The Vet from Snowy River by Stella Quinn

CHAPTER

39

Who knew quilting could be so cathartic?

Vera had stitched her way through the long hours of the night, waiting in dread for her phone to ring with the terrible news.

But the phone didn’t ring.

Not until dawn, anyway, and when she answered, it was Hannah on the other end.

‘Daisy’s awake. She’s weak, but she’s accepted water and managed to muster up enough energy to sink her canine tooth into my little finger.’

‘Oh, thank heavens.’

‘It’s fine,’ said Hannah. ‘I didn’t need that finger.’

‘So you think … she’s going to make it?’

‘Let’s take this day by day, Vera. But’—she wasn’t imagining the smile in Hannah’s voice, was she?—‘early signs are promising.’

‘And the kittens?’

They’d let her hold the two speckled kittens for a few minutes, before Graeme had driven her home and ordered her to bed. They were so new, and their mother cat so fragile, they would need rigorous care when they were released from the clinic.

A few weeks ago she would have baulked at the prospect of taking on that role, but now, the thought of having a little family to care for warmed her.

Hanrahan had changed her.

Hanrahan had given her back her hope for a rosier future.

‘The kittens are as pretty and perfect as they were last night,’ Hannah said. ‘Get some rest, Vera. Me and Josh have got this.’

Vera set down the phone and ran her fingers over some crooked stitching where she’d placed a fabric square askew. In time gone by, she would have pulled that patch out and worried at it until its edges were aligned perfectly from north to south, but Marigold had taught her the value of a crooked stitch.

‘Leave it,’ she’d said often and again at craft group. ‘A few frazzled stitches are a sign that this is a homemade work of love, Vera. I adore this part of the quilt. The wonky bits are what make it personal.’

That, her need to be sure and precise and have her edges all tidy, had been the reason she’d pushed Josh away. She’d sworn to herself that her days of making dumb decisions were over; but what she hadn’t taken the time to see—or perhaps had been too hurt to see—was that Josh wasn’t a dumb choice.

He was a sunny, warm, joyous choice, and it was her turn now to open herself up to him and let him decide if he wanted to stick.

She’d made her decision. Court case or no, she loved him and if he was willing to ride out the rough track ahead by her side, she should stop trying to push him away.

She didn’t need to know all the answers anymore and—she took a deep breath—the relief of knowing that was enormous.

Josh’s resolute insistence on caring for her, despite her attempts to keep him at arm’s-length, had given her faith that she could trust in a happier future.

Daisy and her kittens, for instance … if she had to go to prison and the cats needed a foster home, she could worry about finding one then.

She reached for the pot of tea she’d made and poured herself a cup. Another hour of quilting while she daydreamed about kittens and new beginnings, then she’d better think about work. There were cakes to be made, ganache to be whipped, perhaps a new risotto recipe to try … and a kind man to reclaim as her own.

The knock on her door surprised her into slicing Jill’s ancient fabric scissors through the full thickness of the quilt and about half an inch into the flesh of her palm.

‘Ouch!’

Bloody hell. Now there’d be two wonky bits in her quilt. She wrapped a fabric scrap around her hand to staunch the bleeding and was halfway to the door before she realised the buzzer to the street door hadn’t sounded. So much for security. No doubt Mrs Butler on the ground floor was out of vanilla extract again. Or maybe it was Josh, come to give her an update on those tiny kittens (unlikely), or come to forgive her for being the world’s greatest fool (unlikelier still).

She glanced down. Her bathrobe was as modest as a nun’s habit, only fluffier and more pink, and nothing Mrs Butler or Josh hadn’t seen before.

She cracked the door open a few inches and found herself face to face with her nemesis, Aaron Finch.

‘How did you get in here? How did you find out where—’ she gasped. No matter. She didn’t need to know, she just needed him gone. She started to close the door but he held his hand up and forced it open.

‘I’ve had just about enough of you shutting doors in my face, Vera De Rossi.’