Chapter THIRTEEN
SMITTY WAS WAITING by the door when they arrived at her cottage. Mackenzie prepared herself for the happy dance, but instead he whined anxiously and trotted up the hallway, glancing over his shoulder to see if she was following him. She realized Strudel was missing and threw Oliver an uncertain glance as he followed her inside.
“Something up?”
“I don’t know.”
They found the dogs in the living room, Smitty standing over Strudel, his tail down. Strudel glanced at them from beneath her eyebrows but didn’t move, the tip of her tail barely twitching in welcome.
“Hey, sweetheart. Are you okay?” Oliver said, crouching to run a hand down her body.
She turned her head to lick his hand briefly before closing her eyes again. It was so removed from her usual buoyant behavior that Mackenzie felt a spike of alarm.
“Maybe the bone didn’t agree with her?” she wondered out loud.
She glanced around, looking for it, and spotted a gelatinous mess by the French doors.
“Oh. It looks like she’s thrown up.”
Oliver followed her gaze, his face creased with worry.
“Has she ever done that before?” she asked.
“Not since she was a puppy. She used to eat the filling from her toys and then throw it up a few days later. But she hasn’t done that for over a year.”
Mackenzie joined him by Strudel, patting the dog’s silky coat.
“What do you want to do? Take her to the vet?”
“Is there one nearby?”
“I’m not sure. I’ve been to a clinic in Rosebud a few times, but I don’t know if there’s anything closer.” She checked her watch. It was nearly seven. “But they probably wouldn’t be open now, even if there was one nearby.”
As though she sensed their dilemma, Strudel pushed herself to her feet and started wagging her tail in earnest, nuzzling her snout into Oliver’s hand.
“Okay,” he said slowly. The look he gave Mackenzie was baffled.
She shrugged. She had no idea what to do, either. “This is where a basic grasp of English from you two would be really handy,” she said to the dogs.
Oliver ran his hands over his dog, pressing on her belly, checking her paws and eyes. Strudel tolerated the inspection happily enough, waiting patiently for it to be over.
“Well, I’m a sound engineer, not a vet, but she seems okay to me.”
“She’s not quite herself, though, is she?” Mackenzie said.
“No.” He scratched under Strudel’s chin. “Why don’t we keep an eye on her, and if she’s still lethargic in the morning, I’ll take her to the vet?”
He didn’t voice the other option—that her condition might deteriorate even further—but they both knew the possibility was there.
Mackenzie was aware of a low level of anxiety within herself as she made spaghetti for dinner, something she’d like to attribute to concern for Strudel but that she suspected had been present since their arrival at her Melbourne apartment.
It had been unsettling, walking into a space that had felt more like a museum celebrating her former life than her home. The furniture, the food in the cupboards, even the toiletries in the bathroom had looked familiar but strange. She’d always been proud of the decor—she’d paid an interior designer enough to create it for her—but all she could think when she stood in her living room was that the couch looked incredibly uncomfortable and that the sculpture by the window was dangerously sharp.
The whole experience had been jarring. As though she’d spied an old family snapshot and not recognized herself.
Gordon’s phone call and subsequent job offer hadn’t helped, either. Despite having had several hours to digest what had happened, she was still no closer to making a decision—yet another marker of how everything in her life had shifted since the accident. Home wasn’t home anymore, and apparently her ever-present ambition had mellowed.
At least, that was the way it felt right now. But maybe Oliver was right. Maybe she had only to move into her apartment and it would become home again. The same with Gordon’s job offer. If she took it, she’d essentially be slipping back into her old life.
It should have been a reassuring thought. It was what she’d been striving for through months of arduous rehab, after all. But it didn’t feel reassuring. It felt...empty. Hollow.
They settled in for a quiet night, turning in early after watching half a movie. Mackenzie was aware of Oliver getting up twice in the night to check on Strudel, but both times he returned to bed and assured her everything was fine.
Strudel wasn’t interested in her breakfast the next morning, however, sniffing her bowl disinterestedly before returning to the cushion and settling down to sleep again.
