Read The Kiss on Castle Road (A Lavender Island Novel) for Free Online

thought you might want to take a look at him first.”
    He did. Jim was great about letting Elliott view everything as a scientist, which most centers didn’t. The results were inconsistent and confusing: Mr. Warbler had seemed as if he was suffering from leptospirosis, but now a seizure indicated domoic acid poisoning; the three pups that came in last night—Larry, Curly, and Moe—were not fluttering their flippers over their midsections in the manner expected of an animal with leptospirosis. They were exhibiting dehydration, similar to the frightening number of sea lion pups that had been washing up on California coasts since March. It was only April, and they were already showing record numbers.
    “Thanks for letting me take a look.” Elliott jotted everything down on his notepad, then turned the gurney with Jim and they both rushed Mr. Warbler down the hall. On the way, Elliott almost ran right into the Colonel, whose five-foot-five frame lingered near the doorway. He wrung his gloved hands, waiting to assist with the gurney. He was one of the center’s oldest volunteers at ninety-five—a veteran of World War II who’d lived on the island since the 1940s. He looked as if the wind could blow him over at any second, but he was still strangely intimidating and smart as a whip.
    “Sorry Jim had to interrupt you out there,” the Colonel’s gravelly voice drawled. “We didn’t know you had such pretty friends.”
    “She’s not a friend.”
    “Doris said she was.”
    Elliott blinked. “How did Doris get in here and already say that ?”
    “She came gallivanting up here and told us. We were watching you through the window.”
    They pulled the gurney into place, and everyone grabbed a pair of gloves.
    “Sorry, Sherm,” Jim said, snapping his on. “I don’t mean to be such a lousy wingman. I was planning on being better at setting you up than my wife.”
    Elliott waved off the apology and helped Jim and the Colonel contain Mr. Warbler from his seizure. He took a few more quick notes as Jim drew blood. The three of them held Mr. Warbler down while Jim gave him injections of antiseizure medication. It didn’t work for all the sea lions—about half still died—but it worked on many. It was the best they could do until they figured this out.
    Elliott left his hand on the sea lion’s fur as the seizures slowly subsided, offering gentle strokes. He was going to have to work faster.
    And stay focused. And stop chasing model-looking women like Natalie Grant down brick walkways.
    He was embarrassed he’d told Doris he “knew” her. He simply hoped to know her. He’d hoped she’d return to see the sea lions she’d helped rescue. And when he’d seen her from the window, he’d thought for a second she was some kind of mirage, with her stylish, funky clothes; her braid shimmering in the sunlight; and the menswear fedora that reminded him of something he might wear from the box of hats his granddad had given him.
    But he’d been his usual lame self and had bored her away.
    Story of his life.
    When the animal finally calmed and drifted into a tranquilized state, Elliott helped Jim and the Colonel move Mr. Warbler back to the recovery room.
    “Do you think he’s going to be okay?” the Colonel asked, tugging off his gloves.
    It was always interesting to see what types of people became attached to the marine mammals. The Colonel was a sharp-tongued, martini-drinking, orders-spitting man, who’d probably been a hard-ass in World War II, but he’d become attached, for whatever reason, to Mr. Warbler, along with several other mammals at the center. He spent every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday there with other senior volunteers, like Doris and Marie and George.
    “I think so,” Elliott finally assured him, slowing a little with the gurney so the Colonel could keep up. Mr. Warbler was completely tranquilized now.
    The Colonel gave a sharp nod and seemed to slip back into colonel mode. “She’s pretty,” he