Connor cut the final tie on the stitch and stepped back to critically analyse his work. Floppy would live but it had been touch and go ever since the ailing rabbit had been brought in last Thursday. Connor suspected there was a lot more going on than just the lump he removed, but what could he tell the owners? Rabbits didn’t live that long anyway, and even though he’d agreed to do the removal of the lump he wasn’t hundred percent certain that Floppy had much longer to live.
Rachel eased Floppy gently from the operating table and placed him in the recovery cage.
“Poor Floppy,” she said as she stroked his soft grey fur. “I remember when the McLarens rescued him. He was only little.”
Connor moved to the sink to wash his hands. “We’ve done what we can.” He was always saying that. That was his standard line, that they’d tried their best and that the recovery was in the hands of the animal angels. Though he didn’t say that to the adults who visited the surgery, just to the children who were losing a treasured friend.
He wanted to change the subject. Rachel had arrived late and scrubbed in at the last minute and proper conversation had been minimal. “So tell me what happened with Landon.”
Rachel closed the cage and sprayed her hands with disinfectant. “Landon…” She sighed. “It was…”
“Seems like you can’t form full sentences.”
“I like him,” she said with a smile, “he’s a really nice guy, so I am going to enjoy it while it lasts.”
That was a curious thing to say. Rachel was the type of girl who spoke of forever, of white dresses and churches, not of a relationship where she’d implied an expiration date was being considered. How did Connor ask what she meant without it sounding like he was being rude? Seemed he didn’t have to say a thing when Rachel leaned back against the work bench and began to talk.
“So, he’s a Lord, you know, or he will be when he inherits the title one day, and I’m just a—just Rachel. A vet tech who still lives at home with her parents.”
Connor shook his head. “Your parents have a huge house and you have your own annex. I don’t think that counts as living in the small room in a two up two down.” Rachel’s view of the world made Connor smile, like she’d had an underprivileged start in life. If she wanted to talk about lack of a good start, Connor could certainly go into detail on his own life.
“I know, I was only joking. Still, he’s an important man doing important stuff and shit…” She rubbed her hands on her face, then sighed heavily. “He’s really serious.”
“Serious about what?”
“About me, apparently.”
“And you forgave him?”
“For being an idiot, yeah, he’s made up for it since then.” She waggled her eyebrows suggestively, and Connor made the appropriate gagging sound in retaliation.
“I so don’t want to know about your sex life,” he said.
“He’s down from London this weekend to visit,” she said.
“He’s keen.”
“He said he couldn’t imagine a whole week apart. That’s pretty, uhm…”
“Good?”
“Intense. He’s very focused and intense. And silly and funny and sooooo good in bed.”
Yet she was being cautious of the future with the man. Connor guessed it was his own fault. After all, she’d listened to him bang on about Tristan the bastard ex enough times. But also he was standing here and agreeing with her caution because hell, Landon had hurt her, upset her, and acted like a twat. And Connor was her friend, it was his place to urge caution. Not to mention Landon and his brothers shared a lot in common with the titled wanker who had fucked Connor over. Tristan freaking Caplin-Heath had left a battered and bruised Connor in his wake, in more ways than one. And even though Rachel didn’t know all the details, she knew enough.
“Will you come with me?” she asked. Her abrupt question needed careful consideration. Being the third party in what Landon probably assumed was a date was going to prove awkward. “I know we’ve done the bed thing, but I’m just nervous. We’re meeting at The Wychwood on Friday. Be my wingman? Please?”
If Rachel could blink her eyelashes like a big violet-eyed kitten, she would be doing it now. She looked half-pleading and half-knowing. Connor didn’t really have an argument. It wasn’t as if he had anything planned for Friday evening. He had an appointment late Wednesday afternoon with the bank, but other than that, his calendar was empty. “Okay.”
Rachel hugged him and he inhaled the familiar scents of the surgery as he hugged her back. Then she left and he could swear she was humming. As she left the room the door swung back, and Andrew Cameron, the owner of the Aston-Under-Wold Veterinary Practice, walked in.
