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Groomed for Love
Helen R. Myers


Is she too perfect?Dog groomer Rylie Quinn lights up the local animal clinic with her charming laugh, but there’s a dark secret lingering behind the radiant redhead’s bright smile. One man seems determined to dig up Rylie’s past…and gets under her skin in a way that no one ever has before…As Assistant DA Noah Prescott’s investigation reveals secrets she’d rather stay under wraps, the heat they generate flares out of control. But when Noah finally learns Rylie’s story, he’ll have to decide whether his desire for the truth is more important than winning the heart of the woman he’s come to love…







“What difference does it make to you, anyway?” she replied, feeling a little desperate now.

Her resistance was crumbling under the power of this somber, intense Noah.

As soon as she uttered those words, she wished she could take them back, because he started to walk toward her. The expression in his gorgeous but compelling brown eyes had Rylie backing away, completely forgetting the truck behind her, until she bumped into sunset-warmed metal. From bra line to hips, she felt the heat; however, that was tepid compared to what his look stirred inside her.

When Noah was toe-to-toe with her, he framed her face with his hands. “Only this,” he whispered against her mouth.

* * *

Sweet Springs, Texas: Where love springs eternal!


Groomed for Love

Helen R. Myers






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


HELEN R. MYERS is a collector of two- and four-legged strays, and lives deep in the Piney Woods of East Texas. She cites cello music and bonsai gardening as favorite relaxation pastimes, and still edits in her sleep—an accident, learned while writing her first book. A bestselling author of diverse themes and focus, she is a three-time RITA


Award nominee, winning for Navarrone in 1993.


Contents

Chapter One (#u281f958a-0b69-5ab7-96a5-9ad1e465b84e)

Chapter Two (#uf59e16de-9d13-5e27-95f9-3c69b7b81d47)

Chapter Three (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter One

“Rylie, sweetheart, you are the best thing to happen to Sweet Springs since they started putting in drive-through windows at pharmacies.”

Rylie Quinn, the new groomer at Sweet Springs Animal Clinic, grinned at Pete Ogilvie, the eldest of the four war veterans who conducted a daily coffee klatch in the corner of the building’s reception area. It was she who’d dubbed them the four musketeers after characters in the famous Alexandre Dumas novel, and Pete himself Athos, after the eldest of the adventurers, because the former marine was the boldest yet most complicated of the group. He also had somehow taken Jerry Platt under his wing. At sixty-six, Jerry, whom she called D’Artagnan, was the youngest and had become the fourth member of the veteran group, as D’Artagnan had become the fourth musketeer in the story.

“Why, thank you, kind sir.” Holding out the hem of her maroon smock, as though it was a skirt, she offered a quick curtsy, bemused, even though the comparison was confusing. She suspected he hadn’t meant to imply that she was appreciated because she was a convenience. “All because I asked Mr. Stan if he wanted sweetener in his coffee?”

“That’s right! None of us can tell him that he’s being an old grouch the way you can and still bring a smile to his face.”

Stanley Walsh—aka Porthos, as far as Rylie was concerned—was sixty-nine, the second youngest, and an ex-navy man, as well as a retired master sheet-metal fabricator. Sometimes—like today—his hangovers caused him to grouse a little more than usual, which was saying quite a bit, since Stanley had a dry sense of humor to begin with.

“That, along with being as bright and as pretty as a black-eyed Susan, which is about the only damned flower that can survive the summer like we had with any grace. Whew, can you believe it officially became autumn yesterday?” Pete asked around the room. “If you hold that front door open for too long, I swear those bags of dog food stacked on the shelves over there are gonna pop like popcorn in a microwave.”

As others grunted their agreement, Rylie said, “I’m sorry for the strain it is on animals, but I sure don’t mind it being warm. I was born and raised in the desert country of California. That said, I’m getting seriously partial to your trees here, especially the pines.” She had arrived in this Central East Texas community early in July, in time to attend Dr. Gage Sullivan’s marriage to Brooke Bellamy last month, the niece of the lady who used to be Gage’s neighbor. That neighborhood, as well as several parts of town, was enhanced by pockets of the pines and hardwood trees that had once earned the region its other name—The Piney Woods. She told the men, who had also attended the wedding, “If I had Doc and Brooke’s yard, I’d sleep with the windows open every night to listen to the breeze whispering through the trees.”

“Well, don’t try it here, even if your fancy RV’s windows are high off the ground,” Roy Quinn said from inside the reception station in the center of the room.

As usual, her uncle pretended to have as gruff a personality as any of the old-timers, but Rylie knew the middle-aged bachelor saw her as the daughter he’d never had. “I wouldn’t do that. Besides,” she reminded her only relative in the area, “as far back as those trees are beyond the pasture, it’s easier to hear the highway traffic out front.” The clinic was on the service road of a state highway that ran north to south on the east side of town. The overpass that led to downtown was only a few dozen yards beyond the clinic’s parking lot.

“Good. Keep those miniblinds shut at night, too. What we lack in woods, we probably make up for in Peeping Toms and lechers, and word’s getting around about you and that RV being parked in back.”

As he spoke, he glanced over her shoulder to fork his fingers from his eyes to Jerry, who tended to think of himself as quite the ladies’ man. Recently, Jerry Platt had the bad judgment to get involved with a certain widow in town, who had really been angling to get closer to Doc. It had caused quite a stir among the old-timers, who feared losing the congenial atmosphere at the clinic, and they were keeping Jerry on notice, too.

Rylie shook her head, thinking Uncle Roy was being silly. Jerry was more than a decade older than him! Besides, he’d been nothing but a gentleman to her. Noticing Jerry’s embarrassment, she leaned over the counter to whisper, “I’m twenty-five, not fifteen.”

Roy grunted. “You’d have to dye your hair gray to convince anyone. I’ll bet you still get carded when you go out for a beer.”

“My last beer was a week ago with you guys at the VFW hall, and you know they would serve me anything because I was with you.” However, he was right; she did look ridiculously young, but what could you do when you had red hair and a squeaky-clean face that made you perfect for the front of a cereal box but was never going to trigger wolf whistles as a cover girl’s would? Something else she didn’t have going for her was height—she hadn’t grown an inch above her five foot three since the seventh grade. To redirect Roy’s focus, she reached across the counter to straighten his wrinkled shirt collar lying awkwardly over his maroon clinic jacket. “If you don’t like to iron, at least take your clothes out of the dryer before they dry all mangled. Better yet, let me do your ironing for you.”

“Don’t change the subject.” Roy playfully swatted away her hand away. “Just remember that I have to answer to your parents if anything happens to you here.”

She thought about her parents, who were considering becoming foster parents since she, too, had “abandoned the nest,” as her parents put it. Her older, adopted brother had struck out on his own four years earlier, finding his career restoring old homes on the East Coast. “Nothing is going to happen to me, Uncle Roy. I was born under a lucky star, remember?”

It was her longtime joke, ever since learning that she had been born one night on the side of the road after the family car had suffered a flat on the way to the hospital. When asked as a child, “Which star?” she would spread her arms wide and declare, “All of them!” The truth was that Roy had been a lifesaver in helping her get a job here, and Rylie intended to quickly make him see that she was fine on her own before he found out the full truth about why she had made the move.

“Well, Ms. Lucky,” he said, nodding toward the front, “your first appointment is arriving—along with her sourpuss courier.”

Noting his grimace, a confused Rylie glanced over her shoulder to see a sleek black BMW sedan pull up to the front door. She couldn’t stop a little sigh as she recognized that once again Ramon Bustillo wasn’t here in Mrs. Prescott’s Cadillac.

“I wonder how Mrs. P talked His Highness into delivering her pooch again.”