“I could defrost some chicken to see if she’ll eat that,” Mackenzie offered.
“Thanks, but I’m going to take her to the vet,” he said.
She would do the same in his shoes. She stayed with Strudel while he went next door to shower and change, patting the schnauzer soothingly.
“You’re okay, aren’t you, girl?” she crooned.
She hoped she was correct, because she didn’t even want to contemplate how horrible it would be if there was something wrong with Strudel.
Oliver was back quickly, his hair wet.
“I’ll come with you. Give me a couple of minutes to dress,” she said.
“It’s okay. I have no idea how long we’ll be and there’s no need for both of us to waste a day.”
If it was a waste, of course. Mackenzie fervently hoped it was.
She was tempted to insist, wanting to be there for him, but he seemed impatient to go and she didn’t want to overstep the mark. They were only temporary lovers, after all.
“Well, call me the minute you know anything, okay?” she said.
“Give me your number and I’ll save it into my phone.”
She blinked in surprise at the request. They’d been living in each other’s pockets for nearly three weeks now, and yet they hadn’t even exchanged phone numbers. It seemed almost unbelievable given the times they lived in.
She pulled her scrambled thoughts together. “It’s O-4-3-0—”
“Wait. Damn. My phone’s dead.”
She walked to the bench and grabbed her phone from her bag.
“Take mine. I’ll charge yours while you’re gone, and you can call me on your number.”
They both had the same phone model, so there would be no issues with her charger fitting his phone.
“You’re sure?”
“Of course.”
She helped him herd Strudel out to his car, then stood on the front porch with Mr. Smith and waved them off as they reversed into the street.
“Please, Universe, let Strudel be okay,” she said, casting her gaze heavenward.
If she wasn’t— She didn’t want to think about it. Oliver had suffered enough loss and unhappiness in his life recently. He was due some luck.
Tense with worry, she went inside to pace and fret.
* * *
OLIVER KEPT ONE eye on the road and the other on the rearview mirror as he drove, constantly checking to insure Strudel was coping okay. She seemed fine, her tongue lolling as she gazed out the window for a bit before settling down and going to sleep.
He told himself she was probably fine and that he was being a fussy helicopter fur parent, but his gut was still uneasy.
If something was wrong with his dog...
No. He couldn’t let himself go there. He’d take this one step at a time, save the freaking out for when it was needed. If it was needed.
Mackenzie had drawn him a map to help him find the vet clinic and he found his way there with only one wrong turn—quite the achievement given his navigational handicap. The woman behind the counter gave him a brisk smile when he approached, Strudel padding obediently at his side.
“We need to see a vet. I don’t have an appointment, but I think this is an emergency,” he told her.
“Okay. Have you been here before?”
“No.”
She passed over some forms for him to fill out and told him it would be a fifteen-minute wait. He sat on one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs and filled out the form with one hand, the other resting comfortingly on Strudel’s shoulder. She was still just a baby, really, only eighteen months old. Surely there couldn’t be anything serious wrong with her?
He’d just handed the clipboard with the form to the receptionist when Mackenzie’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He checked the screen, wondering if he should simply let it go through to voice mail. He didn’t want to invade her privacy.
Then it occurred to him that it might be her calling him, and that if she was worried about her privacy she wouldn’t have lent him her phone.
“Who the hell is Mackenzie and why does she have your phone?” his brother said the moment the call connected.
“Brent. How did you get this number?”
“How do you think I got it? I rang your phone, and Mackenzie answered it and gave me this number. Which is her phone, apparently.”
“If you don’t mind me saying so, you’re a little excited,” Oliver said drily.
“So would you be if you rang me and a strange woman answered the phone.”
“Unclench. Mackenzie is my neighbor. Our neighbor, technically, since you own half the house.”
“That still doesn’t explain why she has your phone.”
Oliver sighed. The receptionist was giving him a look to let him know she didn’t appreciate being forced to eavesdrop on his conversation. Signaling to her that he’d be outside, he and Strudel exited to the parking lot.
“My phone was dead and I needed to take Strudel to the vet, so Mackenzie offered me hers.”
