Can't Touch This (Can't Touch This #1)

“Don’t talk to me. Don’t touch me. Don’t do anything but stand there. Let me get this over with, make sure they’re okay, and then we’ll finish the flirting another day when I’m not swimming in mucus.”

“You say the hottest things.” He laughed quietly but did as he was told, fading into the background.

I shut everything off apart from the stored medical education in my head and grabbed a few syringes to flush out the Chiweenie’s eyes before assessing what medical drops to administer for their conjunctivitis.

I also pulled out a small infant bathtub that I’d bought from Bouncing Beautiful Babies (could they pick a cheesier business name?) and turned on the tap for warm water. The sound of splashing caused two terrified pairs of black eyes to lock on me.

One Chiweenie whined in fear.

I hated when this happened. When caring and making them better caused them horror.

I swallowed back the terrible scratch in my throat, ready to console them. “It’s okay, poppets. It’s not going to hurt you.” I sneezed again, sounding more and more like a wicked witch than a soothing vet.

Ryder bent over and placed his forearms on either side of them, caging them in and giving them a safe haven to huddle under. His murmur was as delicate as velvet. “It’s all right, Corn. You’ll be fine, Chip. Just a little bath to make you feel better. Trust me, okay?”

He tickled under the chin of the closest one who’d pressed against his arm, seeking salvation. “Remember the long drive together? I didn’t let anything happen to you, did I? I even shared my lunch with you.”

While I poured antiseptic shampoo into the warm water and did my best to stop my teeth chattering as more chills made me break out in a cold sweat, I said, “Please tell me you didn’t call them Corn and Chip because you gave them pieces of corn chips.”

He gasped in fake horror. “However did you get that conclusion?”

“You know human food is bad for dogs.”

“Correction. I know chocolate is bad. Everything else, they’re omnivores—just like us. Besides, they’ve just been through hell. I think cutting them some slack and letting them eat a few nacho corn chips isn’t gonna kill them.”

“Famous last words,” I muttered as small suds formed in the bath. “I’ll report you if I smell cheese on their breath.”

He ducked conspiratorially over the Chiweenies. “Don’t tell her our secret, guys. Otherwise, she’ll take you away from me.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” I plucked the smaller of the two from his embrace. “Don’t be so dramatic.”

I sneezed again.

The poor dog yelped.

Ryder quickly stole him from me and pushed me away a little. “How about you just rest up, sicky? Let me give this pooch a bath.”

“But you don’t know what you’re doing.”

“It’s not rocket science. I’ve washed a dog before, you know.”

My head pounded and every reserve I had left evaporated. “Fine. You do that one and I’ll do this one.” Picking up the last trembling nugget, we both lowered them slowly into the water, murmuring nothingness as they yelped before finally relaxing enough for us to scrub the filth from their fur and make sure there were no open sores.

Ryder and I didn’t talk, focusing entirely on helping Corn and Chip.

The water turned brown, and we placed the drenched pups back onto the towel to change the water. Once fresh warmth was supplied, we rinsed them off, then rubbed them down as best we could.

I didn’t want them to get a chill.

Apart from a few cuts on one of the Chiweenies’ legs and the gunky eyes, they weren’t too bad. I applied topical disinfectant to the wounds, administered eye drops which would start the course of three times a day, and finally took a deep breath as my heart laboured to keep me standing while fever and flu ravaged my insides.

I need to go home.

Stat.

“Okay then.” I coughed. “They should be all right for now. Give them a few days to get over the shock and then bring them in again and we’ll gather some blood and check their dental and claws.”

“Wait, you don’t want to do that tonight?”