Tempted by the Brooding Vet
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Shelley Rivers
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CHAPTER ONE
LOST.
Kiki Brown’s optimism hurtled to her toes as she searched the lush green Dorset landscape. Was it too much to ask for the planets to line up, or whatever they were supposed to do, so one small thing in her life went right?
She had no desire to win the lottery, or spend her life encased in jewels and diamonds, but just once it would be nice if the fates stopped with their constant disasters and sly kicks.
She either kept on walking in the hope that the elusive Fingle Lodge appeared like a rose-covered oasis from nowhere, or headed back to the car in defeat.
She should never have trusted a ninety-eight-year-old’s vague pencilled directions. Her godmother struggled to recall her own name sometimes, never mind remembering how to travel to the old lodge house she’d long ago abandoned to weather and time after her beloved husband died.
But the place sounded so romantic, set amongst sloping fields and miles from town. The sole surviving remnant of the vast Georgian estate of a family that had once retained the land and considered it home.
And Kiki’s choices were limited after a year living and working in Alaska. A suitcase full of clothes and a redundant engagement ring relegated to the dark depths of her handbag, along with her crumpled tissues and faded hopes, didn’t give a girl a lot of choices.
If she didn’t find Fingle Lodge soon she would remain homeless and jobless. Something she didn’t want and couldn’t afford to be. Her savings were small and her options unfortunately not much bigger.
‘Okay, Kiki,’ she said, in an attempt to boost her flagging spirits. ‘Let’s find this property. You’re not a quitter, no matter what a certain stupid male insisted seconds before you dumped him. You are an intelligent woman and you need no one—especially not a lying cheat.’
Oh, good—now she was talking to herself. Give her a woolly hat, a couple of pretty cats and she’d morph into the stereotypical singleton, living a life filled with nothing but sad memories, bed socks and crocheted blankets to keep her warm throughout the night. Though she did rather like crochet blankets. They reminded her of her godmother.
With another glance around the field, she made a decision. She’d give it another half-mile and then, if she still hadn’t found the property, or someone to ask for better directions, she’d turn back. The exercise would do her good, and the spring sunshine was pleasant after months of living in the cold and the snow. She certainly didn’t miss that part of Alaska.
She ignored the pinch in her heart, pushed the thought away and continued across the field, dodging the many animal deposits and rabbit holes that scattered the area. Breathing in the fresh air, she let the stress of the last few weeks mentally drift away.
So what if her life had hit a few bumps lately? Who wanted to live in a small town constantly seeing her ex-fiancé slobbering over other women? The same man who had believed it acceptable to drop the lace knickers of half the town’s female population months before their wedding. A wedding that, in truth, Kiki had been too much of a coward to call off until complete humiliation and battered pride had forced her into action.
Well, she definitely didn’t want him any more. Just the thought of the man made her cringe and wonder about her sanity. She’d made some stupid choices in her life, but that one she put down to senseless panic.
She was destined to be single for a while longer. Thirty-two wasn’t old. It wasn’t the full flush of youth either—but it didn’t matter. She didn’t even like men much, so the loss of yet another one from her life was no big deal. Just one more to forget and move on from. The same sad tune many a woman belted out.
More upsetting was losing her job at the marine research centre. That she did regret. But that kind of thing tended to happen when you dumped a man who was not only your fiancé, but also the man who happened to be your boss. She refused to give him the opportunity to abuse his position and make her work life unbearable. And she knew he held a grudge.
Ending their relationship in the middle of the high street, with most of the locals watching on, had ended with both her front and back doors being mysteriously blocked overnight by huge piles of snow and several large truck wheels.
So, with her life in such wonderful disorder, it was important to find Fingle Lodge and get on with her future. Or lick her wounds until they ‘scabbed over and hardened’, as her godmother had so eloquently phrased it just before she’d handed over the directions and a box of food for the journey.
If Kiki ever found the long-forgotten house she would make it her home for a few months. Somewhere to rest and reassess until she decided what to do and whether she could find a veterinary nursing job locally. She had worked hard to achieve her degree, and had spent six years using it in a city practice before leaving to work in Alaska.
Was that a chimney showing between those trees?
Kiki rushed towards the stile at the edge of the field and climbed over it, almost falling in her rush, thanks to the soles of her wellies slipping on the moss growing along the wooden step.