“Behave.” Rylie looked from her uncle to the four musketeers, to see if they were listening, then back to the expensive car. She knew why Uncle Roy called Noah Prescott that—Noah wasn’t only the son of Mrs. Audra Prescott, one of the state’s most admired ladies in society, he was also District Attorney Vance Ellis Underwood’s assistant and expected successor—and he acted the part. As a result, her uncle didn’t care for him, calling him a “stuffed shirt,” and, after two meetings with the man, Rylie had to admit Roy had some cause for his opinion. However, Noah was maddeningly sexy, too, with his intense brown eyes, serious five-o’clock shadow that tended to keep her from having a clear view of the slight cleft in his chin, and gorgeous, wavy brown hair with enviable gold highlights. The first time she met him, she’d concluded that he must shave three times a day to keep the elegant image his tailored suits and expensive shoes exuded. He undoubtedly went for a weekly manicure, too. His long-fingered, pianist’s hands had made her want to shove her banged-up, laborer’s hands into her jeans’ back pockets.

“Ramon must have experienced some kind of problem again,” she replied. Ramon Bustillo wasn’t only Mrs. Prescott’s driver; he was the caretaker at Haven Land, the family estate. Last time, Ramon had needed to get Mrs. Prescott to an early doctor’s appointment, so Noah had brought her dog, and it was evident to anyone with eyes that Noah couldn’t wait to be rid of the adorable bichon frise, registered as Baroness Baja Bacardi. It had been equally clear that the little dog couldn’t wait to get into friendlier hands, as well.

“I suspect having an audience won’t improve his mood any, so I’m going to take MG and Humphrey out back. C’mon, Humph,” he called to Doc’s basset hound. “MG, pretty girl,” he added to the large, black retriever-mix dog. “Let’s go out.”

“Thanks, Uncle Roy.” Seeing Noah struggle with closing the car door, she started toward the front door to help, only to stumble. “Oh!”

She knew immediately what had happened—instead of following her uncle’s directive, MG had come to stand beside her as though waiting for permission. Luckily, Rylie had good reflexes and grabbed the edge of the counter before falling face-first to the tile floor.

“Rylie—good Lord! Are you okay?”

Seventy-year-old Warren Atwood, the “Aramis” in the group, rose from his chair. Retired from the army and a former D.A. of Cherokee County himself, his dear wife was in a local nursing home suffering from the last stages of Alzheimer’s. Rylie had learned that he was so devastated by it all that he could barely stand to be there without becoming emotional.

“Not to worry,” she assured him and the others, who also looked concerned. “I should have known she would come to me first. She’s still getting used to Uncle Roy.” Rylie covered her embarrassment by quickly hugging the sweet-natured, long-legged dog. She thought she’d been doing so well; she hadn’t bumped into a wall or tripped over anything in days. “Let’s go, Mommy’s Girl. Go out with Uncle Roy. You know it’s your job to watch over Humphrey.” She walked the black, silky-haired animal to the swinging doors, where her uncle and Doc and Brooke’s basset hound waited.

“I don’t get it,” Roy muttered. “Dogs like me.”

“She likes you.”

“So much that she runs to you at the sound of my voice. She’s going to give me a complex.” After the mock complaint, her uncle gave her a concerned look. “Are you sure you’re okay? You aren’t getting all flustered over Golden Boy, are you?”

“You’re sounding more and more like a jealous schoolgirl.” Shaking her head, she started for the front door again.

By the time she had her hand on the handle bar, Noah Prescott had championed the outer door. Barely. She couldn’t help but laugh at the awkward way he was holding the little cutie. Was he afraid that the adorable white bichon frise was going to try to take a bite of his earlobe or that the young dog would ruin his very attractive silvery-gray suit?

“Thanks for the prompt assistance,” Noah muttered when he finally made it inside.

“You’re very welcome, A.D.A. Prescott,” she replied cheerfully, purposely misunderstanding his sarcasm. “I would never have guessed a little eight-pound dog with such an amiable nature would scare a man with the entire police department at his service.”

“I. Am. Not. Scared.” Checking his edgy tone, Noah added stiffly, “I’m simply trying not to get dog hair on my suit. I happen to be due in court within the hour.”

“Well, you’re wearing the best color to hide a strand or two,” Rylie assured him, all smiles and pleasantness. “Hello, Bubbles, you cutie.” She relieved Noah of the tiny bundle, who had been nothing but obliging during her two previous visits. “I hope nothing has happened to Ramon,” she added to Noah. “Your mother’s driver?” she added, after his odd look.

“I know his name. I just thought it unusual that you did.”

Maybe Uncle Roy was right—Noah Prescott could be the snob Roy claimed. Unable to resist, Rylie said with several more degrees of sweet demeanor, “Why wouldn’t I? Because he’s only a driver? I’m only a dog groomer. Who am I to put on airs about the hired help?”

After staring at her as though he would like to put her behind bars, or at least walk out without another word, Noah replied with painstaking civility, “Ramon is at the dealership. The car had a flat before getting out the driveway. Mother didn’t want him driving way down here on the spare, then all the way back to Rusk.”

“That sounds just like her. She’s such a thoughtful woman.” Audra Prescott was also turning into her best customer so far, thanks to her preference for having her dog groomed more often than the average person. With a few more clients like her, Rylie knew Gage and Uncle Roy would be convinced that there was definitely a market for another dog groomer in the area. “You’re a good son, too,” she assured Noah, with impish humor, “for helping out in a crunch.”

“I can’t tell you how that reassures me.” Checking his watch, he added quickly, “I take it that Mother gave you instructions on what she wants done?”

“Bathing, trimming...the cut still a little shorter since the days are still quite warm, even though it’s shorter than the AKC prefers—” Turning to reach for her reservations book that she’d left on the lower level of the reception counter, Rylie misjudged the distance and bumped her elbow. She hit hard enough to gasp and jerk back, and she had to do a neat little jig to keep her balance. “Oops. Sorry, Bubbles. That’s the last misstep for this visit, I promise.”

From behind her came Noah’s droll observation. “I take it that it wasn’t runway modeling that you gave up for this line of work?”

“As a matter of fact, it was,” she replied, her wicked humor kicking in. “Call me crazy, since there’s only so much demand for five-foot-three glamour girls. But I just love animals too much.” She kept her smile bright, determined not to let her disappointment in him show. But who was he to add a jab at her height into his cutting remark? Mr. Glass-Half-Empty Prescott might reach six feet if someone gave him an inch of credit for his ability to look down his nose at her. While he had the face for it, no modeling agency would hound him to sign a contract, either. “As I was saying, aside from the usual care, Bubbles will get—”

Noah silenced her with a dismissive wave. “Don’t bother. That Mother relayed instructions is all I care about. Good grief, primping is primping. Any of the shops between here and Rusk would do the same thing.”

Sexy, but grouchy, Rylie thought with renewed disappointment. All because he had to drive a few extra miles for his mother’s dog? She couldn’t resist rubbing it in a bit. “Yes, I am fortunate to have her, Mrs. Collins’s and Mrs. Nixon’s support, as well. They’ve all been very kind about spreading the word. As it happens, I’m a little different from some in the business because I’ve been doing this kind of work since I was old enough to know the difference between the front and back end of animals. And for the record? The term primping is condescending. There are a good number of health issues related to good grooming for animals, just as there are for humans.”

In a moment that couldn’t have been better choreographed if she’d tried, Bubbles started licking Rylie’s hand as though apologizing on Noah’s behalf. Rylie nuzzled the little dog.

“Aw...thank you, precious.” She returned her focus to Noah. “I also don’t believe in sedating animals, whatever their temperament. How safe or wise would it have been for your mother, or nanny, to sedate you when giving you a manicure or trim?”

From the corner of the room the four musketeers chuckled and snickered.

Noah Prescott stared at her as though she’d just burst into “The Sun Will Come Out Tomorrow” and took a cautious step back toward the exit. “Just call my mother when it’s ready. Ramon should be home by then.”