“Can you spare a few minutes, Connor?” Andrew asked.
Connor looked over at him. “Yep. Just give me five.”
“I’ll get the coffee on.”
For a short while he tidied his space. Not for the first time since the wedding, he was battling guilt and he needed to let the thoughts of the wedding fit into place before facing his boss. Yes he was drunk, yes he’d had to hold a crying Rachel, but he didn’t really know the Sterling-Haynes family. People like them yes, but not actually the brothers themselves. He’d had beers with the middle brother before, Ben, the one who got married, or rather he’d been in the same group as Ben had been in for one evening at the Indian in Cheltenham. Ben seemed like a good guy. Spoke with a plum in his mouth, but didn’t do anything too stupid to raise the warning flags.
And Landon? He seemed like a younger, better-looking Stephen Fry, only straight. He was clever and awkward and funny all at the same time, and he clearly had a thing for Rachel. And he’d admitted he’d fucked up over the shagging-in-a-cupboard shit fest and that must have been pretty humiliating for someone with his status and money. Connor knew first hand that both status and money paved the way to an easy life.
But he’d been rude to Ash. And he knew it.
Ash with the serious brown eyes and the cheeky grin and the air of confidence that he could take on anything he wanted and win.
Too much like Tristan. Way too much.
And that was Connor’s trigger. He’d drunk too much and he’d snapped like a kid on a sugar high, all superior and rude and unnecessarily forceful. He really owed the man an apology, but how the hell did he do that without explaining why he’d done what he had?
He inhaled and held the breath for a moment before letting it loose in a loud exhale. Okay, I’m calm now.
One last check on Floppy and he left the surgery room and made his way to Andrew’s office. Next to his, it was a roomier, brighter version of his own, and even though both had examination tables and the usual hygienic surfaces, there was a small, old-fashioned-looking annex to this room that Andrew used as his own hiding place. There was a shelf of old equipment, some of it dating way before there was even such a thing as veterinary as a label. Connor went in and took the proffered coffee thankfully. He was running on only two cups and he needed way more than that to carry on rational conversation.
“How’s Floppy?” Andrew asked. He sat back at his desk and pulled out folders from his drawer.
“Removed the lump and we’re sending it away.”
“And I saw you had the Timmy twins in this morning.”
Two black Labs, Timmy senior and his son, Timmy Junior, both in for some kind of weird food poisoning. “Can’t stop Labs from rooting through anything they can find to eat,” Connor summarised.
Andrew arranged the files. “So, I wanted to talk to you.”
Connor nodded to encourage Andrew on.
“Are you happy for me to review your contract?” Andrew finally asked after a short pause.
Was this a trick question? Apprehension snapped inside Connor. He’d only signed up to the two-year contract and that still had another nine or so months to run. He’d gotten so used to being here and hadn’t even begun to get itchy feet yet. It would be a shame if he was being asked to move on sooner than the two years. He’d find another contract, people wanted veterinarians, but he’d be lying if he said he wouldn’t miss Rachel or Andrew, or this place.
And what about the summer house? No point in buying it if—
“Connor?” Andrew was snapping his fingers in front of Connor’s face.
“Sorry?”
“I asked if you were happy to have a review of your contract.”
“Absolutely,” Connor lied.
“As you know, I’m not getting any younger.”
Connor raised an eyebrow. “You’re only fifty.”
“But you’re only thirty-one. My point is, you’ve fitted in well here in the past year. I wanted to ask you, have you ever considered partnership? Buying in to a surgery, something more permanent? You know I inherited this place, my spot was always here, but you strike me as someone who maybe wants to move around, and that isn’t a bad thing, but…”
“I hadn’t thought about it.” And he hadn’t. He’d had a whole lot of dreams two years ago, and that didn’t include making his mark on his own. He’d always imagined him and Tristan making it to forever. Like that was ever going to happen.
“I had my lawyer draw up some papers for you buying in, with partnership details and a breakdown of an amount that seemed fair and would…” Andrew thrust the envelope at Connor. “Here it is. I’d like to talk some more, but maybe you should take these away and think about it.”
