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After sundown, the park was quiet, virtually deserted apart from a few employees wrapping up last minute details before the end of their shift. But I was pinned by a triceratops baby in quarantine, listening to her rattling breathing.
She had to be separated from her mother to prevent infection from spreading and the abandonment made her restless and fussy. She shoved her nose beneath my elbow as I draped wet towels over her back. Cold water slid down her skin and trickled into my already soaked lap.
A knock echoed on the metal bars of the cage. I turned to see Owen Grady standing at the open door. I had seen him in passing at the park a few times but I worked with herbivores, he worked with raptors and our paths didn’t cross very often.
“Everything okay in here?” he said. “I saw the light was on. Thought you would have gone home by now.”
I shook my head and patted the triceratops on her forehead. She squirmed on my lap, elbowing me in the gut as she searched for a more comfortable position.
“I’m spending the night with her,” I said. “She’s got a flu. High fever. Wet lungs. The whole nine yards.”
I ducked my head to hide the concern that must have been evident in my eyes. Owen frowned and stepped into the cage.
“I heard something was going around,” he said. “My raptors haven’t caught it, thank God for that. Is she on any meds?”
“Three. Non-responsive to all of them.”
Owen swore under his breath, his mouth set in a grim line.
“I know,” I said. “It’s not looking good.”
Owen paused, his elbows resting on his knees, as he studied the triceratops for a moment. Then he settled in beside me, his back to the wall, his shoulder pressed against mine.
“What are you doing?” I said.
“It’ll be easier on both of you if we work in shifts to keep her cool.”
The triceratops raised her head with a pitiful whine and butted her head against my chest so hard that she squished me against the wall. I wrapped an arm over her neck, scratching beneath her chin and her whines tapered off to whimpers.
“You don’t have to do that,” I said. “She’s my responsibility.”
Owen shrugged. “At some point, you’ll lose circulation to your legs with her sitting on you like that. Might need some help then.”
His gaze shifted away from the triceratops and up to my face. I saw it there in his eyes, what he wasn’t saying.
I know you’re scared. You don’t have to do this alone.
I nodded and shifted to make room for him, grateful for the company.
***
I don’t remember falling asleep, my arms draped over the triceratops’ back, my forehead resting against her side.
Owen placed his hand on the back of my neck, his breath brushing my hair as he whispered my name.
“Switch places with me,” he said. “Let me work with her for a while.”
I raised my head, rubbed a hand over my face and blinked the haze of sleep away. I pushed at the triceratops’ bulky body and slid my legs out from under her. I couldn’t feel my toes and my legs were tingling with pins and needles so I crawled to the side.
Owen stepped over me to take my position but the triceratops wouldn’t budge for him. She kept her feet tucked underneath her, head lolled to the side on the sawdust floor of her cage. My heart stuttered in my chest and I touched her cheek.
“She’s getting worse,” I said, my voice cracking.
Owen’s hand cupped the back of my head as he crouched down to look me in the eye.
“Don’t count her out yet. She’s still holding on.”
I swallowed the sickness in my throat and nodded. Owen sat between me and the triceratops, dunking towels in the bucket, wringing them out and draping them over her back. His shirt grew damp from sweat and water, clinging to his chest.
I hooked a hand into the crook of his elbow, taking comfort from the fact that I could tell he was just as concerned over my baby’s well being as I was.
Without breaking his rhythm - towel in the bucket, squeeze, spread it across the triceratops’ back - he pulled his arm out of my hold just enough to take my hand in an iron grip of reassurance.
***
The glare of morning light made me grimace and turn my face into a softly clothed shoulder. I opened my eyes to find my arm draped over Owen’s middle, the full length of my torso tucked into his side, and my head on his chest.
Owen had his arm hooked loosely over the triceratops’ neck, his head tipped back against the wall. I reached out and placed my hand against the triceratops’ nose.
Cool, dry skin. Not overheated or cracked as it had been for days.
“Her fever broke about two hours ago,” Owen said, his eyes still closed, his voice raspy from exhaustion.
Heat flushed my face at the realization that he’d been awake after I’d been pressed up against him like that. I sat up, my back turned to him, busying myself with checking the triceratops’ vital signs.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I said.
“You were finally asleep.”
A pause settled over the cage as I listened to the triceratops’ heartbeat, listening to her breathing, now steady and even instead of ragged and wet like it had been the night before.
“She’s a little dehydrated,” I said. “She’ll need some electrolytes.”
Owen hooked a finger into my belt loop with a tug.
“In a minute,” he said. “Let her rest.”
I sat back on my heels, my hands on top of my thighs, listless without anything to do and still hyper aware of the remnants of Owen’s body heat lingering on my skin.
Owen’s hand settled at my back, feather light and barely there, as if he expected me to bolt at any moment. But I remained where I was, not daring to breathe in case I shattered what was so carefully taking shape.
Owen slid his hand over my hip, curved over my waist.
But before he could speak, a clang of metal echoed in the silence followed by the banter of voices. Employees were arriving to start the day’s work.
Owen let his hand fall and I bit the inside of my cheek at the chilled air that settled where the feverish heat of his skin had been.
“I should get going,” he said, rising to his feet.
I scrambled to stand too, eager to return my focus to my job. But as Owen stepped out of the cage, I pressed my eyes shut to brace myself.
“Owen,” I said.
He stopped and half turned towards me. I placed a hand on his arm, rose up on tiptoe and kissed his cheek.
“Thank you,” I said.
Owen’s hand came to rest on my hip with a squeeze. He shifted closer, his forehead pressed to mine, nuzzling at my temple.
“No problem,” he said, his voice barely more than a breath. “We could…grab a drink tonight. If you want. To celebrate.”
I bit the inside of my cheek to hide a smile. “Did you help me just to ask me out?”
Owen hummed. “Maybe.”
“Took you long enough.”
He pulled away to look at me and his eyebrows shot up with a pleasantly surprised expression. I laughed softly and planted a light, teasing kiss at the corner of his mouth.
As I drew back, prepared to retreat to the cage again, Owen cupped my cheek in his hand to keep me close.
I pushed up onto my toes as far as I could to kiss him properly. He wrapped an arm around my waist, bringing me flush against him as his teeth grazed my bottom lip, his tongue pressing my mouth open with slick wet heat.
I dropped to the flat of my feet again, sucking in a breath, one hand curled into his shirt, the other around the back of his neck, unwilling to release him just yet. His chin brushed my forehead with the sandpaper scrape of stubble as he kissed the top of my head.
“Pick you up at eight?” he said.
I smiled against the collar of his shirt, nosing at the hollow of his throat.
“Only if we continue from where we left off.”
“Sounds good to me.”