Warm Nights in Magnolia Bay by Babette Jongh (best summer books .TXT) 📗

entire multispecies crowd of needy creatures, including the battered cat he held in his arms.

He paused in the bedroom’s open doorway. He could see Abby bundled up under the covers despite the muggy warmth of the Louisiana night. “Abby. Wake up.”

She didn’t move. Her deep breaths were audible, just shy of actually snoring.

“Abby!” He didn’t want to alarm her, but hell, maybe he did. This was a veterinary emergency, after all. Griffin, the hefty toolbox pisser, was way too limp and passive in his arms. “Wake up. We have a problem.”

Abby stirred, rolled over, and made a quiet huffing sound before settling down again.

“Abby.” Quinn made sure his voice was as deep and booming as he could make it. “Wake the fuck up.”

“Huh?” Abby sat up, and, no doubt seeing his shadow looming in the bedroom doorway, screamed.

“It’s me, Quinn.” He flicked on the bedroom light. “Get up. We have a problem.”

Chapter 12

Abby flung the covers back. The sudden flare of the bedroom light half blinded her. “What’s wrong?”

“You just slept through a damn poolside turf war.”

“What?” She sat on the edge of the bed and pushed the hair out of her eyes. She’d been sleeping so deeply that her whole body buzzed with the shock of waking up. “I slept through what?”

“Look,” Quinn commanded.

She did, and… “Oh, my God, Griffie! What happened?” She grabbed the scooter’s handlebars and hurried toward Quinn. The cat was lying limp in Quinn’s arms, torn and bleeding, eyes half-closed, tongue hanging out. “What happened,” she screeched, one-hundred-percent awake now. She reached out to stroke Griff’s head, but couldn’t find a spot to touch that wasn’t bleeding.

“He was fighting a bunch of raccoons on the patio. I heard Georgia barking.”

“Oh, no. Why would—” She stopped. She knew why. The raccoons had come to eat the dog food she’d left out for the stray, and Griffin had been defending his territory.

“Some of the other cats were involved, too, but he’s the only one I saw. Hopefully, everyone else is okay.” Quinn paused. “Or okay enough.”

“Shit.” This was all her fault, and with her damn self tied to a damn scooter, there was just about nothing she could do about it. “He’s in shock, and hurt too badly for Band-Aids and Neosporin to do any good.”

She sat on the scooter’s seat and called Mack’s cell phone. He answered, sounding groggy. She explained the situation, and he agreed to meet them at the vet’s office in fifteen minutes. “Okay,” she said to Quinn. “Give him to me. You’ll have to get a crate from the laundry room and line it with towels.”

Twenty minutes later, they pulled up in front of the vet’s office. The lights were on, and the front door stood open a crack. Quinn grabbed the carrier and rushed up the steps, then looked back at Abby—he’d forgotten her handicap.

“Go,” she ordered. “I’ll use the wheelchair ramp and catch up with you.” When she came in, the bell that hung from the doorknob jangled, and Mack called out. “Lock that door, then come on back.”

Though the waiting area had been dusty the last time Abby was in the clinic, the surgical room gleamed with shiny silver everything and smelled faintly of Clorox. Mack wore jeans and a wrinkled green scrub top, and his dark-brown hair stood up on one side. He had clearly rolled out of bed and come straight to the office, but he already wore a pair of surgical gloves and had assembled a tray of sharp objects and other frightening veterinary paraphernalia.

Griffin lay on a big, silver operating table, his mangled body illuminated by a bright adjustable lamp above the table.

“Y’all want to stay and help?”

“Um.” Abby looked down at the cat’s bloody gashes, and a spotty haze started to close in on her. She gulped. “I think I might wait outside, if that’s okay.”

Mack shrugged. “I don’t want to be picking you up off the floor, so yes, it’s fine.”

Quinn wrapped his arms around her and held her close. “Are you okay? Do you need me to take you out to the car? Or take you home? Tell me what you need.”

She burrowed into his warmth. Wrapped her arms around his waist. Held on to his solid strength. “I’m okay.”

He squeezed her tight. “Can you make it back to the waiting room?”

She made herself pull away. “Yes.” She scrubbed her face with her shaking hands, though there were no tears to wipe away. “I’m fine. I’ll be fine. If you can stay, I’ll wait.”

He stepped closer and tucked a wild strand of hair behind her ear. “You sure?”

Not at all sure but determined not to be a wimp, she nodded and stepped back, gripping the handlebars of the scooter. “I’m sure. I’ll go to the waiting room and text Reva.” She turned and left the room, glad for Mack and Quinn’s ironclad stomachs and compassionate resolve.

“I’ll stay,” she heard Quinn volunteer.

“Great, thanks,” Mack said. “They sure got him good, didn’t they?”

She didn’t hear Quinn’s response; she had already scootered halfway down the hall, headed for the dusty waiting room. She almost fell off the scooter when her cell phone buzzed in her back pocket. For a split second, she imagined that a big, hairy raccoon had come up behind her and taken a swipe at her butt. She stopped near the receptionist’s desk, pulled the phone from her pocket, and looked at the screen. Aunt Reva, of course. Calling after midnight—no doubt because she’d had a disturbing dream about raccoons.

“Hey, Aunt Reva.”

“What’s going on? I was dead asleep and woke up thinking I heard cats fighting. I think it was just a dream, but I can’t shake the feeling that something bad has happened. I called the house phone, and…well, as you know, you didn’t answer. What’s happening? Who’s hurt? Are you okay?”

“Griffin had an altercation with a raccoon.” No way was Abby going to tell Reva about her broken foot in the same phone call as this horrible news. “We’re