Page 44 of Finding Gideon
Inside, Malcolm set the dog down on an exam table lined with a folded towel to keep the metal from feeling cold and unwelcoming. The dog stayed still beneath his hands, his gaze following every movement with quiet, unblinking attention. He didn’t flinch when Malcolm adjusted him, didn’t curl his lips or tense in warning—just watched, like he was trying to decide if this was safety or another threat.
“Front leg’s been gone for a while,” Malcolm murmured, fingers tracing gently along the scar. “He’s adapted well—moves like he’s used to it. Definitely not a recent injury.”
Zuri leaned back against the wall, arms folded loosely. “He didn’t want to get in the car,” she said. “But once he did, he just… sat. Didn’t move the whole ride. Like he was bracing for something bad to happen.”
I stayed quiet, though the dog’s gaze slid to mine again. Not like he trusted me, but maybe like I wasn’t the worst thing in the room. I’d seen that look before—in people, not animals. It wasn’t hope exactly. More like cautious recognition, as if we both knew what it was to be unsure of your footing.
Malcolm ran his hands slowly along the dog’s spine, his movements deliberate. There was a quiet ease to him when he worked, the kind that made the air feel settled, unhurried. He paused to check the scarred stump of the missing leg, then reached for the scanner hanging on the wall.
“Let’s see if you’ve got a chip, buddy,” he murmured.
The device gave a soft beep as he passed it over the dog’s shoulders, then again down the length of his back. Nothing. Malcolm set it aside with a small shake of his head.
“He doesn’t have any major injuries,” he said. “Malnourished, sure, and we’ll see if he needs antibiotics after the bloodwork, but nothing life-threatening.”
He glanced at me then, and for a moment I felt the weight of being included in that assessment—like my opinion mattered here, like we were a team.
“What happens if the rescue can’t take him next week?” I asked.
Malcolm met my gaze. “Then we keep trying. Call around. Someone will have room.”
“He hasn’t barked once,” Zuri added softly.
Malcolm gave a small nod. “It could be he’s quiet by nature, but with the way he’s watching everything… I’d guess he hasn’t been around people much in a long time.”
The dog’s eyes flicked between us, a wary stillness like he was bracing for the next bad thing.
I couldn’t shake the thought of him spending another week—or more—waiting. My life was already full of its own fractures. I wasn’t exactly built for fixing anyone else. And yet… the idea of him facing that week alone sat wrong in a way I couldn’t ignore.
“I could look after him,” I heard myself say. “Not adopt—just take care of him in the kennels for a while. Let him settle. Help him get used to being around people again.” I glanced at Malcolm. “If that’s okay with you, I mean. It’s your place.”
His eyes met mine, warm with quiet resolve. “If you want to help him, that’s enough for me.”
“He doesn’t need much,” I said, my eyes still on the dog. “Just time, and someone who won’t rush him.”
“You’d be good at that,” he said after a beat, his voice warm. “Takes patience to earn trust like his. Not many people have that. You do.”
The dog blinked slowly, his gaze firmly on mine. I didn’t reach for him—just stayed close enough that he could make the choice.
He didn’t step forward, but he didn’t shrink back either. That small, deliberate stillness felt like the first thread of trust.
Maybe, for now, that was enough.
Dennis had claimed a patch of grass by the fence, gnawing happily on something Malcolm would probably confiscate later. The yard had quieted into that easy hush before night fully settled, the cool bite of evening slipping in and brushing against my skin.
I leaned one shoulder against the fence, watching the lazy sway of Dennis’s tail as the light dimmed.
When Malcolm left the office after he’d seen his last patient to do some errands, I’d felt a strange hollowness settle in. Odd, considering there were still animals in recovery and others needing care. After my brother died, I’d learned to be content with my own company, even preferred it most days. But lately… I’d gotten used to him—to our talks, our silences, just existing in the same orbit. And that unsettled me more than I wanted to admit.
As if the thought itself had summoned him, the back door opened and Malcolm stepped into the warm spill of light, scanning the yard until his gaze found mine. My breath stuttered before I could stop it, chest tightening in some reflex I didn’t understand. He took the steps at his usual unhurried pace, broadshoulders rolling with each stride, the easy confidence in his walk pulling me in before I could think about why.
The closer he came, the more I noticed. The porch light outlined the strong line of his jaw, turning the warm, rich brown of his skin to something that looked burnished.
And then there was the scent—woodsy, deep, threaded with something darker, warmer—that reached me before he did, sliding under my guard and settling low in my chest. My pulse jumped without permission.
He stopped in front of me, facing me fully. Up close, he was a wall of quiet strength, solid without crowding me.
“How’s our guy?” he asked, chin tipping toward the clinic. I instinctively knew who he was referring to: our three-legged friend.
