The Dashing Doc Next Door
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Helen R. Myers
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Chapter One
“Humphrey? Here, sweetie. Nice dog. Time to come in now.”
Brooke Bellamy felt like a fool. How the heck did you convince a dog to return to its home when what it wanted wasn’t back there?
Although it was almost midnight, and only the first Tuesday in June, it was plenty warm already. Most sane—and lucky—people were in their air-conditioned houses, probably in bed. Brooke, however, was spending her third night in Sweet Springs, Texas, trying to make metaphorical lemonade out of lemons.
“Oh, no,” she moaned, upon coming to a new hole dug under the chain-link fence. She’d just spotted the evidence she most feared: her aunt Marsha’s beloved basset hound had escaped again!
On Sunday morning, seventy-year-old Marsha Newman had fallen in the shower and fractured her right hip. As soon as Brooke had gotten the news, she had packed a suitcase and raced from her house in Turtle Creek in Dallas to her aunt in Central East Texas to offer what assistance that she could. Never would she have dreamed that her life could turn upside down in such short order; life-changing upheaval had occurred not once but twice in a month. Then again, she also hadn’t expected it likely that the daughter of business tycoon Damon Bellamy would find herself unemployed!
“Humphrey!” she called in an urgent whisper. “Where are you? C’mon, boy. You’d better get back here before you get yourself run over,” she added. Actually, at this hour there wasn’t any traffic that she could see or hear, and this Cherokee County town, south of Tyler, only had a population of fewer than four thousand people; but the way her luck was going, she wasn’t taking any chances.
How long had she left the not-so-little tubular test on her patience in the backyard in order to take a shower in peace? Not more than ten minutes. Yet for someone who tended to move at the pace of an armadillo, Humphrey must have recognized this as a prime opportunity and had kicked his short legs into gear. Now he was out, and who knew where? Wearing only her sleep shirt, she wasn’t exactly dressed to go prowling through the neighborhood in search of the critter. But she would because, heaven forbid that, come morning, she had to return to the hospital to confess to Aunt Marsha that she’d lost her beloved companion of ten years.
Aiming her LED flashlight toward the double gate, she hurried to open it and check the driveway in case she could see muddy prints to give her new clues as to Humphrey’s whereabouts. Why she expected prints when it hadn’t rained in days, and she hadn’t yet had a chance to water, was testament to her fatigue and growing anxiety.
“Humphrey, sleepy time. Let’s go in and have a cookie.”
That coercion had worked Sunday night, the first time he’d snuck off, and a variation of it had been successful last night. Not this time, though. Humphrey was a fast learner, even if in dog years he was her aunt’s age. Surely dogs didn’t get dementia...or could they?
“Humphrey...sit! Stay!” In the past, Aunt Marsha had bragged that a horn blast from a passing freight train couldn’t budge her obedient pet once those orders were given. “I guess it depends on who’s doing the ordering,” she muttered to herself. Then again, the dog would have to be within hearing distance to cooperate.
Increasingly worried, Brooke made her way around the outside of the fence to where the escapee had gained his freedom and focused her light on the grass hoping for some hint as to which way the dog had gone.
“At it again, I see.”
Gasping, Brooke spun around. Wholly preoccupied, she hadn’t heard that Doc had come outside and joined her. Dr. Gage Sullivan was the local veterinarian, who owned Sweet Springs Animal Clinic on the outskirts of town. He had come to her aid last night as well, and had been a great help. What a relief that he’d either seen or heard her out here. Correction, it would be if she’d thought to put on something over her nightie. Last night she’d only just returned from the hospital and had still been wearing her street clothes.
“Hey, Doc. My, you sure do stay up late for a guy who says he heads to the clinic at the crack of dawn.” Despite the limited lighting provided by their porch fixtures, she had the strongest urge to fold her arms across her chest, which might have something to do with the way he was smiling down at her. Not that it was anything remotely lecherous; his expression was more like someone seeing a line of sevens appear on a casino slot machine.
“Lucky for you, I’m behind on paperwork.” Gage directed his own flashlight at Humphrey’s latest escape hole. “Looks like he worked fast. At this rate, he won’t need a nail trim for a while. How long since you last saw him?”
“Ten minutes.... Well, fifteen now. I’ve been out here for at least five calling for him. I should never have given him his private time, but I was dying for a shower.”
“You think Humph needs private time?”
Brooke grimaced her agreement that the phrasing sounded ridiculous to her, too. But she had her reasons for putting it that way. “He gives me a look if I don’t turn away while he’s, you know, doing his business.”
Gage choked on a laugh. “He was just setting you up, rookie. That hound can play an innocent the way a pickpocket can work a mark.”