“Mighty generous of her.”
“She’s a nice person.” Oliver could feel his brother burning to ask the obvious but Oliver wasn’t about to make it easy for him.
“How old is this Mackenzie person?” Brent asked.
“I don’t know for sure. About my age, I’d say.”
“Is she married?”
“Nope.”
“You’re sleeping with her, aren’t you?”
“Not really your business, mate.”
“I’m going to take that as a yes. Wow. You don’t muck around, do you?”
Irritation ate at the edges of Oliver’s temper.
“In case you’d forgotten, Edie is the one who screwed up our marriage, not me.” Yeah, okay. So there were some vestiges of anger about his marriage hanging about his psyche. And how like his brother to find those buttons and push them. “Was there a reason you called, other than to interrogate me about stuff that has nothing to do with you?”
“You can’t tell me you’re getting jiggy with some unknown woman four months after your marriage ends and expect me to not have an opinion.”
“First, I didn’t tell you anything—you guessed and assumed. Second, it’s been nearly five months. And I don’t need your permission or approval to have a private life.”
It came out sounding angrier and more serious than he’d intended and he could feel his brother’s surprise radiating down the line.
“Okay. Calm down. I only want to make sure you’re not jumping into anything crazy.”
Oliver glanced through the glass panel in the clinic door, willing the vet to call him in so he’d have an ironclad excuse for bailing on this conversation.
“I appreciate the concern, but you need to stop worrying about me, okay? I’m fine. In fact, I’m better than fine. I’m good.”
“Guys do weird things when they get divorced, Ollie. Trust me, I’ve seen it. They buy stuff they can’t afford and hook up with women they shouldn’t hook up with—”
“Mackenzie isn’t like that, okay? She’s smart and she’s funny and she has the second-coolest dog in the world. So put your smelling salts down, I don’t need an intervention.”
There was a small pause. “You sound pretty serious about her.”
Oliver let his breath hiss out between his teeth. Then he laughed, because it was either that or throw Mackenzie’s phone across the parking lot in exasperation.
“Let’s get this out of the way. Yes, I am serious about her. She’s special. She makes me feel good. I think you’d like her. Happy now?”
“Mate, it’s been four months.”
“Five months, and I’m not turning my back on something good because the numbers are wrong. Mackenzie and I are good together. I know what I’m doing.”
“Ollie, listen to me. There is an extremely high likelihood that thanks to what happened with Edie your head is still up your ass in some capacity right now. Anything you get into is going to be swayed by that. There’s a reason people have mourning periods, you know. To give themselves time to decompress.”
Oliver glared at the road. “Since when did you have a psychology degree?”
“Simply stating the facts, that’s all.”
“You know what? I need to go.”
He should have ended this conversation ages ago. Like the moment Brent started the I-know-best older-brother routine.
“You know I’m right.”
And there it was, right on cue.
“I’ll speak to you later, okay?”
“Ollie, don’t hang up. Just listen to me, okay? Statistically most guys remarry within a year of getting divorced.”
“So?” His brother loved statistics. No wonder he was an accountant.
“So you probably want to be sure that you’re jumping into something because you really want it, not because you’ve gotten comfortable living your life a certain way.”
Oliver snorted his disbelief. “Right. I’m so desperate to have a joint bank account and someone leaving the toilet seat down again that I’m going to latch on to the first passing woman.”
“Can you honestly say there isn’t a part of you trying to replace what Edie took away from you?”
Oliver wanted to reject his brother’s words in the same way he’d rejected everything else Brent had said, but he could hear the very real concern in his brother’s tone. As much as it galled him to admit it, were Brent and Sandra ever to break up, Oliver would be pretty worried, too, if Brent started waxing poetic about another woman so quickly. As irritating as his brother’s fussing was, it came from a good place.
“If you’d met Mackenzie, you’d understand.” Oliver thought for a moment, trying to articulate his feelings. “When I’m with her, it feels right, you know? Am I a little freaked out by how fast it’s all happened? Yes. But life doesn’t work to schedule.”
Brent was silent for a long beat. “Does she feel the same?”