The adrenaline rush pumping through her veins at the sight of one chimney was quite startling.
Yes, definitely a chimney—and attached to it was a rather stumpy single-storey house with a good section of slipped roof tiles. The woodwork needed a fresh coat of paint, and a dead climbing plant concealed one of the windows with its skeletal stems and leaves. The whole place screamed neglect and despair and looked unloved.
Stumbling forward, she dodged a large muddy puddle and moved to stand in front of an old sign nailed to a worm-riddled gatepost: Fingle Lodge.
The last of the tightness in her shoulders eased and she glanced at the property once more. Well, it certainly needed work, but building repairs had never daunted her. Her parents, before their acrimonious divorce during her teens, had spent years renovating properties all over Britain and Europe. Sometimes for paying customers, other times for their own fun. Always for the love of the work.
Kiki had lived in a stately home on the island of Jersey and in a castle in Austria before the age of ten. Unfortunately her parents had always spent money like water in a downhill stream, and had often had to sell each property to increase their dwindling funds before really having time to enjoy the riches of their hard work.
Walking through the gap where she guessed a wooden gate had once swung, Kiki pushed past the overgrown lavender edging the rough flagstone path until she reached the front step.
A dark green-painted front door blocked her entry. Paint peeled off in several places, exposing a light green undercoat. Trying the brass doorknob, she found that, apart from a slight squeak and rattle, it didn’t budge—no matter how many times she twisted and yanked on it.
Leaving the step, she walked to the nearest window and peered through the dirt-glazed glass, making out an orange armchair, circa nineteen-thirties, and a yellow-tiled fireplace. She needed to drop in on the key-holder, who apparently lived close by. Hopefully, she might know of a way to get to this place without having to trample through several fields.
She turned and spotted a large barn, several feet away. Built in grey stone, with surprisingly most of its roof still intact, it looked in better condition than the lodge. Intrigued, she wandered over to the building and dragged open one of its huge wooden doors. A strange sound greeted her when she stepped inside. She paused and listened, but no other sound followed. Pulling a face, she guessed either a family of rats or mice lived in its dusty depths.
Screwing up her nose, she took in the abandoned tractor half hidden beneath a grubby moth-eaten bed sheet, several piles of carelessly stacked wooden boxes, a wicker shopping basket filled with dried flowers and a few scattered farm tools. Nothing very exciting or unexpected.
She returned to the doorway, not in the mood to dance around rodents in order to investigate the dark rooms further in, when the sound came again. This time it sounded strangely familiar.
Kiki paused and frowned. No, it couldn’t be... It wasn’t possible. But she could have sworn it sounded almost like...
The whimpering sound started once more, this time joined by several high-pitched barks.
Ignoring everything but the barking, Kiki rushed across the uneven dirt floor until she found a locked door in the second section of the barn. Staring at the suspiciously shiny new metal chain and lock fixed to it, she searched for something to break the padlock. Her godmother hadn’t visited the place in years, so whatever was inside that room had been put there by someone with no right to be anywhere near the property.
Hurrying over to the collection of tools, she found a lump hammer amongst them. Returning to the door, she lifted up the chain and awkwardly hit the padlock with the heavy hammer, relieved when it gave up its steadfast hold after several hard whacks and bumped to the ground. Luckily, whoever had bought it hadn’t spent money on a decent brand.
Throwing down the hammer, she tugged open the door, instantly overwhelmed by the rancid stench inside. Slamming the door shut again, she sucked in several deep breaths before steeling herself and opening it once more.
Six badly malnourished dogs turned to face her. Two were tied to the wall with frayed old ropes; the other four sat in small tarnished cages not big enough for them to turn around in. All of them stood shaking in a thick layer of their own urine and excrement.
A soft whimpering from the far side of the room caught her attention. Hurrying towards the sound coming from a roughly built enclosure created out of concrete blocks, she peered over the low wall to find three small black and white puppies, barely days old, snuggling into a weary and sick-looking female Papillon.
A horrible realisation dawned on Kiki. An abandoned property, mistreated dogs and a locked door... The whole situation screamed of an illegal puppy farm.
Swallowing sudden nausea, she blinked away the burning sting of tears and forced herself to think. She needed to get help and get it quickly. If this was a secret puppy farm, then whoever was responsible might return soon—and she doubted they would be pleased to discover her there, or to find that she knew their secret.