With pessimism fast becoming a knee-jerk reaction, Brooke asked doubtfully, “And what do you know about pickpockets?” It seemed an unusual analogy to use.
With a philosophical shrug, Gage replied, “We had a black sheep in the family tree.”
Brooke studied his appealing, all-American face capped by shaggy, medium-brown hair still wet from his own shower. “Seriously?”
“It was when my uncle was young. After a few run-ins with the law, he wisely tried magic instead, and had a pretty successful career.”
Brooke didn’t know whether to take him seriously or not. After only three brief conversations with Gage Sullivan, she’d come to the conclusion that he was very laid-back and just as amiable. Her aunt sang his praises every time she had a chance to bring him up in a conversation. But at the moment, there was no sign of the serious, disciplined person Marsha described. As a bemused expression played across his face, she thought of him as someone who liked to just throw ideas out into the cosmos to see what kind of reaction he would get from people. If he hadn’t chosen the profession he had, he could have been a popular college instructor. At least the female students would have enjoyed fantasizing over him.
“Is that something you should be telling a near stranger?” she asked, hoping he got the hint. She wasn’t in to gossip, and this was not the time to be practicing some stand-up comedy routine or whatever it was that he was doing.
“I figured it would be better to get the awkward stuff out of the way. Did you happen to look under that sweet BMW 650i of yours?”
It was sheer reflexes that had Brooke glancing toward the silver metallic convertible in the driveway before resuming her studious inspection of the man who was built like a sequoia compared to her own stretch-to-get-there five foot two. “Uh—yeah. Get the awkward stuff out of the way because...?”
“I’m going to ask you out. When Marsha is feeling better and you’re not so pressed for time.”
That startling bit of news left Brooke without a clue as to how to answer him. She couldn’t deny that he was an attractive man, solid and relaxed in his own skin, even though his white T-shirt and jeans were clinging to his body as though he hadn’t taken time to towel off from that shower. In comparison, she had to be reflecting sheer self-consciousness, as she gave in to the need to cross her arms over her purple satin-and-lace sleep shirt.
“You...work fast, Doc.”
“My parents would disagree with you, considering that I’m thirty-six and still single. But,” he added with almost boyish pleasure, “I’ve had the advantage of seeing a few photos of you at Marsha’s. Combined with her delightful gushing about what a thoughtful niece and smart woman you are has convinced me that I have to make an impression before everyone else realizes you’re back in town.”
“Oh, Aunt Marsha,” Brooke groaned softly. “Really, Doc, I may be Texas born and bred, and spent a good portion of my childhood here, but no one died of a broken heart when Dad relocated us to Houston after my mother died. What’s more, it’s been too long between my visits back for anyone to get their hopes up.” To get his attention off her, Brooke gestured toward the street. “About Humphrey... Do you think if you called him, he might respond? Aunt Marsha has told me plenty of times that he adores you.”
“Until I take his temperature and a blood sample,” Gage drawled. Nevertheless, he cupped his hands around his mouth and whistled sharply. Then he called, “Yo, Humph. Here, boy.”
Yesterday, the basset hound had yelped from two houses away and come waddling up Gage’s driveway, eager for familiar company and the promised treat from Brooke. When several seconds passed and only crickets and tree frogs broke the silence, Brooke sighed. “I’d better go change into street clothes and initiate a wider search.”
“I’ll get started on that while you do.”
Guilt forced Brooke to protest. Her conscience wouldn’t let her allow him to do that when she had been told repeatedly by Aunt Marsha what long hours he worked. “That’s good of you, Doc, but—”
“Gage.”
After a gently reproving look at his unabashed flirtation, Brooke continued. “All I was going to say is that I’m sensitive to the fact that you’re probably already dead on your feet. You need to get what rest you can.”
“Do you think that’s going to happen knowing you’re out here wandering about by yourself? A Saint Bernard could grab you by the scruff of the neck and carry you off like a pup. You’re certainly no match for anything larger.”
That gave her pause. There were still less than fifty thousand people in all of Cherokee County, and most of them lived around communities like Rusk, the county seat to their northeast. Had things changed around here so much? “My aunt says Sweet Springs is still the friendliest town, and that this remains the quietest of neighborhoods.”
“Okay, but then what if you come upon Humphrey having a face-off with a rabid skunk, or a mother raccoon protecting her young?”
Brooke’s stomach lurched, and she pressed a hand against her abdomen. She so did not want to have to deal with either scenario. While Marsha was a second mother to her, especially after the death of her mother when Brooke had been barely twelve, she just didn’t share her aunt’s love for indoor pets. As far as the wilder creatures were concerned, she would be content to know they’d been exiled farther out in the country or to a zoo!
“Too much information,” Gage said, upon noticing her distress. “Come, take my Windbreaker. I keep it by the back door. It’ll save you the time it would take to change, and we can search together.”
