Love Is Proud Page 23

  The jetting water behind them threw sparkles into the air and Ruby and Betty Lou were looking at each other, holding hands, fingers entwined. The scene looked fairytale, magical, believable. Years from now, I wanted Jesse and I to be like my grandmothers. Maybe less wrinkly.

  I was about to sit down beside Jesse when a photographer came by and asked to take a picture of the four of us. “Sure,” Jesse said to the woman and put his arm around my shoulder. We smiled and the shutter clicked.

  * * * *

  A year. I still have trouble believing it’s been an entire year.

  The photo of the four of us went viral. Newspapers and Television people interviewed Ruby and Betty Lou. There was talk of a book deal. Then, Ruby and Betty Lou passed—at the same time like a damned romance novel; seventy-four years of a solid loving relationship…they earned that privilege.

  Jesse and I have been together for an entire year. I can logically understand that, but it doesn’t feel like there was a time in my life that he wasn’t part of it. Probably because he was a part of it all along. I can’t imagine me without him.

  I sat down by the fountain and Jesse eased down beside me, propping his bright orange poster against his knee.

  “Excuse me, can I take a photo?”

  I smiled at the photographer. “Sure.”

  Jesse held up his sign that read I love a man he makes me smile, his name is Kyle and I held mine, bright pink that said There’s no one with whom I’d rather be than my man Jesse. He looked at me and smiled. I grinned back and let the bright pink poster board fall away, revealing the other sign I’d made.

  I’ve seen the world and sailed the sea, but there is one thing I want to know—Jesse, will you marry me?

  Jesse’s expression in that photo is priceless.

  * * * *

  ABOUT NICKIE JAMISON

  Nicole “Nickie” Jamison wrote her first full-length novel at age ten—that creative endeavor sparked the desire to begin her writing career. Her stories dabble in and blend many different genres; science fiction, fantasy, romance, contemporary, poetry, horror, and whatever else captures her interest. For more information, visit oopswrongcookie.com.

  Lucky Dog by Shawna Jeanne

  The digital clock on the microwave in the tiny break room flashed 12:00, but according to Dr. Elsie Clevenger’s watch, it was only quarter to midnight. She placed a hand against the coffee maker carafe and sighed.

  “Seriously?” she muttered to no one in particular. The glass was stone cold.

  She had at least two more hours of her shift at River City Animal Hospital to go, and then only if there were no last minute emergencies to come bursting through the doors at two in the morning. She’d been on her feet since six, running on bland coffee and a half-eaten Lean Cuisine frozen entree she’d had to toss when a Great Dane came in suffering from congestive heart failure.

  Now that the hospital had quieted down a little, she was hesitant to heat up another meal and try again, even though she had technically only used half her “lunch” break at nine o’clock. Knowing her luck, the moment she put the meal in the microwave, something else would crop up, another fire for her to put out. But maybe she could manage to pour herself another cup of bad coffee and nuke it back to life.

  Too bad heating it up won’t make it taste any better, she thought, putting a mug of the cold sludge into the microwave and setting the timer for two minutes. Lord knows it can’t possibly taste any worse.

  And, of course, the moment she hit the START button, she heard the familiar ding of the paging system followed by an announcement she was beginning to dread. “Dr. Elsie to Treatment Room 3, Incoming Trauma. Dr. Elsie, Treatment 3. STAT.”

  There goes my coffee.

  She left it, didn’t even bother to cut off the microwave, but did stop at the break room sink to scrub her hands. They kept a pump bottle of microbacterial soap on the counter for such emergencies. Using her elbow to turn off the spigot, she held her hands dripping in front of her as she hurried from the room; in the hallway, her assistant met her with a clean towel.

  “Dr. Elsie, they need you in room three ASAP,” Maria Hernandez said, stepping to one side as she briskly rubbed Elsie’s hands dry.

  Elsie took the towel to finish the job herself. “I heard. What’s up?”

  “Dog hit by a car. There isn’t a lot of blood.”

  Elsie shook her head. “Not that we can see, anyway. Damn it. When will people learn to walk their dogs on the inside?”

  “I know, right?”