“Wait. You’re offering me a partnership with you? Here? At this surgery?” Connor wanted to clarify just to make sure they were on the same page.
“We work well together, the patients like you, I like you, you’re good at your job and I’d like to think we could develop this further.”
Andrew stood and extended a hand, and Connor copied the motion, shaking hands with the boss who’d become a friend in the last year.
“I’ll think about it,” he said. “But thank you for thinking of me.”
Andrew shrugged. “It was a pretty simple decision to make, really.”
The door flung open after a loud knock. “Emergency. Cat,” Rachel announced.
“I’ve got it,” Connor said when Andrew made to move. “If you want me to.”
After a split second, Andrew nodded and sat down. “Call me if you need two of us.” And there was the complete trust that Connor could care for the animals Andrew looked after as well as he could.
Buoyed by the support, Connor focused in immediately on the bleeding cat in someone’s arms. He and Rachel took the poor animal straight into the examination room, aware that the person who’d carried it in followed.
“What happened?” Connor asked. He was examining the cat, which looked to be covered in a lot of blood, and noted several deep gashes at the back of the neck and lesser cuts to his belly.
“I didn’t see,” the owner said. “A cat fight, I think.”
Connor immediately looked up and was faced with the very man he needed to apologise to. Seemed Ash was as shocked to see him as he was Ash.
“Did you see the other cat?” The knowledge this was a fight made sense of the fact there was no visible broken bones, but a lot of cat claw cuts and bites.
“Big,” Ash said helplessly. “Ginger.” He waved his hands to indicate a large cat.
“Muffin,” Rachel said with a shake of her head.
“Bloody menace,” Connor said. He wasn’t lying, the cutely named Muffin was a neighbourhood terror, a cat with nothing better to do with its time than pick fights. Old Mrs Flaherty, who had been owned by Muffin for going on ten years now, was about the only person or animal Muffin seemed happy to be with.
Ignoring the fact that Ash looked like he was going to cry or shout or both, Connor rounded on him. “You need to leave. Let us do our job.”
“It’s my niece’s cat. His name is Tux. He’s… I’m in charge… Please don’t let him die.” Ash backed out of the room.
“Wow, your bedside manner sucked,” Rachel murmured. Connor ignored her. The cat would need to be sedated, and then Connor could have a proper look at what was going on.
Once Tux was out, he concentrated on clipping the hair all around the wounds, cleaning them, and stitching the really bad ones. There were two deep scratch-bites across the cat’s shoulders, but they weren’t quite deep enough to necessitate a drain. Seemed like Tux and Muffin were evenly matched.
Finally Connor placed Tux in a recovery cage and stepped back to check all looked okay. There wasn’t anything else to do now except the bit that Connor was dreading: talking to the owner, in this case, because the owner was Ash.
He washed his hands, then stripped off his white coat, which had way too much of Tux’s blood on it, and replaced it with a clean one. Then he washed his hands again and realised he was delaying the inevitable.
“Try and be nice,” Rachel warned as Connor left the surgery and moved into the consultancy room. He ignored her and instead waited until Evan the receptionist showed a shell-shocked Ash into the room. He looked oddly vulnerable, his dark hair messy and his white T-shirt bloody and loose out of his board shorts.
“Okay, surgery went well,” Connor said immediately. “Follow-up will be antibiotics, pain medication, and probably a cone to keep the cat from messing with the wounds.”
Ash merely nodded. He looked to still be in a state of shock, and at one point he opened his mouth to speak, then shut it again.
Connor began to feel sorry for him, his normal compassion for animals and their owners pushing through the awkwardness he was feeling and the animosity he couldn’t help creating inside to balance the embarrassment.
“Tux will be fine.”
Ash visibly relaxed. “Really? He was the only thing I was supposed to do right and I fucked it up.”
“Started up a cat-fighting ring, did you?”
Ash blinked. “What?”
“Unless you’re in the game of setting up cat-fighting events, this wasn’t your fault. Cats fight, particularly over territory.”