Almost before the doors drifted shut behind Noah, Stan Walsh launched the inevitable commentary. “Whatcha trying to do to the poor guy, Rylie? You had him acting like he’d OD’d on sticky buns.”

As the others laughed, Rylie stroked the adorable animal in her arms and gave them her most innocent look. “Now, Stan, are you accusing me of being an instigator?”

“Never met a honeybee who wasn’t.”

“It’s been my experience,” Pete Ogilvie offered, “that the harder a guy tries to convince a gal that he doesn’t approve of her, the more he’s really trying to deny he’s attracted.”

“That sounds like forced logic to me,” Jerry Platt scoffed.

“That’s because you have the libido of a rabbit,” Pete countered, “and the mind of one. You think that any female who happens to cross your path is a gift from the gods.”

As the men burst into laughter, Rylie pretended the need to cover Bubbles’s ears. “This conversation is getting way too frisky for our tender ears, baby girl. Let’s go.”

* * *

Damn her perkiness.

She was the most annoying female he’d met in some time, and what was driving Noah crazy was that it was for all the reasons that usually attracted him. What the heck was going on? Rylie Quinn was friendly, good-natured, a born optimist. How could he fault someone who tried to see the bright side of things? Yet for some bizarre, quirky reason, he was discovering that he had no problem where she was concerned.

She was an irritating mix of sweetness and provocation, deceptively packaged in a Peter Pan–size body that her maroon medical smock would mostly hide, except when it wasn’t fastened today any more than on his other visit to the clinic. That gamin-short hair didn’t help make her look fully grown, either. The short, punkish style left her looking more like a nine-year-old boy than a woman in her early or mid-twenties, an ironic observation, since he liked his women slender and sleek. But then she did little to enhance her femininity—maybe just mascara and some lip gloss, and yet every receptor in his molecular being went on full alert the instant she was within sight.

It was those gray-green eyes that got him on edge, he decided. Sure they were incredibly framed by lashes that would make a sable proud; however, their color was that unnerving shade of storm clouds before a tornado dropped from them and turned your life inside out. That’s it! he thought, feeling as though he’d locked in on some important detail. She looked at him as though she had a secret, and she wasn’t telling. Well, he wasn’t big on secrets. It was one of the chief things that made his work so difficult and, often, ugly: secrets and lies.

As Noah sped north to Rusk, and the courthouse, he considered phoning his mother again to ask if she really knew what she was getting herself into trusting Rylie Quinn. Just because her equally dog-crazy friends approved of the young woman, Rylie’s claim that she didn’t use drugs to keep animals calm during grooming didn’t mean she hadn’t, or wouldn’t, in a crunch. He also didn’t believe for a moment her self-laudatory proclamation that she got along with any and all critters. Maybe it was working to sell herself as the female rendition of the Dog Whisperer; however, she’d been at the clinic for only about a month. The jury was still out, as far as he was concerned.

On the other hand, Dr. Gage Sullivan’s reputation was impeccable. He just hoped the guy hadn’t been suckered in by a red-haired con artist the way his mother and others may have been.

At the thought of his mother, he sighed heavily. He accepted that he was struggling to understand her and had been since the accident that put her in a wheelchair. She had always been a pragmatic, no-nonsense person, but no more. Who registers their lap dog as Baroness Baja Bacardi? he thought with a new wave of dismay and embarrassment. What a title for a creature that could almost fit in a restaurant take-out box. Granted, his mother had little pleasure in her life anymore—a dog, the pool therapy, her painting and the visits from a small handful of trusted and dedicated friends, as well as her minister, lawyer and accountant. Otherwise, her society was “Livie,” Olivia Danner, her live-in nurse, and Aubergine Scott, the resident housekeeper-cook. Considering the whirlwind life of a socialite that she’d juggled before, his mother’s life was as shockingly different as if Hillary Clinton suddenly chose to exit the political world forever and cloistered herself in a nunnery! Under those circumstances, Noah didn’t have the heart to deny her this bit of frivolity even as he groused to others over being inconvenienced. Audra Rains Prescott had earned a certain amount of indulgences, regardless of how silly this one seemed to him.

Three years ago, his parents were involved in a head-on collision with another vehicle, one whose driver passed out due to side effects of her prescription drugs. The crash had killed his father and the other driver instantly. It was a miracle that his mother hadn’t died, too. She had, however, lost most of the use of the lower half of her body. Nevertheless, there was enough nerve connectivity to trigger chronic pain and insomnia, which in turn added to bouts of depression. If it wasn’t for their dedicated people on the estate, he would need prescriptions, or at least a therapist himself.

For example, Ramon wasn’t just dealing with a flat tire; there was a recall notice on his mother’s Cadillac that he hadn’t let her know about, due to her fragile perspective when it came to all things motorized these days. It had come only two days ago, so the tire issue had been fortuitous in a way. Ramon knew to keep the more serious issue between the two of them. He just hoped the repair wouldn’t take all day.

“Hell,” he muttered, “if you can’t trust America’s classy tank, what can you trust?”

It was a relief to reach Rusk and the courthouse. He’d become the assistant D.A. for Cherokee County soon after his return to East Texas to supervise things at home. Until then, he’d been the hottest “gunslinger” at one of Houston’s top law firms. Had he been able to stay there, he had no doubt there would already be talk about him becoming a partner by now, even though he was only thirty.

Coming home, it had never occurred to him to just manage the family estate and enjoy a gentleman’s lifestyle, which had been an option. True, he could also have opened his own private practice; however, that didn’t appeal to him, either. Divorces, will probates and small lawsuits needed good counsel to be sure, but not from him. He needed something with more intellectual challenge, and so when Vance Ellis Underwood, the current D.A., discreetly asked him if being the assistant D.A.—with the understanding that he would be seen as Underwood’s heir apparent when Underwood retired—would be something he would be interested in, Noah saw that as his best option.

If only he was handling his return to a more rural lifestyle as well. While there was no denying the countryside’s beauty, he missed Houston and the nightlife, the buzz and being in the inner circle of what was happening in the city and state. But someone had to oversee the family’s estate—the mansion, the near-thousand-acre ranch and tree farm, along with oil and gas leases. His mother had left all of that to his father, although she had a good basic knowledge of what was what. Unfortunately, she was no longer mobile enough to keep on top of things.

At the town square, Noah parked in back of the courthouse building, where their offices were on the first floor. Grabbing his briefcase, he hurried inside. While driving, he’d already answered two calls from the D.A.’s secretary, the last time assuring her that he was as good as in the building. Court commenced in minutes, and today they were choosing a jury for a case related to the largest drug bust in the county’s history. The fact that the accused was the son of a prominent family in the area was garnering a lot of media attention, and it would be the worst day to be late.

Noah rushed into the office just as Judy Millsap exited the D.A.’s office, a bulging file and her steno pad in her arms.

“Oh, thank goodness.” The silver-haired, usually calm woman exhaled with relief as she set her load on her desk. “This is all for you. He’s coming down with a full-fledged case of some bug or other. He thought he could get things started and then let you do the most of the jury interviewing, but he just admitted that even sitting in court might be more than he can manage.”

At sixty-six, Vance Underwood had suffered a few health problems in the past year and had confided that he wanted to retire as soon as his term was over in two years. Catching something as common as a virus could turn things serious quickly.

“Do you think you should get him an ambulance?” Noah asked in concern.

“I asked. He vetoed the idea, but I insisted he let a deputy drive him home. I’ll take his car and hitch a ride back with the officer.”

“It sounds as though his heart doctor should be notified, as well.”

The plump woman with the wedge hairdo nodded her agreement. “So do I, but it’s not up to me. I will call his wife and warn her we’re coming while I wait for the deputy. Perhaps I can convince her that she needs to make that call.”