With long-legged strides, Gage backtracked across the yard until he could reach inside the door of the two-story, colonial-style dwelling; Brooke followed with less enthusiasm. Had he meant it about wanting to ask her out? She hoped not. He’d been nothing but kind and helpful since her arrival, and he really was a good-looking man. She would forever be grateful that he’d been outside on Sunday morning when he’d heard Aunt Marsha crying for help from inside her house. On the other hand, Brooke wasn’t here to date, especially since her plan was to return to Dallas to get her career back on track as soon as possible.
“Thanks,” she said, once he held the lightweight dark jacket up for her. Sliding into it, she tried to flip her still-damp blond hair from under the collar and found long sleeves thwarted her efforts. With a wry smile, she rolled them several times. “This reminds me of when I was a kid and up here for Halloween. I borrowed one of my uncle’s sweaters for Halloween to create my Robin Hood costume.”
“I would never have guessed. Not a princess? Not even Maid Marian?”
Brooke shook her head at his stereotyping. “You only think you have me figured out.”
“Interesting. You do tend to look and act as though you came out of the womb wearing high heels and a business suit. Extremely well tailored, but sexy,” Gage added, his blue-gray eyes sparkling with good humor in the glow of the overhead light.
Her tendency to fixate on looking professional had started later, after her father had taken over directing more and more aspects of her life. Until then, she’d enjoyed playing games, watching Saturday-matinee movies and indulging in a healthy fantasy life—all of which her mother and aunt had supported. It relieved Brooke to realize that Aunt Marsha hadn’t gotten around to sharing that bit of information with him. Yet. It was challenging enough when Gage Sullivan looked at her with those kind but knowing eyes that seemed to see way beyond flesh and bone.
Averting her gaze, she dealt with his comment by changing the subject. “Where do you think we should start? Even though your jacket is lightweight, I’m already about to melt.”
“Well...the hospital is that way,” Gage said, nodding toward the west, the direction both their front doors faced.
Disconcerted, Brooke asked, “Do you think Humphrey would actually try to go there? I’d about convinced myself that he was simply running away from me. Can he actually pick up her scent from that distance?”
Gage shrugged. “It’s not two miles, and something is compelling him to ignore his obedience training. Since I don’t think you’d be cruel to a pet your aunt loved so much, it has to be pure heartache for his mistress that’s compelling him to escape. Let’s take a left out of the driveway and see if we can hear or spot something. Considering his age, and with legs as short as his, speed and endurance are on our side.”
As she followed, Brooke glanced from her size-six designer flip-flops sparkling with rhinestones in the artificial light to his size twelve or better athletic shoes. “Speak for yourself.”
Looking over his shoulder and following the direction of her gaze, Gage chuckled. “I’ll try to remember to cut my strides in half. I’m sure he hasn’t gotten too far, and he’s bound to trigger someone else’s family pet to bark sooner or later.” As he reassured her, Gage directed the beam of his flashlight across the street to scan each yard for any sign of movement.
Following his lead, Brooke used her flashlight to check houses on their side. Although most dwellings were dark, suggesting their inhabitants were already in bed for the night, she uttered, “I feel terrible about abusing people’s privacy. What do you want to bet some insomniac spots us and calls the police thinking we’re prowlers?”
“Relax, I know everyone in the department,” Gage assured her. “Plus, their drug dog is a patient of mine.” After only a few more steps, he paused. “Aha! Hear that?”
Brooke was about to ask him how long he’d been in Sweet Springs, when she, too, heard an excited sound ahead—part bark and part yodel-howl. “Oh, dear. I hope he’s not standing under someone’s bedroom window.”
They hurried the rest of the way, crossing the street, into the next block, where they came upon Humphrey running around someone’s koi pond. Illuminated in the center by accent lights was a fat, indignant-looking bullfrog.
“Whoa, Humph.” As the winded but excited dog tried to circle the pond again, Gage scooped him up into his arms. “Some dog on a mission, you are. One chubby amphibian and your whole master plan to get to your lady flies out of your mind. And look how you upset Brooke.” In the soft pinkish glow of the streetlights, his eyes twinkled with humor as he turned the dog to face her.
What with Gage being almost a foot taller, Brooke found herself practically eye to eye with the panting hound. She primly clasped her hands behind her back and said, “I’m just glad you’re okay. But this is the last time I let you outside unchaperoned.”
“Aw, don’t be too hard on him. No damage was done,” Gage told her.
As they started back, Brooke couldn’t help but feel a need to defend herself. “I know I’m not my aunt, but am I really that bad? The more I think about it, the more I believe he pulled this to get back at me.”
“For what?”