Alex Morsi pushed open the veterinary practice’s back door, ignoring the angry meows and hisses that promised feline retribution coming from the cat carrier he carried. For once a smile tugged at his lips, but he controlled it, uncomfortable with outward displays of emotions, and preferring to keep his good mood to himself.
‘I don’t believe it!’ A short, dumpy middle-aged woman with tortoiseshell glasses propped on the top of her grey spiky hair stormed into the room. Her eyes fixed on the complaining cat.
‘Morning, Anne,’ he greeted her solemnly.
Anne ignored him and demanded, ‘How did you manage to talk cantankerous old Mr Evans into letting you have his Ronny? I’ve tried for weeks and he’s always refused.’
The urge to grin almost got the better of Alex as his sense of elation bubbled higher. With practised effort, he curtailed it and instead frowned down at his head nurse. ‘I threatened to double his fees if he didn’t hand Ronny over. With his large flock of sheep, he can’t afford the slightest increase.’
‘You’re a cruel but brilliant man,’ Anne declared with awe. ‘You may be blessed with the exotic good looks of a Spanish matador, but you own the mind of a dastardly Irish genius.’
Alex winced at the description, but knew most people thought the same. Sometimes he wished he hadn’t inherited his Spanish father’s colouring and personality—but then his mother had been a volatile Irish redhead who thrived on drama and tragedy, so he figured he’d got the better trade.
‘Allowing this cat to continually mate with the local females is irresponsible,’ he said, moving the attention from himself and focusing on the wailing feline doing his best to attack the walls of his plastic prison. ‘If Ronny isn’t put out of action soon, the town will be overrun with kittens.’
Alex glanced towards the deserted reception area, his eyes narrowing as he noted a missing member of staff. Cold concern crept into his stomach.
‘Where’s Delia?’
Anne folded her arms and glared at him. ‘She resigned yesterday.’
His jaw tightened at the news and he held in a sigh. ‘Why?’
‘She says you’re the devil to work for and she would rather hopscotch naked through a flooded field with a group of rowdy drunks watching on than spend another minute in your unpleasant company.’
He shook his head, causing his natural loose curls to bounce and move. A sense of injustice replacing his concern. ‘I offered her some sound advice and she took it completely the wrong way.’
Anne raised an eyebrow. ‘She took it exactly the way you meant it, Alex. She was hoping you would feel sorry for her, but instead you insisted she pull herself together and stop whinging.’
‘Her constant moaning and crying gave everyone a headache,’ he defended, a stirring of guilt travelling through him.
Perhaps he had been too blunt, but if the woman wanted sympathy she should visit a counsellor or a priest. They were trained to deal with emotional situations. Alex had endured enough female hysterics throughout his childhood to know to avoid it as an adult.
‘She’s in mourning,’ Anne pointed out. ‘Her ex-husband has recently died. A little understanding wouldn’t hurt.’
‘I bought her a condolence card...’
Anne snorted. ‘No, you signed the one I bought. Delia’s mistake was thinking that beneath all your Spanish and Irish ruggedness beats a passionate and sympathetic heart. She soon learnt better, silly girl.’
Alex frowned at the statement. He did have a heart, but he’d learnt years ago to keep it hidden and far away from the workplace. What use was he as a veterinarian if he dissolved into tears every time he lost a patient or dealt with a case of cruelty? The best way he could help the sick animals who came through the practice’s doors was to keep his head and emotions in check. To be the solid and sensible presence when their owners fell to pieces or looked to him for answers.
And he tried not to get too close to his staff members. It was too easy to give off the wrong messages without meaning to. Women especially were prone to scramble his words and hear only what they wanted. He’d stopped dating a year ago because it had become too much work trying not to say the wrong thing to women who were as complicated as a conundrum and often as annoying.
‘I only suggested she do her grieving out of work hours. All she ever did was complain about the man while he was alive. Not once in the six weeks she worked here did she utter one nice word about him.’
‘That’s irrelevant,’ Anne said, though her eyes twinkled with humour.
‘No, it’s hypocritical.’
‘Grief doesn’t stay in rigid lines and keep office hours, Alex,’ Anne insisted.
‘More’s the pity,’ he muttered. ‘I’m your boss—that doesn’t mean I want to hear about your lives outside the practice. I’m quite happy not to. Perhaps we should make it a clause in future employee contracts. “Keep all emotions at home where they belong or face the sack.”’