The million-dollar question. Oliver squinted into the sun.
“We haven’t talked about it.”
Another silence. “Okay. It’s your life.” Brent said it with all the weighted doom of someone handing out a death sentence.
“Stranger things have happened, you know,” Oliver said quietly. “Who says that because I wasn’t looking for it, this isn’t the best thing that’s ever happened to me?”
“For your sake, I hope you’re right.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Oliver saw the vet come out and talk to the receptionist.
“I have to go. Did you need anything?”
“Yeah. I wanted to let you know that Sandra’s offered to load all the furniture on eBay so we can sell it off. If you send her the pictures and descriptions, she’ll take care of it.”
“Great. Tell her thanks from me.”
“Okay.”
Oliver ended the call and shoved the phone into his pocket. His brother’s timing was awesome. As if he didn’t have enough on his plate right this second with Strudel being under the weather.
He shortened the dog’s lead and reentered the clinic.
“Sorry about that,” he told the receptionist.
“You’re fine. All taken care of?” she asked.
Her gaze was curious and he wondered how much she’d heard.
“Thanks, yeah.”
“The vet will be with you in a minute.”
Oliver resumed his seat, signaling for Strudel to sit at his feet.
He felt rattled and off balance after Brent’s call. He should have told his brother to pull his head in rather than feed his curiosity. Oliver didn’t need to justify himself to anyone.
He picked up one of the magazines piled next to his seat, then put it down again. Brent’s words kept echoing through his head, setting his teeth on edge.
There is an extremely high likelihood that thanks to what happened with Edie your head is still up your ass in some capacity right now.
And: You probably want to be sure that you’re jumping into something because you really want it, not because you’ve gotten comfortable living your life a certain way.
He shifted in his seat, forcing himself to consider his brother’s words, even though they made him uncomfortable. Was it possible he was simply seeking to replicate what he’d lost? Was he simply one lonely, pathetic half of a whole, looking for another half—any other half—now that Edie had revealed their marriage to be a sham?
He was relatively certain the answer was a resounding no. Being married had suited him in many ways, but he hadn’t loved being married that much. He wasn’t lying awake at night missing arguments over the remote control and who left the lid off the toothpaste and whose turn it was to empty the dishwasher. His attraction to Mackenzie was because of who she was, not some sort of limpet instinct on his behalf.
“Strudel Garrett?” a male voice said.
Oliver shot to his feet, wondering how long the other man had been standing there, waiting for him to notice him.
“Sorry. This is Strudel. I’m Oliver.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Jacob. Come in.”
Strudel tried to dig her heels in when Oliver led her toward the examination room and he had to coax her then lift her onto the examination table.
“So, what seems to be the problem?”
Now that it was the moment of truth, Oliver felt both foolish and anxious. Recited cold, Strudel’s symptoms didn’t seem that ominous, and he suspected he was about to be given a reassuring chat and sent home with some information brochures. And yet he couldn’t let go of the fear that something really was wrong.
He listed Strudel’s symptoms dutifully, explaining how rarely she threw up and how bouncy she usually was. He even mentioned that Mr. Smith had been concerned, as though a dachshund’s behavior could corroborate his own observations. A definite low point in the conversation.
Jacob hmmed and aahed, listened to Strudel’s heart, then got a curious look on his face.
“Interesting.”
“In a good way or a bad way?”
Jacob held up a finger to indicate he needed silence, shifting his attentions from Strudel’s heart to her abdomen.
“Right. Well, that would do it,” the vet said, slipping the stethoscope from his ears.
“What?”
“Your dog is pregnant.”
* * *
MACKENZIE HAD A SHOWER after Oliver left, then proceeded to do laps of the house—kitchen to study to exercise room and back—anxiously waiting for Oliver’s call.
She had his phone charging and was so eager for his call she pounced on it when it rang, inadvertently taking a call from his brother.
The other man sounded deeply suspicious until Mackenzie explained the situation in detail. Clearly, he thought she’d lifted Oliver’s phone. She did what she could to reassure him, then resumed her pacing.