“He’s not getting to go to the shop with me the way he does with Aunt Marsha.”
“Whoa. That would do it.”
“I did come home twice to let him outside. And I petted him extra this evening when I got home from the hospital. Oh—and he’d had the canned food that she says is his favorite, that she only gives him on special occasions.”
“Ah, the truth emerges,” Gage said, lowering his head to speak into the basset hound’s ear. “A pat on the rump and canned meat byproducts, and she thinks she’s got you under control.”
With a choking sound, Brooke stopped in her tracks. “Then you do think I’m not being good enough to him?”
“I think he’s lonely. Why can’t he be at the shop with you?” Gage asked, sounding more curious than judgmental. “It’s his second home. Customers would give him the extra attention he’s used to getting.”
Brooke understood that Humphrey was a replacement for her in many ways, now that she was an adult and unable to visit Aunt Marsha as often as she would like. She also grasped that animal care was Gage’s calling, but that didn’t mean he or anyone else had a right to put a guilt trip on her. She did that well enough without any help. “Not everyone and everything should or can revolve around Humphrey, Doctor.”
“Gage.”
Ignoring his mischievous reply, she continued, “You probably don’t think there’s much to running a florist—”
“I didn’t say that.”
His tone was quiet, even gentle, which made Brooke press her lips together as she accepted that she’d jumped to conclusions again. “What I mean is that it’s taken every bit of my attention and ability to get arrangement orders filled, what with the store being busier than ever, now that one of the other two florists in town has retired and closed down her business. Don’t get me wrong, Naomi has been good to come out of retirement to help in emergencies, and Kiki is managing the front just fine on her own, but—”
“I thought you worked at the shop when you visited?”
“When I was a child. I could put a single rosebud in a vase with a sprig of baby’s breath or a fern. In time I learned a few more things, but I’ve forgotten most of that, and styles change. The point I’m trying to make is, first and foremost, I’m here for my aunt, not to entertain a dog. Then there’s the matter of the doors opening every few minutes. I’d be a wreck if I’m constantly checking to make sure someone didn’t inadvertently let Humphrey out into the street.”
Gage nodded, then began walking again. “You should have called me and told me you were struggling. I would have told you to drop him off at the clinic. He’d fit right in with Roy and the boys.”
It was that simple? “I’m afraid I don’t know who they are.” Boys? Her aunt hadn’t said anything about children, and he’d just said he was single.
“Roy Quinn is my manager,” Gage said, amusement entering his voice again. “Anywhere else, he’d be called a receptionist, but he tends to get all puffy and glares if he’s called that—and he has the Neanderthal eyebrows to do it. Besides, he does too much other stuff for such a restrictive title. He could be a full-fledged technician, but he balks at fulfilling the necessary requirements to get certified.”
“Stubborn. I see why you think Humphrey would fit in.”
After a soft chuckle, Gage admitted, “There’s no denying he can be. But behind all of that gruff exterior, he’s mostly a teddy bear. He’s sure been a welcome change from the young ladies who thought the receptionist job was step one to becoming Mrs. Sullivan.”
“Awkward,” Brooke said with a nod, able to finally speak from experience and sympathy. She’d witnessed enough behavior like that in her professional world, where some girls only went to college to find the wealthiest husband possible. “Then again, I don’t know what options girls have out here where the pickings are undoubtedly slimmer. A big-hearted, patient doctor must seem like a fairy tale come true.”
“You left out cute.”
His charm was potent, and Brooke had to work at keeping her expression benign. “Definitely cute.” But not willing to venture any farther down Flirtation Lane with him, she asked, “So is it Roy who has the sons? They help out at the clinic, too?”
“Say what?” After a brief, confused look, Gage uttered a low, “Ah! The boys I was referring to are his military veteran pals. Roy’s single, too, and his one request in taking the job was for me to allow a table and chairs in the corner of the reception room. He has some VFW buddies who like to congregate daily. The male version of the female coffee klatch of old. They’d already been run out of the local donut shop, and the grocery’s deli department, and they’d worn out their welcome in the bank’s lobby.”
“Are they all single, too?”
“Not quite. One has a wife in a nursing home, but her Alzheimer’s is so advanced that he can’t bear to spend more than a few minutes a day with her. Another is divorced—and that’s not a bad thing, as far as he’s concerned. The rest are widowers.”
“Well, it’s another testament to your generosity and goodwill that you’re so accommodating,” Brooke said.
“They’re not in the way,” Gage replied with a dismissive shrug. “Interestingly, after their military service, they were all farmers or businessmen in the area, so they pretty much know everyone who comes in and can supply me with a wealth of background information on clients and their livestock if I’m not familiar with someone.”
