Page 10 of Finding Gideon
I set my own mug down a little harder than necessary and pushed off the counter. “Yeah. Good idea.”
I glanced at the clock over the doorway. “Clinic doesn’t open until nine, so we’ve got a little time. I’m going to grab a quick shower before we head in. You can use the one in the hall if you want.”
His gaze flicked toward the hallway, then back to me. “Alright.”
“When you’re done, come on through the back door into the office. I’ll be up front with him.”
Gideon gave a short nod, fingers curling around his mug again. “Got it.”
I left him in the kitchen and headed for my room. The shower was quick, more about rinsing off sleep than anything else. By the time I’d pulled on clean clothes and stepped into the clinic, the dog was awake, watching me from the recovery run with glassy but alert eyes.
The IV bag hung empty. I checked his hydration first thing, and while he wasn’t back to normal yet, his gums looked better and his breathing was steady. He’d even managed to drink a little water on his own. Progress, so I removed the line.
I swapped out the blanket for a fresh one and slid a shallow dish of food inside. He sniffed at it but didn’t eat, settling instead with his chin on his paws.
The jingle of the back door opening broke the quiet. Footsteps crossed the short hallway, and a moment later Gideon appeared in the doorway, hair still damp from his shower. A drop of water slid from his temple, catching the light before disappearing into the stubble along his jaw.
A flutter started low in my gut. Not in a way I could name—more like the feeling you get when you catch a scent you can’t quite place, one that sticks with you for no reason.
I told myself it was because he looked different cleaned up, less road-weary than last night. Easier to see the person under the exhaustion. That had to be it.
“You’re just in time,” I said, turning back toward the recovery run before I thought too much about why my throat had gone a little dry.
“What’s the verdict?” Gideon asked, stepping closer.
“He’s doing better. Hydration’s improved. I took the IV out a little while ago.” I unlatched the run’s door but kept it half-closed. “You can say hello—just move slow.”
“Hey, buddy,” Gideon murmured, crouching low. His whole posture shifted, easy and non-threatening. “You made it through the night, huh?”
The dog whined softly and inched forward, sniffing the air between them.
I stayed back, watching.
Watching the way Gideon’s big hands moved—careful, patient—as he let the dog come to him. Watching the way his voice stayed soft even when the little guy hesitated.
When the dog finally nosed into his palm, Gideon’s whole face lit up in a quiet, stunned kind of way, like he’d just been handed a treasure he hadn’t dared ask for.
Something squeezed hard behind my ribs.
He looked up at me then, a faint, almost self-conscious smile tugging at his mouth. “Think he likes me.”
“Yeah,” I said, voice rougher than I’d intended. I cleared my throat. “Looks like it.”
The dog shuffled closer until his scrawny body pressed against Gideon’s leg like it was the safest place in the world.
Gideon was still crouched beside him, murmuring something under his breath as he scratched gently behind the pup’s ears. It was a quiet moment—soft light through the windows, the only sound the occasional rustle of movement and the dog’s contented sigh. Then the ding of the bell over the glass door, followed by the faint whoosh of it opening, pulled my attention to the front.
A very distinct voice carried inside—high and lilting, on the edge of dramatic.
“Dr. Jones, darling, I know you don’t open for another twenty minutes, but Maximus was pacing like a congressman with a guilty conscience, and I know a bladder infection when I see one.”
Gideon glanced toward the hall.
I pressed my lips together to keep from smiling. “Here we go,” I murmured, then stepped out to meet the storm.
Evelyn stood just inside the glass door, silver hair swept up in a bun that looked both accidental and engineered. Her lipstick was coral and slightly smudged, her blouse bright purple with rhinestones across the shoulders, and in her arms—perched like royalty—was a grumpy, overweight Himalayan cat.
“Morning, Evelyn,” I said, keeping my tone mild.