“Good luck with that.” As much as Noah didn’t want to seem too eager to take control, he was also discreet about making any comments about Mrs. Underwood. It was well-known in the office and elsewhere around town that Elise had never been given a prescription drug she didn’t develop a loving relationship with. Chances were that she wasn’t even out of bed yet, let alone coherent enough to be of any assistance to her husband.

Reaching for the stack, Noah said, “Let me know if there’s anything else you need.”

“Pick an excellent jury.”

* * *

Three hours later, Noah was back at his desk. As luck would have it, the judge had come down with the same virus that the D.A. seemed to be suffering from and the entire day’s docket was rescheduled. Minutes ago, Noah had encouraged Judy to take an early lunch, assuring her that he would stay and watch things at the office. She was grateful, having missed breakfast due to the morning’s hectic situation.

Alone in the office—since their clerk, Ann, was finishing a task and directly heading off to lunch, too—Noah called home to check on his mother. “Has Ramon made it back from the dealership?” he asked.

“I’m glad you called. No, he hasn’t. They just started on my car and told him it would be about two hours. How can a simple matter like a flat take so long?”

Noah wasn’t about to tell her, and replied instead, “They could be shorthanded. We have a lot of illness going around here, too. Or else they saw that the car’s mileage was close to the next scheduled oil change and servicing and convinced Ramon to go ahead and do that.”

“Oh. Well, then, will you be a dear and pick up Bubbles during your lunch hour? Rylie called and Bubbles is not liking being locked in a kennel at all.”

Noah closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why can’t she bring her to you?” She must take a lunch break herself, and since she was eager to build up a clientele base, this would be a great way to make points with a valued customer.

“Shame on you!” his mother replied. “That’s not her responsibility.” After a slight pause, she said more calmly, “If you have other commitments, darling, just say so. I only feel badly for everyone having to listen to my baby acting up. I’m sure she’s upsetting the other animals, too.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to claim that he was due back in court too soon to do that for her, but his conscience wouldn’t let him. The whole purpose of returning here was to make his mother’s life as stress-free as possible.

“Judy’s taking her lunch at the moment,” he said. “But she’ll be back in about thirty minutes. I can go then.”

“Bless you, darling. You’re the best child a mother could hope for.”

“Give me a compliment that bears repeating,” he replied drolly. “Everyone here knows I’m an only child and that you have nothing to compare me with.”

At least when he hung up, she was laughing.

* * *

When Noah pulled up to the clinic, it wasn’t yet one o’clock and the closed-for-lunch sign was still on the door, although Noah could see the old-timers sitting around their table. He wondered if they ever went home. Or was there anyone at home to go to? He had noticed pockets of seniors around Rusk, too, who collected wherever they weren’t in the way yet could get out of the heat or cold, depending on the season. Loneliness and old age weren’t necessarily synonymous—he knew plenty of senior citizens living full, active lives—but apparently something was going on. It was good of Gage Sullivan to allow the guys to hang out here.

One of the seniors spotted him and pointed around the building toward the back.

Hoping he understood correctly, Noah drove that way, only to utter a soft, “Whoa.”

He’d heard that Rylie Quinn was living in a camper in the back of the clinic, but what was parked ahead of him wasn’t just an RV. It was one of those monster coach things that well-to-do traveling retirees and touring rock stars used. Didn’t those things come with a hefty price tag? It seemed a lot of vehicle for a woman only in her mid-twenties. Grooming dogs was apparently more lucrative than he’d first thought.

As he exited his BMW, he gave the two-tone bronze machine a once-over from behind his sunglasses. This was a model where both sides could extend out from the main structure for extra sleeping and dining space, converting it into a virtual house on wheels. The size of the thing also had him wondering who else might be in there. A boyfriend? Husband? Rylie didn’t wear a ring. Come to think of it, she didn’t seem to wear any jewelry at all. Interesting bit of trivia for such a lively, even flamboyant, person.

Before he could knock, the door opened, and he looked up into Rylie’s smiling face. A determined smile, he noted.

“Hey there. Twice in one day—my cup runneth over. I guess your mom managed to twist your arm? When I called her and learned that Ramon was being held hostage at the dealership, I offered to bring Bubbles to her, but she said you would be happy to do it.” Upon seeing Noah narrow his eyes, she threw back her head and laughed with delight. “Oh, how funny! She conned you.”

“So it would seem,” he muttered. The why bothered him, too. His mother hadn’t met Rylie, so she had better not be getting any ideas about matchmaking.

“Come on in, you poor oppressed soul. I was having lunch here to let Bubbles have more space, and so the old-timers could hear each other talk. For a little thing, she does have powerful lungs.”

After a slight hesitation, Noah did step up into the vehicle. He couldn’t deny that he was curious as to what things looked like inside. “That’s what Mother claims to have been worried about. At home Bubbles has about ten thousand square feet to roam around, all in a safe environment.” As soon as he said that, Noah inwardly kicked himself. Not only did it sound as though he was bragging, but he knew better than to offer details to strangers, particularly about the family’s wealth. Granted, one had only to drive by the property to know they were well-off, but to him this was just another sign of how easily Rylie Quinn could undermine his discipline.

“Lucky girl. At least we don’t have to worry about her getting enough exercise, regardless of the weather.” Rylie stepped back to make room for him. “I wondered how Mrs. Prescott could be feeding her all of those treats she admits to, yet this munchkin stays at a healthy weight.” She leaned over to pick up the little dog that—upon Noah’s entry—had gone straight to her and planted one tiny foot on Rylie’s sneaker.

Noah didn’t miss the move, which struck him as possessive. That left Noah with the uncomfortable feeling that the dog could sense his conflicted feelings about Rylie. Or was the animal sticking close to her because she hated the idea of having to ride home with him? At this rate the spoiled fur ball was going to have Rylie thinking he was abusive.

“She also likes to chase around the pool,” he continued, “while my mother has her therapy.”

With a sympathetic sound, Rylie said, “I heard about what happened to Mrs. Prescott—and the terrible loss you both suffered. I’m so sorry.”

Although he nodded his thanks, he had to look away after feeling an unexpected pulling in his midsection, as though someone was tethering them together via invisible strings connected to each of their ribs. In self-defense, he changed the subject. “This is quite a setup you have here. When I heard you had been working out of an RV, I pictured something less...comfortable.”

Rylie glanced around, her expression reflecting her own sense of good fortune. “A business contact of my parents helped me get a great price and terms. It’s a repo,” she told him. “I didn’t really need anything so big, let alone lavish, but the extra space would have come in handy if Doc hadn’t been so generous in letting me use the clinic’s facilities. But you never know. The clinic business keeps growing, and if things get too crowded for him—especially if he adds staff—then I’ll have to work in here again.”

Taking that in to mull over later, Noah’s gaze zeroed in on the master bedroom at the far end of the RV. He saw the king-size bed with the blue-and-purple bedspread and small berg of matching pillows piled against the sapphire-blue, cushioned headboard. It was too easy to imagine Rylie lying there, and when his wayward thoughts started to edit what she might—or might not—wear to bed, his body stirred with hunger.

“Do you have our bill ready?” he asked, abruptly.

“Oh...of course,” Rylie said, immediately contrite. “Sorry for wandering on. I know you have to get back. Actually, I have another appointment in a few minutes myself.” She went to the dinette table and picked up the invoice lying there beside a half-eaten salad. “I gave your mother a discount because this is Bubbles’s third visit in just over a month, meaning there’s less matting than I usually have to deal with. Also please let her know that Bubbles’s nails didn’t need trimming this time. You’re such a good girl,” Rylie cooed to the dog.

After eyeing the fresh coat of purple nail polish on the dog’s toes, Noah saw Bubbles lick Rylie’s chin, then give him a look as though telepathically saying, See? This is how I like to be treated.