Brooke could see both the pros and cons of their arrangement. “Were you, by chance, in the military, too?” she asked as they turned into her aunt’s driveway. “I sense respect as much as affection when you speak about them.”
“I spent eight years in the U.S. Army Reserves.”
His almost apologetic reply won a quick glance from her. “What? That’s noble, too.”
Gage took several seconds to answer. “The guys ribbed me about it at first. It was the usual taunting about trying to avoid active duty, which I wasn’t. I took that route to get through school and get my practice established. It was only after they learned what a trial it had been not to lose my business that they really rallied behind me. We’re pretty much one big mutual-admiration society now.”
Sensing that he’d been modest and had struggled greatly, Brooke felt humbled. “Here I’ve been feeling sorry for myself because I’ve lost my job, thanks to government regulations, and can’t interview for a new one because I’m here helping Aunt Marsha, and all the while you’ve endured much heavier and dangerous burdens.” With new respect and concern, she asked, “Is there a chance you’ll have to go away again?”
“Nah, I finished up a couple years ago. As much as I gained from the experience, it was tough on my clients, as well as the friends who donated their time to keep the clinic running. I’m relieved, too. You know how hot it gets in Texas, but that’s nothing compared to the Middle Eastern deserts. It’s not an endurance test I ever want to go through again, especially at my age.”
“Right, all that gray hair is practically glowing like neon in the moonlight,” Brooke said, matching his easygoing tone. If he did have any gray hair, she had yet to notice it, even in daylight, amid the various shades of brown and gold.
“Hey, I have all of the scars and aches that come with this profession.”
Brooke paused at the gate. “Still very young for having experienced as much as you have. Thank you for sharing that. Also for your time. It helps me better understand why Aunt Marsha speaks of you with such affection—and not just because you saved her countless hours of suffering after her fall.”
“I’m partial to her, too.” Gage stroked Humphrey soothingly as he waited for her to open the gate. “She’s helped me every bit as much as I may have her. She keeps an eye on things when I’m not around. Did she tell you about how she called me one morning on my cell phone? I’d already left to get an early start at the clinic and she’d spotted a squirrel gnawing its way into my attic. By the time I could return home, the critter was inside and had almost chewed through wires in two spots. That could easily have resulted in a costly fire if left untended.”
While cute enough in cartoons and on greeting cards, the creatures were rats with couture tails, to Brooke’s thinking. “Doesn’t that make you want to cut down all of the nut-bearing trees around here to force them to move?”
As Gage threw back his head, his laugh filled the humid night air. “Are you sure you were born in Texas? Nature may not be perfect, but we civilized folks aren’t, either.”
“At least we don’t carry fleas and diseases.”
“You mean you’ve never had the flu? Chicken pox? Measles?”
Brooke should have known better than to criticize creatures in front of such a devoted animal lover. “Okay, okay, I get your point.” She began reaching for the basset hound, only to see Gage step out of her reach and nod toward the house.
“How about I set this old boy inside for you? I have a feeling that if you put him down after we close this gate, he’ll just waddle straight for the hole and crawl under the fence again.”
“Good thought.” Brooke made a mental note to get the key to her aunt’s storage shed first thing in the morning and get a shovel to close that latest exit spot.
Once she unlocked the back door, Gage set the placid hound on the hardwood floor. By the time he’d shut it behind Humphrey, Brooke had removed his jacket and handed it over to him.
“Thank you,” she said sincerely, as she discreetly crossed her arms over her chest again. “You’re as much a gentleman as you are a lifesaver.”
“I meant what I said about bringing Humph to the clinic. His species may have been bred for work, but in the end he’s quite the social animal. I can guarantee you that he’ll be coddled and get plenty of exercise. By the time you finish at the shop daily, he’ll be as grateful as you are to get home and crash on his doggy bed.”
“Let me run the idea by Aunt Marsha,” Brooke said, to buy herself a little more time. Gage’s idea did sound like a gift to her sanity, but would Aunt Marsha approve? “Remember, it could be some weeks before she gets to come home. This isn’t your usual broken hip. There was extra repair work to do. It might be several days before she’s even ready to relocate to the rehab facility.”
Gage shook his head in sympathy. “For such an active lady, that will exasperate her. When I first bought my place, she was about your size, which I still think is Tinker Bell tiny, and in the past year, I know she’s lost a good ten pounds that she can’t afford.”
His visual perceptions served him as well as his instincts obviously did. “This is probably no surprise, but she does have osteoporosis issues.”
“I worried it was something like that.”
Sensitive to his increasingly searching gaze, Brooke reached for the doorknob, hoping he would take the hint. “Thank you again, and for so much, Doc. Gage,” she amended at his gently reproachful look.
“You are more than welcome. It was good to spend a little while with my favorite neighbor’s favorite niece instead of settling for a wave as we dash for our vehicles in the morning.”