  Maria was fresh out of college, short and plump in her dark green scrubs, her dark hair pulled back from her face and secured in a tight bun at the nape of her neck. Her face looked makeup free except for her eyes, which were heavily lined. They looked bright and alert, as if she could keep up the hectic schedule all night if needed.

  Must be nice, Elsie thought, resisting the urge to run a newly cleaned hand through her own disheveled strawberry-blonde curls. Oh, to be twenty-two again.

  Then Elsie gave Maria a quizzical look. “Wait, did this just happen?”

  With a shake of her head, Maria admitted, “I don’t know. I haven’t talked with the owner yet. Why?”

  “It’s almost midnight,” Elsie pointed out. “What idiot walks their dog this late? Jesus Christ. “

  “Here we are.”

  Maria opened the door to the room so Elsie wouldn’t have to touch the handle. The veterinarian entered at a rush, pushing aside her anger to focus on the animal lying on the examination table before her. It was a small dog, some sort of beagle mix, carefully held down by Seth, another vet tech on staff who was even younger than Maria. But he stood as tall as Maria, and his broad shoulders and buff muscles were great for showing the larger dogs—and aggressive cats—who was boss. Though sometimes the cats still won. Elsie suspected Seth was afraid of getting clawed.

  At first glance, the beagle didn’t look too banged up. Some mud on its belly and paws, leaves and twigs in its fur, nothing all that bad. But something was off. Something wasn’t quite right…“Who brought him in?” Elsie tucked her stethoscope into her ears and eased the chestpiece around the beagle to find the dog’s heart.

  “Owners, I guess.” Seth shrugged. “Two men out in the waiting room. I didn’t do the triage on him, just brought him back here.”

  As expected, the dog’s heartbeat was rapid—from fear or pain, Elsie didn’t know—but it was strong and steady, which was a good sign. Over her shoulder, she called out to Maria, “Find me the triage papers.”

  Slipping off the stethoscope, she gently grasped the beagle’s muzzle and turned its face towards her so she could look into the dog’s eyes. There was the pain, shining bright in those beady black orbs. “It’s okay, honey,” she murmured. “We’ll give you something to make that go away soon. Just hold on a little bit longer for me, okay?”

  As gingerly as she could, she palpated the dog’s forepaws, shoulders, and ribs. She moved along the length of its body, feeling for broken bones, torn muscles, cuts, bruises, lesions, anything unusual. The further she went, the more her anger began to creep back. It was becoming obvious the dog was, if not abused, then at least neglected. From the state of its coat, it had been left outside for a long time. She could easily count its ribs by running her fingers along them; when it last ate a full meal was anyone’s guess. The majority of its injuries from the car seemed isolated to its hind legs, which were broken and tender. When she tried to touch them, the beagle yelped and pulled the legs out of her reach. Its tail, too, didn’t seem able to wag.

  She couldn’t wait to meet the owners, if only for a chance to unleash some of her anger on them. Who treated a dog like this? Who left it outside to fend for itself, not feeding it, not caring for it? It was probably kept chained in a backyard somewhere, forgotten and ignored, and the moment it broke free, it jumped the fence and got run over by a car.

  And then they bring it to the emergency vet? she wondered. That was the part that didn’t make much
sense. Treatment at the animal hospital was almost double the price of what similar services would run at a regular veterinary practice. The people who owned this dog obviously didn’t care about it one way or the other. Why not wait until morning and take it somewhere to be treated instead of rushing it downtown in the middle of the night?

  I’ll soon find out.

  Finished with her cursory exam, Elsie patted the dog between the ears. “Get a torb IV started to help with the pain,” she said. Seth nodded but didn’t let go of the dog. “We’ve got multiple fractures in the hind legs, so I want X-rays back there but only after he’s sedated. Maria back yet?”

  “I saw her peek through the window a moment ago,” he told her.

  Elsie glanced back, then stepped away from the table to open the door. Sticking her head into the hallway, she found Maria at one of the counters nearby. “You have the triage papers?”

  Maria handed them over. As Elsie riffled through them, she said, “Get the owners into a room so I can meet with them. What’re their names? Keith and…oh, Alex. Two guys, Seth said?”