Anne chuckled, not in the least offended by his remark. ‘How can you be such a caring man when it comes to animals, yet so intolerant of humans?’
He shrugged. ‘I like animals. Humans are just a necessary evil I’m forced to endure.’
She laughed and shook her head. ‘Fortunately, despite your unusual character quirks and dislikes, I do like you. But if you don’t stop upsetting the staff we’ll be without a full quota and then I will be very unhappy. And you know what I will do then.’
‘Find ways to make me unhappy,’ he predicted, knowing from experience how good she was at it.
‘Exactly.’ She grinned. ‘Now, shall I take care of Ronny while you grab a cup of coffee?’
Alex lifted the cat cage. ‘Get him prepped straight away. I want to neuter him before Evans changes his mind and demands him back. I’ve had him fasting overnight, so there’s no reason to delay. This Romeo’s days are over.’
Alex glanced through the plastic mesh door at the furious ginger tom cat and couldn’t resist a grin. This reprobate had fathered over half the kittens in town, and castrating him would not only be sensible, but medically responsible.
‘Good grief,’ Anne muttered in shock. ‘Did you just smile?’
Alex shoved the carrier at his colleague. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Nurse. Have I ever, in the six years we’ve worked together, done such a thing?’
Anne shook her head but kept staring at him.
Uncomfortable with her stunned expression, Alex headed to his office on the other side of the building. ‘Give me a shout when you’re ready. I don’t want to see anyone until I’ve dealt with Ronny.’
‘Yes, boss. I’ll prepare Theatre the minute Leah gets in.’
Dropping into his office chair, Alex ignored the paperwork waiting for his attention and took his phone out of his pocket. Two messages from his aunt, one from the local garage and several from an old girlfriend he hadn’t seen in years. He deleted them all, not about to let anyone spoil his good mood.
With a quick look at the day’s schedule, he went through his list of patients. A sweet female Bichon was booked in to be spayed. Two rescue Labradors needed dental work and a general check-over before the nearby rescue centre could place them for adoption, and the afternoon consisted of general consultations. A busy day, but nothing unexpected.
A knock on the door caused him to glance up.
‘Bit of an emergency just walked into Reception,’ Anne said. ‘A woman with a seriously neglected dog. You should see the condition of it, Alex. It’s dreadful.’
He stood and walked towards her, his pleasure in the morning vanishing more quickly than a meaty treat in a dog’s mouth. ‘Is the dog hers?’
‘She says not.’
‘Likely story,’ he fumed.
They’d had visits like this before, when a stranger had arrived with a mistreated animal they insisted was not their responsibility.
‘Let me see.’
Stepping into Reception with Anne at his heels, Alex was hit by the atrocious odour of animal faeces and wet dog first. The next shock came from the sight of the small, curvy woman holding an old-fashioned wicker basket while a sick-looking Papillon sat at her feet.
‘You should be ashamed of yourself,’ Alex said, not about to be sucked in by the pretty female or the way her blue eyes widened at his words.
The number one thing he hated was people who ill-treated animals, and by the state of the dog this woman was obviously worse than most. The fact that she caused an odd sensation to flip inside his chest was irrelevant, and probably nothing more than a bout of acid thanks to the bacon and cheese sandwich he’d eaten for breakfast.
‘I—I beg your pardon?’ the woman stammered, her cheeks turning pink as she stared at him.
Alex set his fists on his hips and continued to glare at her, ignoring the increase in his heartbeat. Let her try and sweet-talk her way out of this. He had the number of a friend who worked for the RSPCA on his mobile, and he intended to use it in the next few minutes.
‘You heard fine.’
The way she drew herself up reminded him of an irritated kitten, ready to pounce and dig in her claws. If he hadn’t been so angry over the dog’s condition he might almost have admired the determined gleam that entered her eyes. Most women tended to simper around him, but he suspected this fair-haired beauty would do anything but.
‘Then you’re the one with the blocked ears,’ she snapped, the colour in her cheeks deepening. ‘Because I’ve already explained that this is not my dog—’
‘Of course it’s not,’ he interrupted sarcastically, forcing his thoughts to focus on the situation and not the female.