They had been leaving earlier than everyone else in the neighborhood. “Yes, it was. But it’s only niece. I was the sole yield from my parents’ short but loving marriage.”
“Nicely put and poetic for a math head.” At her grimace, he added, “Did you think that if your aunt has been bragging about you that she’d leave out how smart you are?”
“I guess not. It’s a wonder that she hasn’t set me up with an account on some online-dating site.”
Gage shook his head. “She wouldn’t do that. She’s too protective of you. Do you miss not having any siblings?”
“Sometimes. But it was nice having all of the attention, too. You?”
“Two sisters and three brothers. Privacy was the challenge in our house, since I was number five out of six kids. Fortunately, I lack most ingredients required to be a type A personality.”
“I can’t imagine... I mean, having that many siblings.” Along with being an only child, she’d spent the second half of her childhood with little time for fun or friendships, what with her father directing her extracurricular activities as much as her school focus. Faced with the reality that he would have only one child, he had been a veritable Tiger Mom, as hands-on as though he’d been managing a lab project, determined to make her the best at what he directed her toward. Only since having her job liquidated when proprietary trading won the government’s evil eye did it strike her that focusing so determinedly on networking might have served a purpose, but it had left her emotionally vacant compared to what family and friendship provided. Experience had also taught her sobering lessons on the difference between friends and acquaintances.
“Are you okay?”
Pulled back to the present, Brooke saw that Gage was studying her with unusual intensity, despite the hint of a smile curving his inviting lips. That smile was a ruse, she realized. It was meant to hide how serious he’d suddenly become. Well, she didn’t need all that magnetism directed at her.
“Fine,” she assured him, flashing him an equally deceptive but brighter smile. “You just made me realize that I’d promised to report on Aunt Marsha’s condition to my father, which is going to be a challenge since I’m not even sure what time zone he’s in.”
“He sounds like one of the original wheeler-dealers.”
How much of that side of their lives had Aunt Marsha shared? “He’s an unapologetic workaholic.” It was on the tip of her tongue to add with no small self-deprecation, “And I’m afraid this acorn didn’t fall far from the tree.” It was only the cold chill that ran through her—a chill that belied the sultry night’s warmth—that had her editing herself in the last second. Instead, she whispered in entreaty, “I really need to get inside.”
Gage took a halfhearted step backward. “Don’t hesitate to holler if you need my Sherlock services again.”
With a wave, Brooke hurried inside and, upon closing the door, she quickly twisted the wand to shut the miniblinds. Only then did she exhale her relief. What on earth was she doing almost making such admissions to a near stranger? Had she been subjected to some version of dog psychiatry, hypnotism or what? She glanced over her shoulder, taking in Humphrey’s resigned look.
“Please don’t put me in this position again. I don’t have the time, understand? Not for you or him. You’re both sweethearts—I get it—but I’m not in the market for anything like that, so behave!”
* * *
By seven forty-five Wednesday morning, Gage was up front at Sweet Springs Animal Clinic enjoying a rare extra cup of coffee with the old-timers and Roy before the early-bird clients arrived to drop off a beloved pet for some procedure, or were overeager to pick one up after an overnight stay. However, the first person to pull in was Brooke Bellamy.
As the others began noticing her flashy, metallic-silver BMW convertible that shouted her previous professional success, a rush of pleasure swept through him. So, he thought, she’d not only approached Marsha about his suggestion, his sweetheart of a neighbor had given her blessing. He would have to send Marsha a bouquet in gratitude for assisting him in gaining more access to her lovely niece.
“Be still, my heart...” drawled sixty-six-year-old Jerry Platt, who sat closest to the window. Retired from the air force and divorced, he was considered the “kid” in the group and frequently taunted the others with tales of his romantic escapades—true or not. “Say, isn’t that Marsha Newman’s niece? Wow.... She grew up to be a pretty little thing.”
“Looks a lot like her aunt,” Stan Walsh replied. Stan was sixty-nine and an old navy man turned sheet-metal fabricator. He’d passed his business over to his son earlier in the year following the death of his wife. “Every bit the lady, too, from what I hear, so behave, Platt.”
“Did she ever marry?” Pete Ogilvie asked, craning his head to watch as Brooke went around to the passenger door to let Humphrey out. The eighty-two-year-old ex-marine and widower was the oldest in the group and still looked the part of the rancher he’d been. “What is she now? Twenty-nine? Thirty? Back in my day, a girl would be afraid to be called an old maid if she hadn’t hooked a guy by then. Good for her, I say. You have to be pretty successful to afford wheels like that. What’s to want in today’s crop of guys anyway? Present company excluded, Doc,” he quickly added.