  “Two cute guys.” Lowering her voice, Maria added, “I think they’re gay.”

  “Hm-mm.” Elsie wasn’t impressed. “There’s nothing cute about animal abuse. What’s the dog’s name?”

  “They don’t know.”

  Elsie looked up from the papers and frowned. “Do what now?”

  Maria shrugged. “They say it isn’t their dog.”

  Because that was the absolute last thing Elsie expected to hear, her mind took a moment to process the words. She looked at Maria, blinking, trying to wrap her thoughts around the words. “It isn’t…then where’d they find it?”

  “On the side of the road?”

  “You’re asking me or telling me?” Elsie wanted to know.

  With a sigh, Maria tried to explain. “They said they were driving home from a friend’s house and they saw the dog on the side of the road—”

  “So they weren’t the ones who hit it?” Elsie clarified.

  “No. They saw it, they stopped, it was injured, and…” Another shrug, and Maria shook her head. “I don’t know, they brought it here.”

  Elsie stared at her assistant, nonplussed. “They’re ready to spend a thousand dollars to fix a stray dog that isn’t even theirs.”

  “I guess.”

  Suddenly there wasn’t an ounce of anger left in Elsie anywhere. She felt exhausted, spent, the weight of the night’s shift finally caving in on her. She didn’t know if she wanted to laugh or cry, or maybe do a little bit of both at the same time. A moment ago she had been ready to think the worst of these men, and here they were proving her completely wrong. I didn’t even know people like this still existed anymore.

  Now she ran a hand through her disheveled curls, carelessly tucking them behind her ear. “Okay. Get with Seth about the dog, will you? I want a torb IV started before we X-ray those hind legs, and we’ll run some imaging tests to look for internal bleeding, too. What exam room did you say these guys are in again?”

  * * * *

  Elsie didn’t know what to expect when she entered the exam room where Keith Simmons and Alex Travers waited for her. If she had to put it into words, she would’ve said two young men, probably Maria’s age, with rail-thin bodies, waves of perfect hair, and brooding good looks. The kind of gay college boys she saw strolling along Cary Street when she came into work in the early evenings, with their skinny jeans and tight T-shirts and devil may care attitudes.

  But the men in the exam room didn’t fit that description at all.

  Both stood when Elsie entered the room. They were older, their college days long behind them; Elsie guessed they were closer to her age, maybe a year or two older, putting them easily into their late thirties. One had close-cropped, sandy blond hair beginning to turn gray at the temples—he had light, freckled skin, wireframe glasses over pale blue eyes, and a pinched, worried look on his all-American face. His partner was dark all over—olive skin, black hair, black eyes, and a frown that appeared almost menacing on his Grecian features.

  They were both buff and gorgeous. Elsie knew she was staring, but she couldn’t help it. Hearts of gold and bodies of angels. Sweet Lord above, some guys have all the luck, she thought, closing the door behind her as she stepped into the room.

  Her heart hammered, her blood surged, her palms grew slick with sweat. Between her legs, a sweet ache blossomed, a primal need she could do nothing to relieve at the moment, so she simply ignored it. But why did she suddenly feel like she was locking herself in a cage with live tigers? Don’t be silly, El. These guys don’t bite. Hell, they don’t even like women. Didn’t Maria say they were gay? So they might look hot but you’re not anything they want. Besides, you’re the doctor here, remember that.

  Clearing her throat, she glanced at the papers in her hand. Stay professional, she told herself. “Mr. Simmons?”

  The blond stepped forward. His partner caught his wrist and held it tight. “That’s me.”

  “Then you must be Mr. Travers.” Elsie flashed a smile at the other man, who nodded. “I’m Elsie Clevenger, one of the vets on duty tonight. Most people just call me Dr. Elsie. I understand the dog you brought in is not yours.”

  “We found it on Three Chopt,” Mr. Simmons started.

  His partner interrupted. “We didn’t hit it, if that’s what you’re thinking. It was already run over on the side of the road when we saw it.”

  Mr. Simmons asked, “Is it going to be okay?”

  Elsie sighed. “We don’t know the extent of his injuries yet. The hind legs are broken but there may be some internal bleeding, so we have to check that out. Most people in your situation wouldn’t bother. They’d drop it off and let us put it down.”