After Oliver had been gone an hour she started to create excuses to call him, even though he’d assured her he’d let her know as soon as he had any information about Strudel. She managed to sit on her hands for another twenty minutes, then—finally—Oliver’s phone rang and her number flashed on the screen.
“How is she?”
“She’s fine.”
“Really? Oh, that’s great.” She sat in the chair with a thump. “I’m so relieved.”
“She’s also pregnant.”
“What?”
“Tell me, is Mr. Smith still in possession of the crown jewels?”
“Um, yes. He is. I was going to breed him. Wire-haired dachshunds are really hard to come by....” Guilt washed over her. She hadn’t even thought to mention that he was packing heat. Most bitches were spayed these days. And Smitty was very rarely out unattended. With many male dogs, a warning wouldn’t have been necessary since the fact that they weren’t neutered would be readily discernible at first glance. But Mr. Smith was so furry and so low to the ground Oliver could be forgiven for not noticing his small but apparently very efficient man parts.
“I see.”
“I take it Strudel hasn’t been spayed?” she asked, even though she knew it was stating the bleeding obvious.
“No, she has not.” He sounded pissed.
“It might not have been Mr. Smith,” she said. Then she realized it sounded as though she was calling Strudel a strumpet. “I mean, has she been around any other dogs lately?”
“Mackenzie, I caught them in the act.”
“Oh, right. Now I remember.” She and Oliver had even had a fight about it, after he’d deposited Mr. Smith on her side of the fence.
“When is she due?”
“The vet isn’t sure. But if we use the first week we arrived as a guide, she’s due in five weeks or so.”
“Wow. That soon.”
“Yep. That soon.”
He was definitely pissed.
“Are you guys coming home now?”
“We’ll be there in half an hour or so.”
“Good. I’ll see you then.”
Mackenzie winced as she ended the call. Then she went in search of her dog.
“Mr. Smith, you are in so much trouble. Oliver is going to kill us, you know that, right?” she told him when she found him. “Why couldn’t you keep your furry little paws to yourself?”
Mr. Smith looked up at her with his bright button eyes, his mouth slightly open. The picture of innocence. Except she knew better.
“Prepare yourself for some major sucking up, my friend. You need to charm Oliver within an inch of his life.”
She was waiting on the porch of Oliver’s place when he turned into the driveway, her reprobate dog unhappily locked up next door. She wasn’t about to wave a red flag in front of Oliver while he was on the warpath.
“Hey,” he said as he exited the car.
“Hi,” she said, way too brightly. “How was the drive?”
“Uneventful.” Oliver shot her a curious look before letting Strudel out of the car.
“Hey, girl. How are you? You’re going to be a mummy, are you?” Mackenzie scratched Strudel’s chest and fondled her ears. She shook the bag she’d brought with her. “I brought you some rawhides and a couple of pig’s ears to chew on. And a nice warm blanket for you to sleep on.”
She saw Oliver frown out of the corner of her eyes.
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“Well, she’s a VIP now, isn’t she?” While her dog was a VNP—very naughty pet.
“It’s okay, Mackenzie, I’m not angry,” he said.
She glanced at him quickly. “Aren’t you?” She really hoped that was true, because she was painfully aware that they had only a handful of days left and she didn’t want anything to ruin their limited time together.
If it was limited. But now was definitely not the time to broach that subject.
“I was at first. But it takes two to tango, right?”
“I think it must have been more of a pole vault in this case, but yes. I guess it does.”
“I wasn’t planning to breed her, and they are going to be weird-ass puppies, but what the hell. We can’t do anything about it now.”
“No.”
“I’m going to set her up in front of the fire,” he said, moving past her and climbing onto the porch.
“Sure. Okay.”
“You want to come in?” Oliver’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled at her, waiting for her response.
Relief washed over her. They were okay.
“I’ll go get your phone.”
“See you in five, then.”
She crunched her way up the driveway, inordinately relieved that Oliver’s sense of humor extended to animal husbandry. She wasn’t sure that she would be quite so understanding in his position. Mr. Smith jumped on her the moment he walked in the door, balancing on his hind legs, letting her know in his special way that he was glad she was home—even though she’d only been gone give minutes.