Accepting the bill, Noah reached for his billfold. As he handed Rylie the correct amount, he asked, “Would you mind bringing her to my car? I can really do without the ladies in the courthouse snickering at me when I return smelling like I’ve been hanging around a perfume counter.”

Choking, Rylie insisted, “You’re exaggerating. I can’t handle excessive scents myself, nor can Bubbles. I use a very light touch on my animals.”

Some inexplicable something egged him on, and Noah intentionally rubbed the tip of his nose. “If that’s restrained to you, we’ll have to agree to disagree.”

“Don’t listen, cutie.” Rylie cuddled Bubbles again. “He’s determined to try to make us think the problem is with us. I think you smell as delicious as your name, and your mommy will, too.” As the dog reached up and touched a paw to her cheek, Rylie laughed in pleasure. “You are a heart stealer, yes, you are. Let me just stamp your bill as paid,” she told Noah, “and—”

“That’s not necessary.”

“But I always make sure your mother has a detailed—”

“I’m handling this for her.”

Rylie’s face lit with pleasure. “How nice of you.” Leading the way, she opened the door and took care going down the steps. “Gotta be careful with our precious cargo, huh, sweetie?” she crooned to the little dog. “Isn’t it a beautiful day?” she added to Noah.

“It’s hot for autumn.”

“But the evenings are so nice. Doc has a couple of kenneled dogs this week and he’s letting me walk them. Then they get to spend the night with us. As you saw, there’s plenty of room, and they enjoy it so much more than being locked up in pens.”

Noah lost the battle with his curiosity. “Us?”

“MG and me. My dog.”

“And MG stands for...?”

“Mommy’s Girl. They told me when I got her from the shelter that they’d named her Marnie, but it was soon apparent that we were going to be very close, and she’s seriously maternal. She instinctively steps in to help whenever she decides I need her assistance with an animal.”

Noah was sorry he’d asked. Sure, he believed there were special relationships between some pets and their owners, but Mommy’s Girl? That was laying it on a bit thick.

Unlocking the BMW with his remote, he opened the passenger door for Rylie. Looking over the hood of the car, he considered the grassy area and the woods beyond it where she said she walked. It was more a wild pasture than a park. “Aren’t you concerned about snakes, or getting eaten up by chiggers and mosquitoes?” Texas also had more than its share of wild hogs, coyotes and an increasing number of abandoned dogs, too, he thought.

“We haven’t been bothered yet,” she said, shrugging. “Maybe there’s safety in numbers. In any case, I tend to take a live-and-let-live approach. It’s more important that the dogs get some attention and exercise. They’re missing their homes, and some are overweight, so being constricted in pens for days is just unhealthy.” She began to put the dog on the BMW’s black leather seat only to rear back. “Oh! Please put on the air conditioner and give us a moment for things to cool down. She’ll get burned.”

“Try putting her on the floorboard.” When he saw her stubbornly resist, Noah did get into the car and start the engine. Sure, it had gotten warmer in the short time that he’d been in her RV, but it was nowhere near as bad as it had been in July or August. As the vents quickly blew cold air through the inside of the vehicle, he reiterated, “The floorboard, please. I don’t want claw runs in the leather.”

“But she won’t be able to see, and it’s a rougher ride down there.”

The Mother Teresa of furry creatures really was beginning to push his buttons. “For crying out loud, this car’s shock absorbers are the embodiment of foreign skill in cushion and spring. She has no idea what rough is.”

With a sigh of exasperation, Rylie said to the dog, “Your big brother is determined to be disagreeable, isn’t he, precious?”

Big brother? “Okay, that’s enough,” Noah said, having had his fill of this nonsense. “Put the damned dog in now. Please.” He had to get out of there before she fried what brain cells he had left.

With a mournful glance, Rylie did as ordered. Carefully shutting the door, she backed away.

As Noah cut a sharp U-turn, he decided he was going to tell his mother that her pet’s groomer—cute as she was—was a nut job who needed a reality check. There were kids, even in this area, who needed help with essentials—food, clothing—not to mention finding a safe family environment. Spending any more time on inanity like this was ridiculous. How could a woman be so adorable, yet irritating at the same time?

As he circled around the clinic and cut a sharp turn onto the service road, Bubbles barked at him as the force of the turn tipped her over.

“Oh, put a lid on it,” he muttered.


Chapter Two

As Noah expected, his mother was parked in her wheelchair within sight of the front door and applauded with excitement as he entered Haven Land with Bubbles. Adding to his soured mood, she immediately started complimenting Rylie’s work the instant her precious four-legged princess leaped into her arms. Even if he wanted to pass on Rylie’s comments and messages, he couldn’t get a word in due to her effusiveness.

“Isn’t that shade of purple ribbon adorable, Aubergine?” she said to her housekeeper, who was standing with the glass of tea and the small cup of medications Audra needed to take. “Livie—look at her nails! A perfect match. And she’s so happy to be home.”

Aubergine Scott had been with the family since before Noah had graduated from high school. She was a single mother of two children, now grown, gratefully educated by his parents. Daughter Rachel was a lawyer in Washington, D.C., and son Randolph was a teacher in Houston. Each had tried to make the sixty-year-old retire, to pay her back for all she’d done for them, but Aubergine liked her independence and was devoted to his mother.

Olivia “Livie” Danner quit her RN job when Noah’s mother had been discharged from the hospital in Dallas, and joined their makeshift family. Quiet, bookish and athletic, at fifty-seven, she was as reserved as Aubergine was outspoken, but both possessed a dry sense of humor that Noah appreciated, even though quite a bit of it was directed at him. What he cared about most, though, was that his mother liked and trusted her.

“She’s as pretty as a valentine,” plump and short Aubergine declared.

“Charming,” tall and toned Livie added, with a tolerant nod. “Please take your medication, Audra.”

“In a minute. Oh, she smells good enough to eat,” Audra gushed, all but burying her face in the dog’s fur. “Did you properly thank Rylie for me, dear?”

Ignoring Aubergine’s barely repressed grin, he shoved his hands into his pants pockets to keep everyone from seeing him curl his fingers into fists. “Mother, trust me, she knows how supportive you are of her. She all but rubs it in my face. If anyone should be appreciative, it’s her for having your business.”

His mother gave him a distressed look. “I swear, you are sounding more like an old grouch every day. And you were raised to have better manners. Do I have to call her and apologize on your behalf?”

“No, ma’am, you do not,” he said, with only a modicum of guilt. Also not happy to be scolded in front of the other two women, he continued, “Do you mind if I get back to work now? Vance went home sick, so I’m holding the fort today.”

“What? Then why are you standing there breathing on your mother?” Livie immediately started pulling the chair toward the living room.

“I’ll get the disinfectant spray,” Aubergine assured her partner-in-protection. To Noah she said, “You heard her, get going. You know her lungs don’t need any more work than they already get.”

Noah held up his hands in surrender and quickly backed out of their presence. He knew he’d blundered, and the sooner he made his exit the better.

“Oh, Noah, they’re only being protective,” his mother called after him.

“And they’re very good at it,” he said with a courtly bow. “Don’t worry about dinner. I’ll eat out. Have to work late.” He didn’t really, but it wouldn’t be a bad idea to work ahead.

* * *

Judy was on the phone when Noah returned to the office and Ann, the junior clerk, was either still on her lunch break or in some storage room hunting files. Ann was more Judy’s assistant than any help to Vance or himself, and Noah often forgot she was even employed there. From the looks of the poor woman, whom someone had nicknamed “the beige person” for the way she dressed and behaved, she might have easily just emerged from the bland walls one morning and retreated into them at night. She rarely spoke that he could hear.

Back in his corner, where he was framed by a window, a wall and on the third side file cabinets—the closest thing he could develop into an office—Noah took the extra time to check his email account and then on a whim typed Rylie’s name into the search engine box. He wasn’t proud of it, but he had just enough annoyance left in him to want to see what would happen.

