You sure do know how to treat the help, Jack,” Gage said as Jackie walked into the necropsy lab.
The tomboy in Jackie rather liked it when Gage called her Jack, but his tone warned that a lecture was brewing. After hours of retching on the trip out to the Farallons and a difficult rescue, she wasn’t in any mood for a lecture.
“We’d never have gotten that whale off the beach without Alex,” he said as he opened the freezer that held the animal serum and tissue samples. “You didn’t have to bite the guy’s head off.”
“He tried to overhand me up the cliff.” She laid her scalpels out onto a steel tray, lining them up according to blade size, largest to smallest. “Only an idiot would try that. He wasn’t roped in—we could’ve both gone over.”
“He’s no rock climber—he couldn’t have known it was a dangerous move.” Gage huffed out an exasperated breath. “He saw you go down when the whale thrashed you. You scared the bejeezus out of me, and I know you.” When she didn’t reply, he took the tray from her and thumped it down on the necropsy table. “We need more help. He called this morning. I think he’s interested in volunteering.”
Deal now or deal later, that’s how it always went with Gage. She pulled her tray back and began to re-sort her scalpels.
“He’s another rich dilettante—you saw how he was dressed.” Gage lifted his hand as if to protest, but she cut him off. “He’ll hang around for a week or maybe two. We don’t have time for that, not again. At least I don’t.”
The truth was, both times she’d been near the man he’d triggered feelings she’d worked three long years to forget, feelings she didn’t need to deal with right now. Maybe never. And she felt deep suspicion at his turning up out of the blue twice in less than two weeks. The first time could’ve been innocent, but the second surely wasn’t coincidence.
Gage shot her a glare that she was sure stopped his hockey buddies mid-ice. She didn’t see it often.
“Someday you’re going to have to rethink your knee-jerk wariness to men, boss. Alex is a good guy.”
She wished she were as optimistic about people as Gage was, but she wasn’t. And he was right—she was leery of men, especially men who made her pulse jump in ways she couldn’t control.
Gage stood there with that look, the big-eyed, near-pleading look that’d made her hire him in the first place. Well, that and the fact that he’d had the best credentials she’d seen in ten years.
She shook her head. “That’d be my version of a polite no-thank-you,” she said, ignoring his crossed arms and puffed-up stance. “Or is it too early in the morning for such subtle information to register in your brain?”
Gage cracked a lopsided grin. “I see we did our joy and happiness meditation this morning.”
Turning away, she opened the steel cabinet beside her and drew out a saw.
“Was it something I said?” Gage smiled, pointing to the sharp blade she brandished.
“It’s always something you say.” Ignoring his attempt at levity, she turned to the first sea lion on the table. She hated when it was a pup, hated to see life snuffed out so early.
She lifted the saw. Pain laced through her arm and she doubled over.
“You should have that X-rayed,” Gage said. He picked up the saw that she’d dropped to the floor.
“I’m fine. Just a bruise.”
“Information is better than guessing,” he said, feeding one of her pat lines back to her.
She didn’t want to know. She should’ve known better than to lasso a live whale. She smiled to herself. She had known better; she just hadn’t been ready to let the whale die. A banged-up arm was a small price to pay. But she shouldn’t have made the trip to the Farallons today. The rope sling that hauled her from the boat up to the cliff on the island hadn’t done her arm any favors. But they’d pulled in the fur seal the Coast Guard had called about. If her estimate was right, the stitches would heal and the animal would be back in the ocean within a week.
“I can finish up here,” Gage offered. “Take a break. But before you go out there”—he nodded toward the volunteers feeding animals in the pens across the lot—“you should know that they’re upset that you put Scrappy down.”
“Heads-up duly noted and appreciated,” she said, shaking her head.
Euthanizing animals was the toughest part of her job. If she let herself feel too much, she’d have a hard time doing it, making the right decisions. Feelings and facts didn’t always coincide; she’d stick with the facts.
She’d given Scrappy his best chance, had rewired his jaw. It didn’t take. She’d rather have put down the fisherman who shot the little sea lion—it was a good thing they hadn’t found out who’d done it.
She took the saw from him and replaced it in the cabinet. They both could use a break from the heavier work. She pulled a glass slide off the stack on the windowsill and motioned to the jar of fixative. “Let’s finish up six more tissue samples and then we can regroup.”
Gage let out a frustrated breath.
“Hey, the day crew’s making pizza for lunch,” she said, giving him a smile that she wished wasn’t wavering. “That prospect alone should cheer you.”