“No offense taken,” Gage replied, although he did plan to keep a close eye on that wily fox Jerry Platt.
Having waited patiently for his turn to speak, Warren Atwood said, “Back in your day, telephone operators sat in front of circuit boards, you old dinosaur.” The intellectual seventy-year-old had gone on from the U.S. Army to being the D.A. of Cherokee County. His wife was at the community’s nursing home in the advanced stages of Alzheimer’s. It was only his closest friends who knew what a toll that was taking on him.
“All right, you guys,” Roy Quinn said, as Gage put down his mug to go welcome Brooke. “Behave yourselves for a minute. She’s not going to be as used to your nonsense as we are.”
Gage barely heard him as he pushed through the two sets of doors. Reaching the fresh air, he saw Brooke look up and give him a ready-or-not shrug and smile. She looked as fresh as the posies she worked with in her three-quarter-sleeve teal silk top and matching slacks. The gold earrings and necklace added another layer of elegance. With her blond hair deftly swept up into an artful knot, he knew that, inside, jaws were slack with admiration. She did powerful things to him, too.
“Good to see you.” The words felt slow and heavy to his ears, but then his tongue felt as if someone had poured concrete in his mouth.
“You, too,” Brooke replied with visible relief. “I was half afraid last night’s offer was sheer politeness on your part. As it happened, I had to drop off some papers at the hospital this morning, and when I peeked in on my aunt she was wide-awake, and we had a quick chat.” As Gage held the door for her, she led Humphrey inside the green steel building.
“So she gave her blessing?” It fascinated Gage that as her nerves grew more visible, his eased. He even touched the small of her back, unable to resist stealing some tiny physical contact for private savoring later.
“Blessing?” Stan asked from across the room, his hand to his ear. His years on an aircraft carrier and in a sheet metal shop had all but destroyed his hearing. “Did they get engaged? I thought she just got back in town?”
“Shut up, you fool,” Pete replied, swatting at his arm with the editorial section of the Tyler Morning News. “What kind of eavesdropper are you?”
“My hearing-aid battery must be giving out.”
Brooke sent the men a bemused glance, then said to Gage, “She did—and said to tell you that she’ll make you her renowned apple crumble as soon as she gets back on her feet.”
Gage uttered a throaty groan of pleasure, then crouched to pet the basset hound, who was wagging his tail cautiously, not sure if this was an official visit or what. “Relax, Humph. You’re about to be spoiled rotten, just like when you’re at the flower shop.”
He unclipped the lead from the dog’s collar, after which Humphrey shook his whole body, clearly relishing the freedom in this, of all places. Brooke, on the other hand, looked anything but reassured.
“You’re certain it’s going to be okay for him to run free like that?” She looked unconvinced as she rolled up the blue nylon leash around her hand.
Gage rose, knowing they had precious few minutes left—and not even private ones—before the parking lot started to fill. He wanted to tell her that he liked her hair up. It showed off her slender neck so much that his fingers itched to caress the baby-fine hair there and her even finer skin. She was exceedingly fair for this time of year, but on her the look worked. However, the sum of all of her delicate parts didn’t fool him: inside that petite body was a backbone of pure steel and a strong will to match it. The irony was that just made her all the more irresistible.
“We’ll make sure he doesn’t get into anything he shouldn’t—nor goes outside without supervision.” Gage then addressed the others. “Everybody, this is Brooke, my neighbor—although you probably already know that.”
“We do,” Jerry said, as the others waved and called greetings. “How’s Marsha, darlin’?”
“Still in a lot of pain from the surgery. Thank you for asking. But she’s determined not to depend long on that walker they’re forcing her to use.”
“She’s a fighter. Give her our best.”
“I will.” Brooke turned back to Gage, worry creasing the smooth skin between her finely arching tawny eyebrows. “As I drove here, it hit me. We close at the same time, but occasionally I’ll have to wait on Charles—our delivery man—to return the store’s van. Or you may have to leave on a call. How do we work this?”
Acutely aware of all eyes on him, Gage shrugged to show as little concern as possible. “If you’re running late, give me a call, and if I have to leave for an emergency, Roy can wait for you, can’t you?” he asked him.
“Sure, boss.” Roy expanded on his answer directly to Brooke. “We tend to hang around after hours with whomever stops by. Not to worry, Ms. Bellamy. From here on, Humph will be treated as family.”
Although looking far more confident about the arrangement, Brooke remained poised and formal as she stepped to the counter and offered her hand. “That’s very kind, since I feel as though I’m taking advantage. You’re Roy? Please call me Brooke.”
When Roy’s brown eyes all but glazed over under the full effect of her warm smile, Gage took hold of Brooke’s elbow. “I’ll walk you out.”
