Page 42 of River Wild

Carrie

It’s one thirty in the morning, according to the clock on the dashboard in River’s truck, and Selena Gomez’s “Only You” is playing quietly from the radio while we drive back from the veterinary clinic.

Buddy—that’s what I named the dog because they needed one to register him at the vet—is sitting in my lap, looking a lot better than he did when I took him there. The vet had the nurse give him a bath before he treated him for fleas. He said he didn’t appear to have them but better to have the treatment than not. Apparently, the treatment keeps him free of fleas for a month, and then I’m to treat him again. He also gave him an injection, which the dog wasn’t too happy about. Can’t blame him really.

The vet assured me that, aside from being a little underweight, Buddy is just fine.

I bought some dog food from the vet and also a bunch of other things that Buddy will need.

So, now, I officially have a dog.

And he’s the cutest dog ever.

I always thought it would be nice to have a dog. I couldn’t have one while growing up in foster homes. And Neil hates dogs.

It makes me happy that I can give my baby this. A home and a dog.

Sounds so simple when I put it like that. But, sometimes, it’s the simplest of things that matter most.

River reaches over and cuts the radio. I was enjoying the song, but I don’t say anything.

River waited at the clinic the whole time I was in with Buddy. When I came out of the examination room, I was surprised to see him sitting there.

We hadn’t talked about him giving me a ride home, and I figured I’d inconvenienced him enough by having him bring me out in the first place.

And I realize that I haven’t thanked him either.

“Thank you for the ride to the vet and for waiting for us and giving us a ride home.”

“Well, I couldn’t exactly just leave you there,” he grunts.

Yes, you could have.But I don’t point that out.

Silence, and then, “So, you’re keeping the mutt then.”

“Don’t call him that.” I frown. “His name is Buddy. And of course I’m keeping him.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“What?” I stare over at him, aghast. “I’m an idiot for keeping a harmless little dog who has nowhere to live? Well, if that determines an idiot, then I’ll happily be one.”

He glances at me, one of those angry brows raised. “You’re an idiot for paying the prices you paid for all the shit you bought for the mutt,” he says slowly. “You could’ve gotten all that shit from the supermarket for half the price.”

“Oh. Well, the supermarket isn’t open right now, and he needed these things.”

“He needs a coat? Right now?” He glances over at my feet where the coat among Buddy’s other things sit.

“Yes. He might get cold.”

He looks at the temperature gauge in the car and then to me.

It’s currently sixty-five degrees.

“Fine. He won’t get cold right now. But he might get cold at some point.”

“He has fur, Red. That’s what it’s there for. And you do realize that you live in Texas.”

“Okay, so he might not need the coat, but it’s cute.” It’s pale blue with little pictures of doggie bones on it. “Anyway, it’s always good to have things just in case of emergency. You know, in case it rains when I’m out walking him. It does rain in Texas.”