As expected, there were no clear results. There was a link to Riley’s Car Wash, another Riley who could read your psychic vibes for twenty bucks and a masseuse. For a second he wondered if Rylie changed the spelling of her name to moonlight in an even more lucrative field. Hindsight being what it was, he regretted not having written down the RV’s license plate number. That would be easy enough to check, even if they were still California plates.

About to start a different search, he saw Judy put her call on hold. “Noah—it’s the sheriff,” she called back to him. “With the D.A. out, he was wondering if you two could meet regarding upcoming cases he thinks are ready for us.”

“Of course.” With reluctance, Noah shut down his web browser. “Where does he want to meet, here or at his office?”

* * *

“Well, if you come now, we’ll see you right away,”

Roy put his hand over the phone’s mouthpiece and gestured for Rylie not to leave as she’d been preparing to. Curious more than disappointed at not getting to call it a day yet, she backtracked to wait beside him.

Putting his hand over the mouthpiece, he said, “Noah Prescott. Emergency.” After that he said into the phone, “Come to the side door. If people see vehicles in front, they’ll think we’re open for regular business. We’ll be watching for you.”

As soon as he hung up, Rylie commiserated on her uncle’s bad luck, while worrying about Bubbles. Uncle Roy had planned to meet the old-timers at the VFW hall to watch a Texas Rangers baseball game this evening. What could possibly have happened to the little dog? “Bubbles is hurt?”

“Audra Prescott dropped a glass. You can picture the rest. Noah is running the pup over here.”

“Poor little thing. How badly is she cut?”

“Bad enough that neither he nor Ramon could get the piece out. The dog snaps at them when they try to get a good look.”

Rylie wasn’t surprised about her reaction to at least one of the men. “That’s a surprise about her snapping at Ramon.” The caretaker, who was closer to her uncle’s age than Noah’s, appeared to get as much of a kick out of the little dog as his employer did.

“If you ask me, Bubbles is just partial to women,” Roy said. He nodded to MG. “Like someone else I know.”

Nudging him affectionately due to his lingering fretting over why MG wasn’t warming to him as much as he expected, Rylie said, “Either way, I know Mrs. Prescott is stressed. You go on, Uncle Roy. I’ll manage this.”

Although he looked tempted, he hung back. “You haven’t even started your certification as a technician yet. What happens if the dog needs stitches or something else that requires she be put under sedation?”

“Then I’ll notify Doc and I’ll keep Bubbles as calm as possible until he’s back from his emergency call. Go enjoy your game with the guys, and if something changes that I can’t handle, I’ll holler.” The VFW was only a half mile down the service road.

Roy seemed tempted, but the pull on his conscience was clearly stronger. “You don’t have a key to lock up in case Gage isn’t needed.”

“So lock that side door and leave the back one open. I’ll keep an eye on things until you can make it back here to close up.”

Roy rubbed at his whiskered jaw. Like Rylie’s father, he took after the Black Irish side of the family, while Rylie favored her red-haired mother, whose ancestors were from England as much as Ireland. “I would give you my key and you could give it back in the morning,” he ventured.

Rylie loved him for the gesture but shook her head adamantly. “Hey, I will get a key when Doc is ready to give me one.”

“Which will be soon,” Roy assured her. He gave her a quick hug. “Have I told you lately what a great job you’re doing? I’m really proud of you.”

Afraid that he was going to ask questions again about why she’d quit veterinary school when she’d been in her last year, she assured him, “That means more to me than I can tell you. Now, go. Enjoy! And I’d like to hear that you actually talked to a woman while you were over there.” She didn’t understand why he was still single after all these years. He didn’t even have someone special he was seeing. On first glance he did appear severe with his stark coloring and serious manner, but he was attractive and fairly fit, although probably a bit too shy with the opposite sex for his own good.

Relenting, Roy dug his keys out of his jeans pocket. “I’ll see you right after the game is over—unless it’s a total blowout from the beginning. Then I’ll head over here sooner. We can play a couple hands of poker over a beer. It’s time we find out if you can finally keep up with your old uncle.”

“Be careful for what you wish for,” Rylie countered with a cheeky grin.

Waving goodbye, she rounded the building to wait on Noah. She knew if she didn’t, he would be confused, then annoyed that things weren’t the way Roy had said he would find them. Also, knowing Bubbles would be stressed, she wanted to make things go as quickly and easily as possible for her, too.

She couldn’t deny that she was feeling an odd mixture of apprehension and excitement at the idea of seeing Noah again. Maybe she was being a glutton for punishment, but she wanted to make him see what others had no problem noticing—that she was good at what she did and fun to be around.

She didn’t have to wait long for him. Noah must have really kept his foot on the accelerator to arrive only a minute or two later.

“What’s going on?” he asked her, upon parking in back and emerging from the black BMW.

He looked much more approachable dressed in a pale blue denim shirt and designer jeans, but his lack of a tan and his Italian loafers made it obvious that he was no outdoorsman, let alone a cowboy. Nevertheless, Rylie’s heartbeat kicked up a notch and she almost forgave him for his curtness earlier.

“Doc had an emergency and Roy had a previous commitment. He’ll be back later. We agreed that he would just keep this door unlocked instead.”

“They don’t trust you with a key?” he asked, rounding to the passenger side of the vehicle.

So much for wishing that he’d come with a better attitude, Rylie thought. “I’ve only been here for a short while. Uncle Roy didn’t get a key when he first started, either.” She couldn’t, however, resist adding, “Have you always acted so condescending and superior with people, or is this a side that only I bring out in you?”

Noah looked taken aback. “Me? Condescending? Serious maybe. Mine is that kind of profession. The price for putting criminals where they belong means having to fixate on the unpleasant, often brutal side of life. Not everyone has the luxury of seeing the world as glass half-full every waking moment as you do.”

Oddly enough, Rylie was almost consoled by his answer. If that’s how he saw her, she thought, opening the door herself, then she was a better actress than she’d hoped. “Well, all of that fixating is doing bad things for whatever charm you inherited from your wonderful mother. Maybe you should consider a job change before it starts to affect your health.” Before Noah could reply, she reached for Bubbles and cooed, “Poor darling. Easy does it. We’re going to get you feeling better. I promise.”

The pink towel the young dog was lying in was significantly stained, warning Rylie to lift her with extra care. Once the dog was in her arms, she turned for the back door.

“Can you get that for me?” she asked Noah.

Without comment, he slammed the car door shut and pressed the remote lock on the key. Then he jogged the few steps to open the steel-and-glass clinic door.

Inside, Rylie led the way to the nearest stainless-steel operating table. The fluorescent lights remained on, and it made the room as bright as midday. Whispering soothingly to the little dog that was trying to burrow her head into Rylie’s armpit, she eased Bubbles onto the table.

“Poor friend. What happened here, huh? Gonna let me see so I can make it better?”

“You’re authorized to do this?” Noah asked, coming up beside her.

Without taking her eyes off the wound, Rylie said, “I’m at least capable of seeing how badly she’s hurt. Did you manage that much?”

Noah admitted, “No, and neither did Ramon.”

“Were you present when the accident happened?”

“I was pretty much the cause of it.” At Rylie’s startled glance, he continued. “Mother was annoyed with me. I was supposed to be working later than she expected. After changing, I came downstairs and caught her trying to have more wine than is safe for her. With her nurse upstairs preparing her bath, and our housekeeper outside in the garden, she thought she was alone.”

“You startled her.”

“I did,” he said, regret deepening his voice. “She doesn’t have the strength she thinks she has despite the therapy she gets, and the bottle and glass slipped from her grasp. A moment later, upset at the commotion that followed, Bubbles got into the mess, and the rest you can see.”

It was apparent by the way Noah looked everywhere but at her that he was either embarrassed, or ashamed, or both. Rylie had heard enough to understand that it didn’t matter how much money you had, a condition like Mrs. Prescott’s was difficult for more than the patient.

