Chapter One
Green Bay, Wisconsin
Present Day
"SCALPEL," MATHEW McCall said, voice muffled by the paper mask. His eyes fixed on the shaved patch beneath his fingers, a temporary blemish. In a few short weeks, all traces would be covered with a new tuft of fur. But for Mathew? It'd take nothing short of a magic wand to fix his mess.
Mathew's trusty assistant, Becca Wagner, passed him the stainless steel implement, and he made the abdominal incision.
"Suction."
The electric motor hummed to life, and Becca moved the device along the opening. Mathew passed the scalpel back to his assistant and stuffed his fingers inside, retrieving a loop of intestine. Snoopy had eaten a sock, and as the x-ray showed, it was lodged right between his fingers. The ropy organ had a bulbous obstruction, as if a snake had swallowed a plump mouse. Man, it looked painful. But the pup was going to be okay because the owner brought him in quick enough—the tissue had a healthy coloration. Mathew blew out a breath, puffing his mask.
"How did this little guy eat something so big?" He chuckled.
"Determination is a powerful force."
He supposed she was right. But in practice, determination didn't guarantee results. Mathew was full of one and still lacking in the other.
"Becca?"
"Yes, doc?"
"Play something, would you?"
Becca crossed the sterile room with bright fluorescent tubes beaming on them like stage lights. In surgery, he sometimes felt like he was directing a show, only instead of a flurry of energy from the crew and audience, his was a quiet crew of one and the audience non-existent.
His assistant pressed a gloved fingertip to an old iPod and notes came through the budget-friendly portable speakers.
Mathew had considered his problems to be simply things floating around his head, never something he could grasp, a slight inconvenience when they buzzed too close. Rather than solve them, he'd focused on helping people and pets, and making kids smile. He'd always wished the problems didn't exist, of course, but the determination hadn't been there.
On the outside he had envious things—a late model SUV, a clinic, an education, but those were just things. The truth was he financed the SUV, mortgaged the clinic, and the shiny plaque on his office wall obscured the student loan debt. He had no hope of being able to upgrade from his dingy apartment—good thing he never had visitors.
Then his prime assistant, his sister, had gone missing. She was his ace, the Robin to his Batman, his only remaining family. Without anyone in his life, he realized he'd become a husk. Determination had finally kicked him in the ass.
What Mathew wanted most—someone to go home to. A partner, a best friend, an equal. But what woman would tolerate debt far beyond his eyeballs? He couldn't even afford to pay for a date, for god's sake. Finding a woman who could see past all that was impossible, so until a magic wand cleaned up his life or his determination somehow lit the path, Mathew exhaled a deep breath and allowed the rhythm to flush away his self-pity. He smiled at Becca's choice and bobbed his head.
"Ah, old school Springsteen. Nice."
"Just promise me you won't start singing."
"Are you offended by my voice?"
"I like working for you, boss, so I can't answer that." She laughed, and Mathew was thrilled to finally hear it. She'd had a rough couple of weeks herself.
"Scalpel."
With a rustle of a paper gown, Becca passed a clean one to him. Mathew never felt anything for her beyond platonic respect, even before she'd gotten married.
"How's Brad handling things?"
The scalpel transected the swollen tissue—of which he steadied himself for. Mathew genuinely cared about how she and Brad were doing after their loss. Her rusty red curls were bunched under a bright-patterned hairnet and a paper mask covered her mouth and nose, leaving only her almond shaped eyes squinting at him in frustration.
"I wouldn't know."
Mathew picked up a tinge of sadness in her tone, and he felt terrible for her. Becca had lost her baby a couple weeks ago, and he knew she was hanging by a thread. But now she and Brad were having problems too? He wanted to give her a hug…and a beer.
"Oh. Are you okay? If you need time off, just say the word."
She kept her eyes on the procedure while her paper mask bounced over her words. "Thanks for your concern, doc, but I'd rather work."
"Forceps." He held out his palm. She handed him the scissor-shaped tool, and he removed the dingy brown sock. The pungent fabric wad dangled in the air.
"It's half his size. Snoopy, dude, just no." He dropped the unfortunate chew toy onto the tray, and Becca switched off the suction.
"I'm not a therapist"—Mathew inspected the opening for abrasions and other obstructions—"but I can't see how that's possible."
"Good thing you aren't my therapist. She's helpful." Becca kept her tone light, but Mathew could tell she was annoyed.
Mathew chuckled. "I suppose I'm in the right line of work then."
"You are a good vet, doc."
He stitched up the layers of the hole in the intestine with absorbable suture thread and stuffed the tissue back inside the cavity. "But, I think you should take some time off. In fact"—his voice got louder as if a brilliant idea just struck him—"I don't have a release form signed by your doctor."
The woman needed to grieve. Why did she fight it so hard? Mathew threaded a sterile needed with more suture thread. Becca pressed the edges of the skin together.
"I'll get one on my lunch break." Then she mumbled, "Now I know what April always grumbled about."
"Excuse me?"
"Nothing. Sorry I said anything." Her voice was thick, and she sniffled.
Oh, damn. What did he say wrong? Mathew slowly released a deep breath and inserted the needle, while she still held the skin closed.
"I'm only trying to help."
She snorted to clear her sinuses. "I don't want help. I just want to work. Can't you understand that?"
He let April's initial missing status slide for a while knowing she was in the process of moving—after all, he told her to get a life, but the radio silence since then had made him nervous. Working helped keep his mind level, so he wouldn't dwell on it all day. It just kept popping into his head about every hour.
"Yeah, I can."
The police were no help, giving him a line about not enough time passing at first, and on later visits, her voluntarily leaving. Every day he talked himself out of returning to the police department. He didn't need to get himself arrested by causing a scene. That would only worsen his problems.
Mathew closed the pup's skin in a neat row. "Can you take Snoopy to recovery? I'll finish up in here." He tried to imagine the little furball Havanese swallowing that size sock and couldn't do it. With surgeries completed for the day, Becca cleaned up while Mathew spent the next couple minutes choosing procedures and supplies for the pup's bill, and Mathew dreaded that postsurgical update call. Mr. Van Gruden was not going to be happy.
"Becca, when you're done. Take lunch."
His assistant nodded, ungowned, and left, the door clicking shut behind her. The deafening silence was only broken by the autoclave humming behind him, the final warrior on the battlefield.