Page 13 of Run, Run Rudolph (Fairy Godmothers and Other Fiascos #2)

~ Haden ~

T here was something not quite right about what I saw in the stall, and it wasn’t just the way Tamara was behaving.

The first tip-off that things were odd, of course, were her voicemails about bringing an injured animal home.

The second was the fact that she was talking to an empty barn, as if someone else was there.

Third was the teasing. She hadn’t teased me in eons, as she only teased the people she liked. I did not make that list.

In other words, something was up.

But even more odd than any of that was the animal she’d called me about.

“This is a woodland caribou,” I stated, my voice flat as I took in her car’s victim.

“A reindeer,” she confirmed.

“Yes.”

She nodded, looking relieved.

“The rangifer tarandus are a species at risk,” I said. “Sorry. Latin. They’re threatened. Their natural range is west and north of here.” I shook my head and backed from the stall, fishing my phone from my jacket pocket. “I need to make a call.”

“What?” Her tone became panicked, and she grabbed my sleeve. “But what if he’s bleeding out right now? You have to help him, Haden.”

I looked down at her slender hands, now wrapped around my wrist and freezing from the cold. She repeated my words back to me. “He’s a species at risk!”

Her big brown eyes were filled with concern for the animal, and my heart softened.

She’d once convinced me to nurse a mouse back to health with those sweet eyes of hers.

A mouse! They were pests on a farm, and she’d had me feeding one in a shoebox, the whole time worried sick that Kade would discover it and kill the small thing.

I accused her of being the softie, but clearly that was a two-way street.

Against my better judgement, I pocketed my phone, noting another text had come in from one of my clients, asking me questions I’d already answered.

Flirting via her chihuahua. Who needed to go on the dating apps when you were a single, small-town veterinarian?

Well, maybe I did, if I wanted to find the woman of my dreams, because so far, she hadn’t walked into my clinic.

Knowing my luck, the woman of my dreams would be allergic to animals.

So far, only a few of my more persistent clients had managed to trap me into a date. A date. As in one. Get tricked once, you’re a man. Get tricked twice and you’re a fool who wasn’t sending out the correct, uninterested signals.

With my phone away, I took a moment to study Tamara. Usually her thoughts were a billboard and easy to read, but tonight something was off. She was locked up like a secret.

The more I stood there contemplating this novel disaster, I came up with more questions.

Such as, how did she get this several-hundred-pound wild animal into her barn on her own?

And why did I keep catching wafts of booze?

Was it coming off Tamara? Had she been drinking and driving? That didn’t seem like her.

I cautiously entered the stall and crouched beside the animal, the alcohol scent growing stronger. The reindeer was smaller than I’d expected. Male. It still had its antlers, which was concerning, seeing how late in the season it was for shedding. Was it unwell? Diseased?

I gave it a visual once over while I debated my options. The animal didn’t seem spooked by us, or by being enclosed in the barn. He was breathing a bit too fast, a sure sign of stress, but there was no apparent blood in the straw, so that was good.

I’d checked Tamara’s car on the way into the barn and spotted the hanging bumper with the hole. Nothing too extensive in terms of damage. So, by the looks of things, she’d been lucky, and so had the deer. Around here, the wildlife and the vehicle were often both goners after a collision.

“I think it’s his back end,” Tamara said, crouching beside me.

I could smell her gentle cocoa butter scent, something that always reminded me of Christmas.

Probably because, years ago, my mom had given her a jar of the stuff, and she’d slathered it on, then seated herself beside me at Christmas dinner.

It had been all I could smell, permanently linking her and her cocoa butter scent to my favourite holiday.

“You should give him space,” I warned as she crouched in close. “He’s a wild animal. His antlers could do a lot of damage.”

“It’s fine.”

I refrained from sighing. She was too trusting, and while I admired her love for all creatures, I’d never dress up my cat in a Halloween costume. That was too far. Or get too close to a caribou unless necessary.

“Really, you should back up.”

She held my gaze, then reached out and stroked the reindeer’s forehead. I froze, ready to get between her and the beast. But nothing happened.

“This is okay, isn’t it?” she cooed softly to the caribou. It blinked its big dark eyes at her.

Huh.

Go figure. Tamara had the thing tamed already.

