“Well, he’s a family friend, so I don’t think he’ll press charges,” Sloan started.
“I’m not so sure about that,” Meg began. “Especially once he hears the key was stuck neatly in the excess water reservoir of the pot,” Meg said, holding up a shiny silver key.
“Oh, shit.”
“Seriously?”
“Impatient, much?”
“You’re really going to have to work on that, Alik Winter,” Meg smirked, placing the key in his hand and folding his fingers over it.
Alik shrugged self-consciously. “I’ll call to get it fixed before he even gets home. No worries.”
Farrow shook her head, but couldn’t keep the smile from her face. “My hero.” She stood on tiptoe to kiss him on the cheek, turned and peeled off down the hallway yelling, “Dibs on the bathroom!”
“This house has three of them,” Evan called over his shoulder as he hurried across the living room toward the master bath.
Meg turned and limped back outside without a word. “Where are you going, Meg?”
“I need to take care of my coydog,” she said. The others stopped and took a moment to share looks of concern for her detached, distant behavior.
Creed hurried after her.
“Let me help you,” he offered. He was thinking what a glutton he was for punishment.
Meg shrugged, “Okay.” She opened the back door and tried not to cringe at how sick the animal looked. She didn’t remember him, but her heart knew him and she felt it tug painfully in her chest at the sight of him now.
“I’m considering calling a vet,” she thought aloud.
“I’m not sure he’ll put up with a stranger after what Arkdone did to him, but we may not have a choice.” Creed slipped his hands under the coydog’s limp body and lifted his fifty-pound frame carefully.
“Where do you want me to put him?”
“The bathtub. He needs those cuts cleaned out.” Meg held the door to the house open so Creed could pass without struggle.
“You go first and draw the bath. I’m right behind you.” Creed nodded toward the spare room with the adjoining guest bath.
Meg hurried ahead, finding the bathroom easily. She pulled the stopper and yanked the water on full blast. Worried about the temperature, she held her wrist under the stream and adjusted the controls just right.
Creed stood watching her with the coydog draped in his arms waiting for the all clear. Maze roused just enough to whimper painfully.
With the tub half-full, Meg motioned for the canine to be brought over.
“Lay him on his side. I’ll use this towel to keep his head lifted—we don’t want him inhaling water.”
Without a word, Creed easily obeyed her orders.
With the handheld showerhead, Meg carefully drenched the sick creature with warm water.
“Would you see if you can find something we could use to clean him? I didn’t see any indication that pets live here, so I doubt the cop has dog shampoo. We may have to use liquid dish soap.”
“Sure thing,” Creed agreed. He wanted to help the coydog, but he found himself distracted by everything about Meg: her scent, her graceful hands and the way any light in the room would glisten in her dark eyes.
But he felt punched in the stomach when she would look over at him with no recognition behind those beautiful dark eyes. All he saw was reserved curiosity. She even flinched away from him grazing her arm as they worked to situate the coydog in the tub. It seemed to him as though she was determined not to expose herself to the emotions that touching him brought out.
As Creed searched under the sinks throughout the house, Meg turned the handheld on a soft spray, leaned into the tub and got right to work rubbing the dirt and blood from the poor creature. The water in the tub turned a sickening burnt red with blood from her efforts. Meg swallowed hard at the lump of sadness building in her throat.
“I found a bottle of dog shampoo, but it’s the flea and tick version. He must have had a dog a long time ago. Here’s the dish washing liquid. At least it’s the environmentally friendly kind.” Creed handed the partially filled bottle to Meg and knelt beside her, waiting for instructions.
Meg started at the coydog’s back end, working lather into the least injured part of his body before making her way up toward his shoulders, neck and sliced paws.
By now the canine looked to be lying in a pool of blood, so Meg let the water out and gave the handheld shower head to Creed. “Just keep rinsing him to keep him warm while I gather the hair and muck. He’ll need a fresh batch of water to keep rinsing.”
“Okay,” Creed mumbled, not only unsure how to help the animal, but completely unsure how to handle the girl he loved.
Meg caught a couple handfuls of hair before they could slip down the drain and flushed them down the toilet before refilling the tub with clean water.