Carolyn McSparren - Listen to the Child

“Pups from tiny to giant,” Kit told her father over dinner Friday night.

“Can I see the puppies?” Emma asked. “I’d a lot rather see the puppies than spend the night with Daddy.”

“They’ve gone home, baby,” Kit said. “But the way things are happening, I suspect there’ll be plenty more. Seems like this is the season for babies. Dr. Carlyle says those three Brussels griffon puppies she delivered last week are worth at least a thousand dollars each and the Great Danes yesterday will sell for about eight hundred. The owners want good vets to deliver as many healthy babies as possible, not to mention saving the mother if she gets into trouble.”

After Emma reluctantly left to spend the night with her father, Kit sank into the wing chair in her living room opposite her father.

“So, you like this job?” Tom Barclay asked.

“Love it so far. Nice people, good hours, and nobody seems to mind that I can’t hear.”

“How about that Dr. Thorn who saved Kevlar? You work with him at all?”

“Good grief no, Dad. As a matter of fact, I seldom see him. He’s always in surgery with Nancy.” She moved uncomfortably in her chair.

“I’ve heard he has quite a reputation with the ladies.”

“Really?” Kit tried to sound casual.

“He dated the daughter of one of Catherine’s clients. She decorated his apartment.”

Kit shrugged. “He’s management, Dad, I’m definitely labor.”

“He’s not married. You ought to start thinking about dating again.”

Kit put up her hands. “Please, Dad. No men in my life ever, ever again. Jimmy gave me enough problems for a lifetime. Besides, I’m a deaf woman with a kid. Hardly marketable goods.”

“A good man wouldn’t care.”

“Find me a good man. So far I’ve come up empty.”

Her father stood and Kevlar jumped off Kit’s lap to stand beside him. “Your mother ought to be home from her meeting by now. See you at church on Sunday?”

“Maybe.” She kissed her father’s cheek and let him out the front door. As she watched him climb into his car, she said to Kevlar, “My father, the incurable romantic. The eye of an eagle. But he can’t possibly know Mac Thorn turns me on. Come on, Kev, let’s hit the treadmill.”

KIT FELT HIM before she turned and saw him. She didn’t react to other people that way. It wasn’t that she smelled him. She’d learned to identify the odor of her mother’s familiar perfume and her dad’s scent of wood chips and sawdust. She smelled Emma’s little-girl scent sometimes, but Mac Thorn didn’t have a discernible scent. No aftershave, not even that antiseptic odor that lingered around some of the doctors who’d treated her in the hospital.

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