“They do that?”
“Fight, yes.”
“No I mean, is there such a thing as cat-fighting events?” Ash looked horrified. “Like the dog ones?”
“No, of course not, or well… anything happens, I guess, but not here.” Suddenly Connor felt like an idiot. He’d been trying for dry humour and ended up starting a conversation about something he hadn’t wanted to. Because conversation meant talking to Ash, and while at some point in the future, he did want to do that, he didn’t want to do it now. Here.
“Okay. So, when can Tux come home with the cone of shame?” Ash looked brighter and he used his fingers to draw a circle in the air.
“I’d like to keep him in overnight.”
Ash nodded. “Okay.”
The two men stood in awkward silence. Well for Connor it was awkward, Ash seemed at ease. Something had shifted, he was no longer the panicked uncle, but was relaxing into that air of superior calm that made Connor’s jaw tighten. In fact Ash was looking about himself interestedly.
“So you’re a vet, then,” he said.
“Yes.”
“Lots of years at school for that.”
“Five,” Connor replied.
“Gorgeous and clever.”
Connor realised Ash had taken a step closer, and Connor moved back, covering it by gathering up paperwork from the side, making it look like he needed to be very busy shuffling paper.
“Anyway, phone the surgery to check if Tux is doing okay and reception will let you know if you can pick him up.”
“How about lunch?” Ash stepped closer, but Connor had nowhere else to move and there was an uncomfortably short distance between them. No more than a few feet. Ash was well past his comfort zone and Connor couldn’t help feeling a little freaked out.
“Lunch?” Connor asked stupidly.
“It’s twelve, people eat lunch. You know, soup or sandwiches or something.”
“I don’t want lunch.”
“It would be my way of saying thank you.”
Another step closer.
“You have blood.” Connor waved at Ash’s shirt. “On you.”
Ash looked down, then slid off his shirt. “Fixed.”
Connor’s blood went south. Under that loose T-shirt was a compact body, hair on the chest, two cinnamon disc nipples, a line of hair that—
“What the hell?”
Ash tilted his head and looked confused, although there was a glint in his eye that gave away he knew exactly what he was doing. “I had blood on me.”
“You don’t come into a… Jesus… what the hell?”
Another step and this time there was hardly any space between them.
“Just lunch.”
Connor swallowed at the attraction sparking between them. There was heat in Ash’s eyes and all Connor needed to do was give some indication that he was interested and he knew exactly how this dance would end.
“Lunch,” Connor repeated. He was being pulled in with dark eyes and the promise in them. And Ash’s lips looked so soft. I wonder if he likes kissing? Kissing wasn’t commitment or exposing his heart to pain. Stubble softened Ash’s angular chin, and he was worrying his lower lip with his teeth. A hint of vulnerability edged that action and Connor’s hard-on was tight in his jeans at the thought of tasting those lips.
No. I’m not doing this again.
Realisation slipped into him slowly, he was attracted to Ash, aroused by the way Ash was stalking and offering promises of all kinds of sin with his soft words and those damn eyes. Ash was spinning a clever web and Connor was in danger of being caught, helpless, like the idiot he’d been with Tristan.
But, hell, Ash is so sexy. Just one taste to see what it’s like.
Ash leaned that impossible last distance and Connor swayed in, their lips meeting briefly, hesitantly, like a butterfly’s touch. They parted just as quick. And something in Ash’s eyes spoke of achievement. Of triumph.
Just like Tristan.
The instant Connor thought of that, any hint of desire fled. Forcefully, he gripped Ash by the biceps and pushed him away.
“I’m sorry I was rude to you at the wedding,” Connor said quickly. “But stop fucking with my head.” Then he simply left the room with Ash standing bare-chested behind him. He didn’t even look back to see what Ash was doing, just turned left, then left again and did what any normal man with an inappropriate erection and a belly full of temper did. He hid in the store cupboard and calmed himself the fuck down, not for one second thinking of locking himself in the men’s room to get some relief.
Well, not much anyway.