“He’s got a scrape,” Tamara pointed out. I nodded, having noted the injured back leg. The long gash likely didn’t need stitches, but it would need a bandage at some point. “I think he kicked my bumper when he landed in front of me on the road.”

“Always the wildlife’s fault,” I muttered. If people slowed down and watched the road and ditches a bit better, I’d enjoy a greater number of free evenings.

“Well, according to insurance companies, it is their fault,” she said rather indignantly.

“You already called them?”

“No, I just…know.”

I held in a smirk, aware that she was sensitive about the things she’d bumped with her car over the years. Honestly, other than being a bit alarming, it was kind of cute.

“He must have gotten out of a petting zoo,” I said, eyeing the sprawled beast. That would explain why it wasn’t freaked out by humans, and was okay being snuggled by Tamara.

“Yeah, maybe,” she said, her tone suggesting she was humouring me.

I reached out to touch the caribou’s scraped back leg, and Tamara froze. I did, too. “What?”

She glanced upward, then quickly down, when I started to follow her gaze. “Is it okay if Haden touches you?” she whispered to the caribou.

Her bleeding heart. Seriously. “ Tamara .”

“He’s a veterinarian,” she said to the animal.

I blinked hard. Had the animal just nodded? I turned to Tamara. What was going on here?

She caught my eye, her lips forming a small pout. “Quit looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you think I’m a cracked softie.”

I tried to erase any trace of expression from my face, certain my brain had been playing a trick on me over the head-nod thing.

“Consent is very important,” she said, drawing herself up. “Even with animals.”

I swallowed my chuckle. “Yes. Yes, it is.” To distract myself from how cute she was about this potentially dangerous animal, I began to work on the caribou, checking out his back leg, and watching for other injuries.

Out of habit, I talked softly to the animal while I worked.

I had been trained to speak while approaching the animal to avoid startling it, but had learned it was often more soothing to my patients if I spoke during the entire check-up, helping it track me.

I kept one hand on the deer while I worked, very aware that he could suddenly turn on me. But I was even more aware that I might look like a softie with all my chit-chat—something Tamara may not let me live down, since I’d once laughed at her for that very same thing.

But, again, I didn’t dress up my cat.

Or bring home injured wildlife. Clearly, I took them to my clinic.

“Have you noticed any bleeding?” I asked.

“Hmm?” Tamara struggled to look up from my hands, and I glanced at them in case something was out of the ordinary. Just my regular old hands with slightly chapped knuckles thanks to being out in December’s dry cold, helping animals.

“What? No.” She peeked up at me. “You’re talking to him.”

“Yes.”

“But I mean…talking. A lot. Not just to let him know you’re there, and going to touch him.”

She remembered that day when we’d worked on my dad’s Clydesdales, too. I wondered if the memory held the same fondness that it did for me.

That had been the last time we’d helped an animal together, other than the awkward moment when she’d brought Boots in for his first appointment after she’d taken in the stray tomcat.

My dad still had that Clydesdale, and whenever I worked on him, or any horse’s shoes, I thought of Tamara and that day.

While we reshoed, she’d chatted to the horse the whole time, and he’d rewarded her with a quick nuzzle when we were done.

I’d never seen him do that before. Or follow anyone like he did whenever Tamara showed up.

“A woman I know taught me it’s better to talk to them the entire time.”

“She did?” Her voice was slightly breathless, and I dared to dart a glance her way, holding her gaze for a long steady beat.

“Yeah.”

“And so now you talk to your patients the whole time?”

“Pretty much.” I cleared my throat, feeling the weight of her stare. “They seem to appreciate it.” And a calm animal was much easier and safer to work on, and the outcome and experience was better for all involved.

“What do you tell them?”

“Whatever they need to hear.”

I waited for the glimmer of amusement in her gaze to translate into teasing me.

“A lot of animals and their owners depend on you,” she said, seriously. “Some days, it must feel like it never ends—the things we all need from you. It must take a toll.”

I glanced at her, noting she was watching me with an insightful gaze, like she understood me in a way even my family didn’t.

A lot of people believed working with animals was nothing but romantic charm.

It was until the sick cat bit you, or the hurt horse lashed out with a well-timed hoof to the shin.

Or until you had to help a family assist their beloved pet over the rainbow bridge.

I loved my job, but I loved even more that Tamara could see the whole picture. And that made me miss our old friendship with astounding severity.