“Furthermore,” Juniper continued, her voice taking on an official tone, “it’d be best to just leave him alone—maybe in a dark, quiet place. Or turn on some Bob Marley tunes for him, set him out a plate of treats, and wait it out. No worries, he’ll be back to normal in no time.”
Before Maggie could even get a giggle in at that, the swinging door behind the reception desk flung open, and a man—obviously the doctor—stood there. He was tall, wearing dark-blue scrubs, but she couldn’t see much more than his rumpled hair and dark eyes. He wore a face mask and plastic gloves all the way up to his elbows, and he held a small wiggling cat in his hands.
“Are you Maggie Dalton?” he said, his eyes darting around the room to ensure no one else answered. He looked quite panicked.
Maggie stood. “Yes. Is everything okay?”
He gestured for her to follow and led her through the doors into an examination room. Woodrow stayed at her heels, then sat in the corner she pointed to. The sight of the cat didn’t even phase him, and he didn’t break focus.
The doctor used his foot to close the door behind her and then practically dropped the cat into her arms.
“I—what do you want me to do?” she asked, looking down at the wriggling kitten. It was a calico of dark colors, but she saw that much of its hair appeared to be gone in patches across its body.
“This cat is suffering from some sort of contagious condition, but it’s different from any I’ve seen. Just hold it while I look through my book.” He turned his back to her and opened a cupboard above the sink, taking a huge textbook from it. He set it on the counter and began thumbing through the pages.
Maggie held the cat firmly, but as she stared down at it, she wished she had put her long hair up before coming. Now it was like a curtain, impossible to keep from falling over and around the cat.
She felt confused because she’d thought she was only coming to an interview. Did he want her to prove she could assist? And why had he given her the cat to hold without giving her gloves first? She felt her skin crawl, sure something was creeping off the cat, onto her hands, and up the stands of her hair, ready to burrow into her scalp and make camp.
“Shouldn’t I have some gloves?” she asked, feeling self-conscious.
He waved a hand in the air, dismissing her concern. He didn’t look up from the book, though he mumbled a response.
“Too late for that, but you can wash up when we put her back in her cage.”
Maggie didn’t reply. Over the years, the office she’d worked for had seen more than its fair share of pets with hair loss. Gloving up was the very first prevention method, and one even the greenest vet student would follow. On that note, where was the doctor’s normal handler? Or his temporary vet tech? What kind of place was this Dr. Starr running?
Her thoughts ran rampant while he spent the next two minutes flipping through the book.
The cat fought to get loose, but Maggie held tight, cringing at the vision of its body now totally pressed against her middle, contaminating her clothing along with her skin. She planned to burn the shirt when she got home, and Liam was going to pay to replace it.
The door burst open and a tiny elderly woman stepped in, looking around until she noticed the cat.
“Well, I’ll be,” she said, closing in on Maggie’s personal space. “Joe, I was looking for this little one. Why’d you bring her in here?”
The doctor turned and lowered the mask. He was grinning ear to ear.
“Mother, haven’t I told you not to interrupt when the door is closed?” he said, tilting his head and giving her a reprimanding look.
The woman narrowed her eyes, looking from him to Maggie, then back to the cat.
“Joseph Michael Starr,” she said slowly. “Is this what I think it is?”
The doctor’s laughter rumbled, and the woman stepped over to him, taking the skin on his arm in what appeared to be a painful pinch. Suddenly he went from a focused doctor to a chastised little boy in 2.4 seconds.
“This is Miss Dalton, isn’t it?” She looked at Maggie. “Joe! I told you to be nice—we need her. Do you think your little pranks are going to make her want to take the job?”
Maggie felt dizzy. “Pranks?”
The old woman stepped closer and took the cat from her, snuggling the cat and cooing to her a minute before looking up at Maggie. “This is Princess. Her five-year-old child companion decided to give her a haircut with her kindergarten scissors. The mom doesn’t trust the grooming places, so she brought her here for us to even it up.”
Maggie looked at the doctor for confirmation to help clear the confusion.
“Just a little warm-up joke,” he said. “To break the ice, you know?”
Maggie’s face flamed with embarrassment. She’d thought for sure the cat had ringworm and possibly even mange. Now she didn’t know whether to feel relief or be mad at being the butt of his joke.
“I’m Francine,” the woman said. “And if you come to work for us, I promise that at least for a little while, I’ll keep Joe here in check. After that, you’re just going to have to outwit him, which shouldn’t be too hard.”
With that she—and the patchy cat—disappeared and left Maggie standing there, looking like an idiot as the doctor watched her reaction, his face still holding a tiny smile.
“Come on, let’s go to my office,” he said. “I’ll try to act like a grown-up.”
She and Woodrow followed him and she noticed right away that though the lobby was mostly utilitarian, the furniture in the office showed some personality.
He sat in the chair behind the desk, and Maggie slid her résumé in front of him.
“Nice dog you got there,” he said, watching as Woodrow settled into the small space under Maggie’s chair.
“Thank you.”
“Look, I’m really sorry about that little test, but I’m impressed at how cool you kept it,” he said, grinning once more before turning his attention to the paper. “This place is a zoo even on a good day, and while we all take our jobs seriously, we try to have a little fun every now and then. Otherwise, you go crazy, or so I’ve heard . . .”
She studied him. Now that the mask was gone, she could see he was in his midthirties or so. He had a young face, even with the series of laugh lines around his eyes. At least she knew where those came from, if the first ten minutes of their meeting was any indication of his usual behavior.
Finally he looked up.
“Thank you, Dr. Starr, for bringing me in today,” Maggie said.
“Call me Joe. And you don’t have to thank me. Liam has become a friend of mine. He told me you could use some loosening up. So really, you can blame him for the mange scare.”
Maggie didn’t reply. She wasn’t too thrilled that Liam was telling people—her potential new employer, no less—that she needed loosening up.
“So why did you want to become a vet tech?” he asked, his eyes still on her résumé.
“Originally I wanted to be a vet. Not a tech,” Maggie said. “I really don’t know why. Don’t all kids want to be a veterinarian when they grow up?” She was glad to turn the subject to anything other than her sense of humor, or apparent lack thereof.