GARRETT HART
"Hey doctor, is the doggie gonna be okay?" Andie whispered as she knelt beside Garrett.
He gave the dog a comforting pat and stood, brushing straw and dirt off his pants.
"I'm not sure, Andie. She's very sick."
The little girl looked up at him with wide, blue eyes. "You're a doctor and doctors are supposed to make everything all right."
"Yes, but just because I'm a doctor, doesn't mean I can fix everything. I will do my very best to make her better, though."
"Mommy says that when you do your best, you should be proud and not sad, even if you don't win the Halloween costume contest and dumb ole Jacob Sanders wins just because he has fake blood on his chest."
Garrett blinked. "What?"
Andie smiled a sad little smile that made his heart contract. "Is she going to die?"
"I'll do everything I can to see that she doesn't."
She gazed solemnly at him. "Then I will be very proud of you, 'cause you did your best."
Garrett felt a strange emotion well within him. He realized that he wanted this little blue-eyed munchkin to be proud of him. The thought stunned him.
Why did he want the approval of a five-year-old girl? It was ridiculous. Yet she looked at him with such hope, such faith in her eyes, he didn't want to fail her.
"My daddy died," Andie said suddenly. "I was just a baby and I don't 'member him much. I think I would miss my daddy, if I 'membered him."
The words, spoken with the calm and logic of a small child, astounded Garrett. He fumbled for the right thing to say, but he was at a complete loss. Andie tugged on his pants.
"Mr. Dr. Garrett?"
He knelt beside her. "Yes?"
"I don't want Marabelle to die."
"Who's Marabelle?"
Andie pointed to the Irish setter. "She is. I named her after my best friend Marabelle who went to Kansas last summer. " She looked at him, her sky eyes serious. "She didn't die—she just moved."
"I … uh, I'm glad," Garrett said, reeling from Andie's constant conversation shifts. How did Natalie ever keep up with this child?
Andie sniffed and then rubbed her arm under her nose. Her eyes filled with tears. "I miss my friend Marabelle, and my costume was better than Jacob's and I don't want the doggie to die."
To Garrett's horror, her sniffles turned to sobs.
Panic engulfed him. What should he do?
Fortunately, Andie knew the answer—she threw her arms around his neck. The action unbalanced him and he fell backward onto his rear.
Andie didn't miss a beat. She curled up on his lap and proceeded to soak his shirt with big, wet tears. Okay. So far, so good. What should he do next? He reached an arm around her and awkwardly patted her back.
"Shhh," he said. "It's okay."
He relaxed his arm a bit as he patted. All right. This was easy. Just like a dog, he thought smugly. Children liked this kind of comfort just the same as animals did.
Andie's continued sobs, however, made him want to do more. He cautiously brought his other arm around. Maybe he could try a hug? Did little girls like hugs? Or was he just supposed to pat?
She seemed to like that. He patted her a few more times. God, didn't they have a manual somewhere about comforting children? He made a mental note to look at the library.
Andie's tears began to abate. She hiccupped a couple of times and then tightened her grip on his neck. His assumed this was the kid version of a hug, so he put his arms around her and squeezed.
She sniffled again then pulled away. "I like you, Dr. Garrett. Can you talk to the animals like Dr. Doolittle?"
"Like who?"
"You know, Dr. Doolittle. He can consecrate with the animals."
"Consecrate?'
Her little lips puckered. "Maybe that's consolidate. What do you do when you talk to someone only you use really big words?"
"Have a conversation? Discussion? Argument?"
She shook her head, and then she beamed. "I know! It's fumigate!"
Garrett's brain felt pickled. How had Andie gone from crying buckets to confusing him? He almost, but not quite, preferred her tears.
"Fumigate doesn't have much to do with talking," Garrett said. "Maybe you mean something else."
Her face fell and he wanted to kick himself. "I can't 'member big words," she said. "Guess my brain hasn't growed enough yet."
"Your brain is just fine," he said. "I have a thesaurus in the house. We'll look up 'talk' and try to find your word, okay?"
Her expression was one of amazement. "You have a dinosaur in your house? How does he fit? Is he little? Do you feed him people?"
He chuckled. "No. A thesaurus is a book that you can look up words and find more words that mean the same thing."
"Oh." She sounded disappointed.
"Garrett?" Natalie's concerned voice echoed through the barn.
He stood, Andie still clinging to his neck.
"Mike ran off into the trees and Andie..." Natalie trailed off as she approached them. An unreadable emotion flashed in her green eyes, and she cleared her throat. "I see you found Andie."
Andie giggled. "I didn't know I was losted."
Garrett shifted under the weight of Natalie's stare. "Where did you say Mike went?"
"Into the trees behind the barn."
"Here," he gave Andie to her mother and then dusted off his pants. "I've walked those woods several times, so I'll go look for him there. I'll meet you and the girls back at the house."
"I'll help you search," Natalie said, putting Andie down.
"There's not much area to cover and it'll go faster if I do it alone. There aren't very many places he can hide."
"But—"
"Mommy, I'm hungry."
"You should have finished your hamburger at lunch."
"Mommmmmy. I'm starving to death! I'll wilt like a lily if I don't get some food."
Garrett raised an eyebrow. "Wilt like a lily?"
"Melodrama—it's her forte."
"I have some sandwich fixings in the refrigerator. Why don't you make a quick snack and I'll be back with Mike before you have time to put mayonnaise on the bread." He smiled at her.
"Okay. But if you're not back in half an hour, you have to eat the bread heels."
"It's a deal."
They left the barn. Natalie and Andie headed to the house and Garrett jogged toward the forest.
Actually, the clumped together trees didn't really qualify for a forest, but they were dense enough for a boy to get lost in.