  She noticed their clasped hands clench together, then Mr. Simmons said, “God, no. There’s so much fight left in him. You can see that, right?”

  “I can, yes,” Elsie agreed. “But he’s a stray—”

  “So?” Mr. Travers said. “Do what you have to. Let us know what you need from us.”

  She gave them a determined nod. That was what she had wanted to hear. “Alright. I’m going to ask you to go back out in the waiting room, and when I know more, I’ll call you back—”

  “Can I just say something?” Mr. Simmons interrupted.

  Elsie nodded.

  With a sideways glance at his partner, Mr. Simmons admitted, “You are stunningly beautiful, do you know that?”

  “I…what?” Elsie didn’t know if he was joking or not. She felt the room dip away from her, and a sense of unreality threatened to swallow her whole. Her face burned, her cheeks blazing with embarrassment. Without thinking about it, she ran her hand through her hair again, tucking it behind her ear and ducking her head away from them. “Don’t be silly. Thank you, but—”

  “He’s right, you are,” Mr. Travers agreed.

  Elsie blushed harder. She felt as if her head was going to burst into flame any minute. Even her ears were beginning to tingle. “You’re just saying that, thank you. I’m not—”

  “Oh please,” Mr. Simmons said, “you are, honey. God, those cheekbones! And I love the color of your hair.”

  “I like the curls…and the curves,” Mr. Travers added. His gaze dropped, taking in the rest of her.

  Even though she wore a white lab coat over a sweater and jeans, Elsie had never felt a more seductive look in her life. Flustered, she grabbed the lapels of the coat, closing them at her throat as if that might prevent him from checking her out. “Okay, I’m going to go see about your dog now, and ask you two if you’ll step back out into the waiting room, Mr. Simmons—”

  “Call me Keith,” the man said.

  Ignoring him, Elsie added, “Mr. Travers—”

  “Alex. You really are a beautiful woman. You know that, right?”

  She gave him a tired smile. “Thank you, I appreciate it. But—”

  Keith asked her, “Is there a Mr. Dr. Elsie?”

 
With an exasperated sigh, she said, “No. Look, not to be rude? But my assistant said she thought you were gay. So while I thank you for the compliment, let’s focus on getting the dog back on its feet, okay? Can we do that?”

  “We’re not gay,” Alex told her.

  Her gaze dropped to their hands, still linked between them.

  She didn’t have to say a word; he saw the look. “Common misconception,” he said with a disarming grin.

  Damn, he and Keith were the gorgeous ones, who was Elsie kidding? The mere fact they thought her mildly attractive was a turn on in itself. But to call her beautiful? Stunningly, at that? She must have died and gone to heaven.

  Gay, remember, regardless of what they tell you. So they aren’t interested in you in that way. Of course gay men can appreciate female beauty—they make the best hairdressers and makeup artists and fashion designers the world over. But don’t get your hopes up, girl. They might like your hair and cheeks and curves, but not for the reasons you want them to.

  Her disbelief must have shown on her face, because Keith rubbed Alex’s hand in both of his. “We’re actually bi.”

  “Hm-mm.” Elsie wasn’t buying it. “Let me go check on the dog. If you’ll go back into the waiting room, please…”

  She didn’t wait around to give them time to tell her anything else. Bi, my ass, she thought, leaving the exam room. Like she even cared.

  She had a dog to save.

  * * * *

  The X-rays came back as Elsie suspected—fractured tibias in both hind legs. The tail, too, was fractured, but thankfully the crack didn’t go completely through the bone, and there didn’t appear to be any indication of spinal cord or nerve damage, either.

  Elsie wanted to run more extensive tests to check for internal bleeding. Even though the owners had told her to do what she had to, she couldn’t bring herself to just order CT scans and ultrasounds without their approval. Still, she didn’t want to pull them into the exam room again to discuss the costs of such tests. It wasn’t that she wasn’t flattered by their compliments. But she didn’t have time to let them distract her from what she needed to do. So she sent Maria out into the waiting room to go over the pricing with them, and see what it was they wanted to do.