“Yes, yes, you’re very cute, but you’re still in big trouble,” she told him.
He sat and looked at her with such a wounded expression she almost believed he understood her. She bent and rubbed his chest.
“I know you were only doing what comes naturally. But if you tell Oliver I said that, you’re in big trouble.”
Stars skittered across her vision as she straightened. She closed her eyes briefly and they continued to dance behind her eyelids.
“Shit.”
In the months immediately following the accident she’d suffered from some skull-splitting migraines. They’d tapered off as she recovered, however, and the worst she’d had in recent months had been bad headaches that she’d been able to keep at bay with over-the-counter medicine. The stars were not a good sign, though. If they presaged a migraine, within thirty minutes she would be in her own personal hell, nauseous and in pain and unable to endure light.
Please let it be a false alarm.
She walked carefully to her bedroom and into the en suite, keen to do an inventory of what painkillers she had on hand. To her dismay, she quickly discovered that she was out of the prescribed migraine medication she’d been given when she left rehab. Panic fluttered behind her breastbone. An over-the-counter painkiller wouldn’t even put a dent in a migraine. She returned to her bedroom and did a quick rifle through the prescriptions in her bedside drawer. Sure enough, she had one for the medication she needed. The problem would be filling it before the migraine set up camp in her head. Already she could feel her neck becoming stiff, and the stars danced every time she moved too quickly. If she drove into town, there was every chance she’d be stranded there.
There was really only one option. Prescription in hand, she made her way next door.
“If Mr. Smith has come to grovel and beg for forgiveness, he’s more than welcome,” Oliver said the moment he opened the door.
“I need a favor,” she asked.
Pain stabbed behind her temple and she pressed her fingers to her forehead.
“Hey. Are you okay?” He stepped closer.
“I think I have a migraine coming on. I thought I had some meds, but I’m all out and I need to get a prescription filled....”
His gaze dropped to the piece of paper in her hand.
“You need me to go get it? Not a problem.”
“Okay. Thanks. That would be great. Listen, I need to go lie down.”
“I’ll walk you home,” Oliver said, stepping onto the porch.
“You don’t need to do that.”
His arm came around her as they started down the steps. “Yeah, I do.”
They slowly traversed the driveways, his body warming her side, his arm strong around her. He didn’t say anything, a gift for which she was supremely grateful because she was starting to feel as though she was going to lose her breakfast any second and every fiber of her being was focused on walking and not throwing up.
He walked her all the way to her bedroom, helping her undress and slip between the covers.
“Can you take anything else until I get back?”
“I don’t know if I should mix things. I’ll tough it out until you get back.”
He brushed the hair from her forehead, his expression concerned. “I’ll be back in ten. Hang in there.”
“Okay.”
He was so worried for her she couldn’t help but be touched. She reached out and caught his hand. “I’ll be fine. It’s just a headache. Believe me, I’ve survived worse.”
“I know, superwoman. But that doesn’t mean it’s fun to see you in pain.” He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed her palm. “Be back soon.”
She closed her eyes as he left the room. The pain was starting to build, but she knew that he would be returning soon and the knowledge that she could rely on him, that he had her back, took the edge off her panic.
It was a novel feeling, knowing that someone else was looking out for her, even in the smallest of capacities. In three years of marriage, she’d never felt that way with Patrick. He had a childish fear of illness or disability in any form—witness his abandonment since her accident. Oliver, though...Oliver was solid. Oliver was real and generous and lovely.
To think, if she hadn’t had her accident, if he hadn’t caught his wife cheating, if she hadn’t decided to isolate herself at the beach to go hard on her rehabilitation and if his aunt hadn’t left him her house...if it hadn’t rained like a demon and if their dogs hadn’t fallen for each other...she might never have met him. She might never know what it was like to kiss and make love and to hold and be held by him.
Pain made her breath hiss between her teeth. Nausea washed over her. She rolled onto her side and reminded herself that Oliver would be back soon.
Any minute now...