‘I suppose you found it in a bin or along the roadside? I’ve heard both many times. I’ve noticed that dog abusers are rarely imaginative.’
He frowned when, instead of defending herself further, she hugged the basket closer and took a step towards him.
‘Actually, I discovered her in my godmother’s barn.’
‘Doubtful, seeing as you’re not a local,’ Alex snorted.
‘How do you know I’m not?’
His eyes raked her from her head to her toes, taking in the fancy green padded coat, the designer jeans and pink whale-patterned wellingtons. They were a definite giveaway. No one around these parts wore anything but green or floral boots.
‘I can tell.’
‘Are you always this rude and judgemental?’ she asked.
Her eyes had narrowed, but she reached down and stroked the Papillon gently, to soothe its whimpering. He begrudgingly liked it that she put the dog’s feelings before her own anger.
‘Oh, no,’ Anne piped up from his side. ‘This is him being quite pleasant. Tell me more about where you found this poor soul?’
‘She didn’t find her,’ he dismissed, not believing a word the woman said.
‘Listen, you arrogant oaf.’ The woman stepped closer, though she kept her voice to a low hiss. ‘The dog is not mine. I discovered her and several others in a barn.’
‘What barn?’ he asked, determined to find fault with her tale. Anything to keep his attention diverted from the softness of her skin and the fullness of her lips.
‘The place is called Fingle Lodge. It’s about a mile from here. It used to be the lodge house on the old Cattleson Estate.’
Alex’s suspicions hiked up a level. Fingle Lodge was a property he’d secretly set his heart on owning one day. Once he tracked down who actually owned it now. Surrounded by an ancient wood, it sat in a rare unspoilt band of nature. There was an air of history to the area that intrigued him.
‘I know the place. No one has lived there for years.’
‘Well, at least you’re right about something,’ she agreed. ‘My godmother owns the property and she’s asked me to visit and check on its condition. When I searched the barn I discovered seven dogs and three puppies locked in a room and living in squalid conditions. I suspect someone is using it as a small-scale puppy farm. Why else would they keep them locked up? No one who loves dogs would keep them in such vile surroundings.’
‘Puppies?’ Alex repeated.
The woman nodded, and gently peeled back the green jumper covering the basket. Three sleepy puppies wriggled inside.
Alex reached into the basket and lifted one out, judging it to be no more than a week old. He gently returned it to the basket with its canine siblings.
‘You’ve only brought Mum and her pups with you,’ he pointed out, still not sure he believed or trusted her. Even with the recent introduction of new laws, and the hope of cutting out third party dealers, it didn’t mean there weren’t still people prepared to ignore it and continue with that side of the appalling puppy trade.
‘I couldn’t carry them all and fit them into my car,’ she explained, in a far from patient tone. ‘It’s only small and one of my suitcases takes up half of the back seat. I thought it important to bring these four first.’
He searched her face, lingering over her full pink mouth for signs to prove she was lying. But no matter how hard he looked nothing but innocence and truth stared back at him.
Had he judged her wrong? Was there really a puppy farm on his doorstep? The idea made him sick. What monstrosities had these dogs endured so some crook could make easy money. Easy for them, but not for the dogs.
He reached for the dog at the woman’s feet, touched when the filthy hound wagged its matted tail and stared at him with hopeful brown eyes. Each of her rib bones protruded through her dirty fur.
Handing the rope to Anne, he said, ‘Call Ray at the RSPCA. Get him to meet us at the property.’
‘What about PC Foot?’ she asked. ‘I’m sure he’ll want to be informed. You know how he goes on about strong community ties and sharing information—how the police can only be of use if the public lets them.’
Alex nodded. ‘Him too.’
He took the basket from the woman, careful to avoid touching her, and handed it to Anne.
‘Get Leah to help you with bathing these four. I’ll check them over when I get back.’
‘What about Ronny?’ Anne asked.
‘If Evans turns up while I’m out tell him I’ll quadruple his bills if he dares to remove Ronny before I’ve had a chance to neuter him. That cat is not to leave—no matter what he says or threatens.’
‘Will do.’
He nodded to the woman who had interrupted his schedule and his day, still not convinced of her innocence. ‘You’d better be telling the truth about the dogs not being yours.’
She glared at him. ‘I am.’
‘Come on, then. I don’t have all day to waste. Those other dogs need rescuing from who knows what.’