“I’m very sorry,” she said with the utmost sincerity. “I promise that won’t go any further, and I hope she wasn’t cut, too?”

“Externally, no. However, you can imagine what it did to her emotionally to see the hurt she’d caused her baby.”

“I suspect you will always be her baby,” Rylie assured him. “The thing is that Bubbles is who she’s allowed to coddle. If you can learn to look at it that way, it might not annoy you so much. Besides, you don’t strike me as a man who would enjoy being stroked and petted relentlessly.”

“It depends on who’s doing it.”

The throaty reply made Rylie grateful to have the dog to focus on. It would seem that the county’s assistant D.A. wasn’t quite the cold fish he pretended to be. That was information her imagination didn’t need.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” she assured Bubbles. “I’m just going to... Yeah, there it is. There’s a shard about the width of a large sewing needle between her toes. It did some slicing before getting lodged where it is now.”

“Will she have to be sedated?”

“No, which is also good news because we can do this without waiting on Doc.”

“Are you authorized to take care of this?”

“I have more schooling and skills than most certified technicians, plus the common sense to know it would be good to get this over with quickly. However, if you want to leave this little girl in pain, it’s your call. Or you can help me keep her still while I use tweezers and take out the glass.” All the while that she spoke, she kept her tone soft and soothing, and her expression pleasant to reassure the whimpering dog watching her with trepidation. While it seemed to have a positive effect on Bubbles, Noah remained a hard sell.

“Fine. I guess. As long as Dr. Sullivan is told about what you’ve done.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Aware that any frustration or annoyance with him would transmit itself to Bubbles, Rylie started humming a lullaby her mother had often sung to her as a child, as she carried the dog with her to the cabinets to get what supplies she needed. Once she had the tweezers, cotton balls and antiseptic, she returned to the table. Finally, she set down the dog, still keeping her arm around her.

“Casually move over to the other side of the table to face me, and with your hands, brace her hips to keep her still,” she told Noah. “She’ll squirm and kick, so be prepared, but only be firm, not rigid. I’ll be as quick as I can.”

As soon as he complied, she deftly plucked out the splinter.

Bubbles made a slight yelp and then barked at her.

“Yeah, fooled you, didn’t I?” Rylie quipped. “But guess what? You’re going to be feeling better and better by the second.” She soothingly stroked Bubble’s tummy, only to connect with Noah’s fingers. Surprised that he hadn’t already released his hold, she looked up at him, only to find that he was staring at her. That close scrutiny and the physical contact created a circuit that sent a strong wave of something hot and heavy through her body. “You...can let go now.”

He glanced down and appeared surprised himself, but recovered quickly. Taking a step away from the table, he allowed, “You are fast.”

His raspy admission had her smiling as she carried Bubbles to the sink, where she got a stainless-steel bowl and filled it with warm water. Then she set the dog carefully on the counter and coaxed her to put her foot into the warm water.

“Let me get the blood off,” she told Bubbles, her tone all reassurance. “We can’t send you home all messy.”

As soon as she was through, she wrapped the dog in a clinic towel and collected more items. Then she returned to the surgery table to treat the wound.

“Does she need to take antibiotics?” Noah asked.

“Not unless she comes down with an infection. She’s a healthy girl, so I’m not looking for that to happen. I’ll put Betadine on her—”

“What’s that?”

“A great antiseptic. Part iodine. It’s widely used in hospitals. If the wound happens to reopen, you could use Neosporin, too, and save yourself a trip back here.”

“Ramon thought of hydrogen peroxide.”

“In a pinch, okay, but that can be harsh on skin.”

“What else?”

“That’s it. Tell your mother to try to keep her quiet for a day or two. If she shows signs of prolonged limping, or licks the wound too much, bring her back. Go ahead and give her a low-dose aspirin when you get home. It should help keep down any fever and might help her sleep.”

“Sounds easy enough. One more question.”

“Sure.”

“Why do you have more education than a certified technician?”

Oops. One thing she would say for Noah Prescott, he listened well. “As I said,” she replied with a shrug, “I’ve been doing this for years.” She all but held her breath, hoping that rather evasive answer satisfied him.

Although he looked as if he was going to continue probing, he just frowned and asked, “What do I owe you this time?”

Rylie shook her head. “Forget about it. I was already here, and we didn’t do anything major. Just give your mom my best.” From Noah’s unsatisfied expression, she concluded that it made him uncomfortable to be beholden to her, and that made her grin wickedly at him. “What’s the matter, A.D.A. Prescott—worried that you might have to be nicer to me now? Don’t strain yourself, or you’re the one who might end up needing stitches.”

He grunted his opinion of that, and yet a hint of amusement lit his brown eyes. “I just knew there was a touch of smart-ass in you.”

“Shocking,” she replied, her tone playful.

For the next minute, she worked on gingerly drying off Bubbles’s paw and then applying the Betadine. As expected, Bubbles didn’t think much of that, but the slight stinging eased quickly. “Sorry about the bit of yellow staining, but this way you know it’s keeping her safe from infection.”

When she was through with that, she got a fresh towel to wrap Bubbles in, explaining to Noah, “Tell your mother that I’ll soak hers and return it the next visit. Don’t worry about this one.” With a nod to indicate her intent, she started for the door.

As they exited the building and walked to his car, Noah sped up to look her in the face. “I should have said it sooner, but I do appreciate this, especially since it’s after hours.”

Sweet, Rylie thought. If only that frown didn’t continue to mar an otherwise handsome face. “You’re most welcome.”

Once Noah opened the BMW’s passenger door for her, she just stood there looking at him. He caught on immediately.

“Right.” He rounded the sedan and climbed in, not only starting the engine, but also turning the air conditioner on high to cool off the car quickly. “Happy now?”

“Practically speechless with it.” Rylie eased Bubbles onto the floorboard. Stroking her reassuringly, she said, “You’re going home now. Be a good girl and no more owies.”

Although she thought she hid it well, she was sorry to see Noah drive away. She knew that intimate moment by the surgery table was the cause...second only to seeing that she’d made him smile. At the same time, it saddened her to hear there were some serious issues going on at Haven Land. The accident was three years past, but life wasn’t running smoothly for Noah, any more than for his mother.

He sensed you understand that.

“Oh, stop the mental contortions,” she muttered to herself as she returned to the clinic. “He’s still way out of your league.”

And probably always would be. At twenty-five, she had lived a busy, full life so far, but had yet to fall in love. Heaven knows, she had opened her heart in invitation. She had plenty of friends and acquaintances, and up to the moment when she put California in her rearview mirror, her social life was as active as anyone her age who enjoyed people and school. However, although she’d had only a handful of relationships, two that she wrongly thought could be the real thing, neither of those men—boys, really—had managed to make her feel what seconds in Noah’s presence did. The encounter this evening proved that, after a mere graze of flesh. How unbelievable was that?

As she pondered that, she wiped down and disinfected everything with even more gusto. By the time she got MG out of the RV and went to put the kenneled dogs on leashes, she was ready to dismiss the experience as an anomaly.

“I’m being ridiculous, MG,” she said to her dog. “If I start breaking into song like I’m in a Broadway musical, bite me.”

The long-legged retriever-mix pranced beside her, happy to be with her again and about to get some exercise. Having full awareness of what the word bite meant, she barked, ending her commentary with a throaty growl.

Rylie laughed. “I knew I could count on you.”

* * *

He would have said something. Even as he went to work on Tuesday, Noah continued to dwell on how yesterday had ended at the clinic. He’d been left...unsatisfied.

Rylie slammed the car door in your face!