He ignored the feeling of daggers pricking at his back as they exited the building, but he didn’t care. A familiar truck was coming down the service road and he knew it was heading here. Another hectic day was about to commence, and he wanted these last precious seconds with her to be his alone.
“I saw that you beat me to filling the hole Humphrey dug last night,” Brooke said, pausing at the driver’s door. “You’re being too good to me.”
“It didn’t take more than a minute. I was concerned that you might forget and he would take advantage.”
“Is that really black pepper you spread over the area?”
“It is. I often tell people to spread it over their pets’ graves to repel varmints from trying to dig them up. It should work to thwart Humph from another escape, too.” As the sunshine lit flecks of gold in her brown eyes, Gage felt something akin to hunger pangs grip his stomach. “At the risk of embarrassing you... You look particularly beautiful this morning.”
After another of those cautious pauses that Gage was starting to recognize, Brooke’s shimmering lips curved into a private smile. “A woman who can’t accept a compliment is out of her mind. Thank you.” She reached for the door handle. “I do have to hurry, though. Kiki has a dental appointment in an hour.”
“Then I guess I’ll see you later. What are you doing for dinner?” It was foolish to ask, since he could easily be dealing with emergency farm calls by then, but he couldn’t resist.
“I’ll grab some takeout and go keep Aunt Marsha company as she has her supper.”
The look she gave him from under her long eyelashes added a warning not to pursue what he was intent on achieving. Nevertheless, he needed for her to know that he was determined, too. “What about a glass of wine afterward?”
“By then I’ll be totally drained and my feet will be killing me. The only thing I’ll want to do is kick off these shoes, have a soothing shower and collapse in bed.”
Gage glanced down at the cork-and-leather platform sandals that added a good three inches or so to her height. “Very pretty, but why on earth don’t you wear something—?”
“More sensible?” Brooke offered when he abruptly edited himself.
“I would have tried for ‘less dangerous.’”
“Very diplomatic. But I’ve worn heels since I was in junior high. Couldn’t wait for my first pair. When you’re practically the runt in the entire school, you don’t mind taking a few risks to fit in better.”
Gage suspected that she would always stand out regardless, and guessed that any grief she took was more about jealousy than her petite size. “I guess in your male-dominated profession, you liked being taller because the guys tried to make you feel insecure even without the height disadvantage?” When she offered a one-shouldered shrug that suggested it was a moot point, he added, “Well, with or without the extra inches, I think you’re—”
“I really have to go.”
“Adorable.” Gage grinned as she cast a self-conscious look at the pickup truck now turning into the parking lot as though the driver could read lips. “Sue me. I’ve seen you smile. You have dimples that should be seen—” and kissed frequently “—and when you’re not stressing over your aunt, the shop or Humphrey, those brown eyes make me feel like a kid facing his first fudge-caramel sundae.”
“Oh, Lord.” Pressing her lips together to repress a smile, Brooke quickly climbed into her BMW. “Have a good day, Doc.”
“Gage. Give me that at least. You know I’m going to go back inside to deal with all kinds of abuse from those guys.” He nodded his head toward the windows where everyone was unabashedly watching.
She keyed the ignition, and, once the engine sprang to life, Brooke put the sports car into Reverse. Just after she shifted into Forward, she wiggled her fingers at him and drove away.
Waving to Carter Spears as Spears drove around to the back where he would be picking up the family pet—a potbellied pig—that had survived eating one of Carter’s leather work gloves, Gage returned inside. After pausing at the surreal silence that greeted him, he suddenly faced five sets of wiggling fingers waving at him.
Knowing it would be worse if he said anything, he just nodded his acceptance of their ribbing. In his opinion, he’d made progress—minimal, but in the right direction. Brooke liked him. More than she wanted to. He could feed off that all day.
Pete Ogilvie started the Greek chorus of commentary. “So that’s the way of things, eh? You’d better work fast because you’ve got your sights on a city girl, my friend. She’s not going to hang around these parts a day longer than she has to.”
“My back hurts just thinking about all the bending you’ll have to do to kiss the little thing,” Stan Walsh groused.
Jerry and Warren hooted and laughed, and Jerry said, “Listen to him. The guy on the most medications is having sympathy pains over your love life, Doc.”
“My money is on you, son,” Warren said, only to scowl at Jerry. “What are you trying to do, get us thrown out of here, too?”
“What do you think, Humph?” Gage asked, crouching to give the basset hound another affectionate rubbing. The dog was visibly curious as to what was going on. “You’re one of the guys now. We have to support each other.”
As though understanding, the dog rolled on to his back and offered his belly for scratching.
“That’s exactly what I think.” Chuckling, Gage obliged the dog. “Everybody has his—or her—soft spot. It’ll be your job to help me find hers.”
