Page 10 of The Minotaur's Valentine

Chapter Eleven: Libby

“Ahh-choo! Ah-choo. Chhh!” My nose releases a declaration of war. I don’t blame it. Spending three nights crouching in the freezing rain isn’t exactly high on the self-care list.

“Young lady. You need to go home.” Doc Peterson gives me a very severe scowl.

“I’m not contagious, Doc, I’m sure. And I’ll wear a mask. I’m just a little run down.”

“I should say you are. Going to the woods behind the Night Market until all hours. Living on coffee. I’m giving you a direct order to leave after the next patient, is that clear?” His gaze is stern.

“Yes, sir. And thank you. Thank you for taking care of — I mean, thank you for caring about your employees this way. Not a lot of bosses are as great as you.” I blow my nose again. I feel cold and miserable, and my eyes won’t stop leaking. This time, I think it’s the emotional kind of leakage. “There are feral cats in the woods. One has a litter of kittens. I’m really worried about them, Doc. I heard we’re supposed to have a Valentine’s Day blizzard.”

“Valentine’s isn’t until late next week. Where did you hear that?”

“Uh... the extended forecast and the guy on Channel 10?” I shrug sheepishly. I’m looking for any excuse to keep spending my nights gainfully occupied so I don’t have to work on my resolutions.

Club.

Socialize.

Date.

Well, I see people at the Night Market. The guy at the fudge stand knows my order on sight. Same with Georgia, the girl at The Pine Loft.

I groan when Peterson leaves to check on the spay job he’s just done. One more patient until I can go and nap. I have to obey the boss’s orders, after all. The thought of my bed makes my eyes heavy as I pull on a blue paper surgical mask.

The door squeaks open as I’m pulling the file up on the computer.

My eyes clear. I hear guitar chords in my head. My mask is sucked tight against my nose as I pull in a sudden lungful of air.

It’s the Crow. It’s the 1980s wet dream of every bad girl, and he’s walking into the office when I look like an ad about the importance of flu shots.

Well, no, it isn’t the actual comic book-film icon, but it could be his stunt double. He has serious brooding Eddie Draven vibes going on. Peterson’s next patient sports black hair in sexy waves and ringlets that kiss his narrow shoulders. His skin is good china pale. Black leather pants and a —cage. A cage with an actual crow.

“Jameson, African crow, annual visit?” Sexy Stunt Double informs me.

“Yes. Yes, hi! You must be Mr. Jameson and this is... Sixpence. Ooh. Cool name.”

Mr. Jameson smiles at me. Sixpence squawks and flaps his ruffled wings, revealing his white chest and belly, showing off inky feathers as he protests his confinement. “Hush. You can go for a fly in the park later.”

“Crraaa!” Sixpence doesn’t seem to like that plan.

I jump. I had no idea African crows could be so loud.

“Don’t mind him. He hates his cage, but he likes people. Don’t you, Sixpence?”

“He’s beautiful,” I praise without sounding too congested. I don’t know what’s come over me. I like eye candy as much as the next girl, but this guy... This guy does stuff to me. It’s like someone dunked me in a pool of pheromones and every nerve-ending is screaming “Gimme!”

“I’m Ricky. You’re new in town, aren’t you? Are you at the campus?” Ricky sticks out a hand and I shake it. It’s warm, even though it's pale and he’s just come in from another overcast, chilly day.

“I’m new, but I’m not at the campus. I graduated from Antonia in Pennsylvania a few months ago with a vet tech degree. I’m Libby.”

Duh. Of course, I’m Libby. My tech coat has my name embroidered on it in bright blue thread. I seem lame as hell next to the sexiest, coolest guy I’ve met since coming to this little town in the mountains.

“Ah. You’ve worked for Peterson all that time?”

“Mmhm.”

“So. You’re hip to the Pine Ridge vibe? You go to the Night Market or anything?”

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