semi-retire, and help us all out. When our animals up here need someone, we have the best. Within reach, and fast. Bless him for that.”

And Pop’s bedside manner had impressed him. Fast, efficient, but there was something about him that calmed Ryker. The man was a savant in dealing with animals. An animal whisperer of sorts.

“I know what’s going on. But an X-ray will confirm it. I’ll be back in a jiff.” He took the dog and disappeared through the door into an adjoining room.

Amy crouched next to Nathan, as he sat, her hand on his arm.

In a few minutes, Pop was back with Ryker. And once the dog was settled comfortably on the table, he turned to them.

“He’s swallowed something, and there’s distress in his system. Essentially, the item—not sure what it is—is acting as a plug in his intestine. It’s got to come out, and not later.”

“Come out?”

“Surgery.” He pointed at Amy. “You okay to act as nurse for the first bit, or are you going to get all squeamish and go down?”

“I can do it.”

“Good. My nurse is on her way, but I want to start right away. Once she’s here, you’re off the hook.”

Nathan glanced at Amy, saw that proud, determined, mind-made up attitude. She’d driven here like a bat out of hell, been roused in the wee hours of the morning. All for the guy who’d told her to get lost.

“Thank you. But…he’s mine.”

Amy blinked, then nodded. “He’s yours.”

Nathan turned to the vet. “I know you need to do this, but…how much is this going to cost?”

“I’ll give you the standard rate, without complications.” And then Pop named a figure that made a blood vessel in him pop. That much?

He’d just have to figure it out. This was going to happen, even if he had to go without decent food for the next six months. Or…and the thought struck a bad chord in him…suck up to Uncle.

Whatever it took.

“And if that’s not doable, we’ll call it even, right here, right now. Give me a hand when someone else needs help, down the road, if I need it. I’ll call you, out of the blue, and if you can, you’ll come. Sometimes we need a ride for a sick animal in the middle of the night to get here and there’s no transport. I’ll call you in a case like that, and we’ll call it straight. And I can…”

But Nathan’s mind was already flying on mental mathematics. He waved Pop down. “You take payments?”

“I will.”

He stared Pop Talbot straight in the eye, reached behind his back for Amy’s hand. He was gratified when she found it, and their fingers closed around each other’s. Tight. Squeezed.

“Let’s do it.”