Page 60 of For the Love of Animals

“Uh, maybe I should go now.”

“While you’re here, I might as well give the little chap a check over. You know, to set your mind at ease.”

I stared at the floor while the vet retrieved Hammie again. Dammit—the first desirable man I’d spoken to in months, and I’d ballsed things up totally. Calamity Cara, that was what my little brother used to call me, and I’d certainly lived up to my billing.

“Everything looks good,” the vet said.

“Thank you so much. How much do I owe you?”

“I should be paying you for the entertainment.”

“I’m sorry I wasted your time, and so close to Christmas as well.”

“Better to bring a pet in unnecessarily than ignore a potential problem. If anything else worries you, just give me a call.” He fished a business card out of his pocket and flashed a smile. “Anytime.”

The way he said that, it was almost as if he was…flirting?

No way. Not with such a monumental idiot.

“Well, I really should be going. Presents to wrap, wine to drink, that sort of thing.”

Great, now I’d made myself sound like an alcoholic.

“I’ll get the door for you.” He held it while I tried to walk out with a few shreds of dignity intact. “See you around.”

CHAPTER 5

ONCE I’D REPLACED Hammie in his cage on the coffee table, I stayed true to my word. After three large glasses of red, I passed out on the sofa, dead to the world. In my dreams, I peeled the sexy vet out of his lab coat while he gave me a lecture on hamster behaviour in that delightful accent of his. So Scottish. I nodded, barely taking in a word as he bent me over the examination table and…and…then I woke up.

Boo.

The first thing I did was glance out the window to check for snow, but of course, there wasn’t any. A sprinkling of rain pitter-pattered against the window while grey clouds hovered overhead. Good thing I didn’t have to go out today, wasn’t it? No, I had the whole day to prepare an extra Christmas dinner because, let’s face it, I’d be eating turkey well into January otherwise. And in the afternoon, I could watch The Sound of Music and stuff myself silly on chocolate and mince pies. But first, I needed paracetamol to get rid of my headache. Had the dull throb been caused by last night’s embarrassment or the alcohol?

“Happy Christmas Eve, Hammie,” I muttered, rolling off the sofa and heading for the kitchen.

I should bring him something tasty for breakfast. Were hamsters allowed to eat cranberries? Or mince pies? In the end, I opted for one more Apple Snax. The last thing I needed was another trip to the vet, although my libido disagreed with me there.

“Here you go, little dude.” I opened the cage and poked the treat through the window of his tiny house. “Hungry?”

Nope, it appeared not.

No rustle of bedding. No twitching nose.

Was Hammie okay? I lifted the roof and found…nothing. No Hammie. My stomach lurched into my mouth. Where on earth had he gone?

I poked around in the cage, even checking under his food bowl just in case he’d shrunk. But he’d disappeared, and worse, I realised the side door half-hidden behind the stealthy wheel was hanging open. I flopped onto the sofa and groaned. He’d escaped, hadn’t he? The little git had made a break for it.

Now, when the estate agent showed me around the house, he’d been almost apologetic about the size, and certainly it had never seemed spacious. But trust me, when you’re hunting for a creature the size of your fist, even a shoebox seems enormous. I spent Christmas Eve tearing the place apart from the front door to the back door and rummaging through the bedroom and bathroom upstairs.

Nothing.

Hammie had vanished. I glanced through the window and into the garden, where the rain had turned to sleet. He couldn’t have got outside, could he? A draught seeped in under the front door, reminding me how chilly it was. Please, say he’d just curled up somewhere warm and gone to sleep.

As darkness fell, I laid out little dishes of food in case they tempted him from his hiding place, then set up camp on the sofa with a torch. Hammie was nocturnal, right? So it stood to reason he’d make an appearance.

“Come on, little buddy. Your wheel’s waiting.”

But silence reigned all around, at least until four a.m. when a quiet scratching woke me up. Hammie? Where was it coming from? I traipsed around the house, pausing to listen every few seconds to see if I was any closer. By five a.m., I let out a low groan. The noise was coming from the living room floor. The freaking floor.

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