Okay, he amended, so she’d shut it without giving him a chance. The point was that he would have at least thanked her again, to further prove that he wasn’t the curmudgeon she seemed to believe he was. Why were they rubbing each other the wrong way? Such...friction was new to him. Usually, he had no problem getting along with people. Granted, he tended to be measured, cautious, but then he had his family name to respect and protect, and now his position with the D.A.’s office. But he wasn’t inaccessible, let alone mean-spirited or cruel. He was someone who kept up with fraternity brothers from college and classmates from law school, for pity’s sake!

Entering the courthouse, he already knew that Vance would be out of the office again. His boss had called while Noah had been driving to town to confirm that he was still feeling poorly, even though he’d been to see his doctor. That meant Noah would be fielding calls and handling several matters on behalf of the D.A.’s office, including having lunch with a civic group that had been scheduled months ago. That would be no problem, since he had made similar presentations before. This was a great opportunity to make more residents of the area aware of who he was.

Even with all that on his plate, Rylie’s face appeared in his mind. Noah all but groaned in frustration.

It’s because you touched her.

The contact had been clinical, inevitable due to the need to keep the dog still. There was no reason for him to read something sensual into the experience, but tell that to his body. It had responded as though he’d walked face-first into a furnace, and he’d remained thrown off balance long into the night, until he’d indulged in a second shower for relief. Thank goodness his mother’s car was back in good shape, and Ramon would take over these clinic trips again. Clearly, he needed to protect himself from his own imagination.

After starting the coffee machine, Noah went to his desk with his collection of newspapers that were stacked daily on the hallway bench outside the office door. But as he sat down, the computer’s dark monitor screen was what captured and kept his attention. It stared back at him in bold daring, a portal to...what?

Your best opportunity to find answers. Go ahead. You know you want to.

He checked his watch. The empty office would stay quiet like this for another half hour at most. Temptation won.

Noah booted up the machine. Just one more search, he told himself. He didn’t want to dream about her again tonight. Yes, she was cute, yes, she was a new experience to him, but was it sane to become obsessed with a woman who lived in an RV!

As soon as that censorious thought formed in his mind, he felt shame, only to get defensive. Experience had taught him that few people had the Teflon skins attributed to some Washington, D.C., politicians that they could survive scandal or the weight of relentless gossip. If he was going to run for office, the shortest distance to that goal was to choose your society with circumspection. He needed some information, any excuse to get Rylie Quinn out of his head.

Try the social networks.

Although he grimaced at the thought of venturing there, Noah knew as friendly as Rylie was, she probably lived every free moment on Facebook and Twitter. It didn’t take but seconds before he logged in to his own account—a tedious requirement for him per office policy to make the public feel connected—and typed her name in the search box. Her page came up within seconds.

There was no ignoring the jump in his pulse as he clicked through her photo album, seeing that at her high-school graduation, she’d had waist-length hair. His next thought was that she had a ton of friends, including guys still carrying a crush, and a very proud family, he thought after seeing her parents gaze at her in each photo with love and adoration. Noah would never do the profiles or answer the idiotic questions they asked, but Rylie didn’t seem to have a problem with them. Some, anyway. Actually, she had a contagious sense of humor, he thought, as he caught himself smiling, and then chuckling a few times. At other times, he was left transfixed.

She’d thought about joining Cirque du Soleil before heading for college to become a veterinarian. Being an athlete and cheerleader in high school explained why. In college, she’d continued with the cheerleading and had been the highflier. Noah suspected that’s also what came with being the smallest in the group. Having witnessed her questionable balance, though, he wondered if she’d spent more time on crutches and in slings than on the practice floor.

She loved potatoes and gravy, wildflowers, pears in rum sauce, and confessed to craving steak too much to become a vegetarian. Nevertheless, she vowed she would jump at any chance to be on someone’s fishing boat, and found lightning both terrifying and hypnotic.

Her dislikes were questions about dislikes. She didn’t want to focus on the negative; every day was a new opportunity to her.

Just as you thought, the original optimist—or an eternal kid.

Then why were there secrets in her eyes?

“Good morning!”

Judy Millsap entered, bringing with her the scent of lavender and doughnuts. Since many sheriff’s deputies, bailiffs and clerks passed their open door numerous times a day, Judy liked to bring a box of doughnuts to place by the coffee machine on the counter. Goodwill to all who passed. In her own way, Judy was the older rendition of Rylie—without the impishness—the ambassador of their office. At least Judy was a realist and mostly did it because—as she put it—“You get more flies with honey than vinegar.”

“Morning,” he called back to her. If his heart wasn’t entirely in the greeting, it was because he knew he would now have to get focused on his day job. “Everything okay on your end?”

“It will be after another big mug of caffeine. I was up half the night ridiculously transfixed on listening to coyotes. Say something nice to me before I take off these sunglasses and offend you with the feed bags under my bloodshot eyes.”

“You run the best office in East Texas,” Noah replied, truthfully.

After a moment’s hesitation, Judy slid off the glasses and gave him a pained look. “For an attractive and intelligent man, you are truly clueless, Noah Prescott.”

Startled, Noah sat back in his chair. “What?”

“You don’t have a clue, do you?”

“I just complimented you.”

With the smile of a patient mother, Judy replied, “You complimented what I do. That’s not who I am.”

He groaned inwardly. Women. Surely, Judy didn’t believe the two were separate. Not at this juncture of her life. She had been with the office for over twenty years, and there had been few eight-hour days, even in a small department like theirs.

“Have you been watching old Errol Flynn movies or that Don Juan something or other with Brando and Depp?” he asked, suspicious.

“Don Juan Demarco—as a matter of fact, I did. Last night because that horrible howling does bad things to my imagination. And even though I watched in the living room, would you believe Dwayne said the flickering lights coming down the hall and the audio—though set low—ruined his sleep, too?” From a singsong voice, she went almost feral. “Why couldn’t he just say that he missed having me beside him? You men never say what you mean.”

He thought he had. Noah suggested with more care, “You could always move. Away from the coyote problem, I mean.”

Judy rolled her eyes in disbelief. “You of all people have no business saying anything like that, Noah Prescott. Could you leave Haven Land?”

His first impulse was to remind her that he had done so. Before the accident that left him with responsibility too great to delegate to others. But Judy had lived in Cherokee County her entire life, and had never wanted to go anywhere else. She’d earned her business degree through a combination of the community college, online and via UT Tyler. Nothing wrong with that if it was what you wanted. He, on the other hand, hadn’t felt as though Haven Land soil was somehow intrinsic to his heart and liver function. Fate, though, seemed to be insisting otherwise.

Instead, he said, “I’ll catch the phones while you have your coffee.” With regret, he shut down the Facebook page. He would have gone on to the next idea/source, since he’d learned Rylie was from some small town around Palm Springs, California. Palm Springs gave him the hunch that there was a good reason why she could afford that RV. No wonder she hadn’t been star-blinded by his family name, or his mother’s friends. She had to be used to wealthy clients. That raised the question, what else was she used to?

* * *

“I’m used to a lot, and I’m game to try more.”

Rylie had been armpit-deep into a pregnant cow’s womb often enough not to hesitate trying to help Gage with a pygmy goat having a difficult labor due to tangled kids inside her. It was six hours after closing. She’d been in bed, asleep, for an hour when Doc had called her asking if she was up to helping with the emergency he was coming in to tend to. Now they were in the brightly lit clinic, and Gage had failed to get his big hand in far enough to remedy the problem.

“I know you’re borderline on time,” she added, “and need to do a cesarean soon or risk losing all of them.”

“That’s right,” Gage replied, “and you have the smallest hands, so you’re likely to be the least intrusive for the poor doe. Now we’ll see if you have the dexterity and strength. I’ll give you one try, and then I’m going to be forced to call this.”

“Yes, sir.”

Giving the animal’s owner—Vicky Turner, a longtime customer—a reassuring smile, she went to work, reaching in to feel what Gage had already discovered for himself. “Ah...I see what you mean,” she told him, keeping her eyes closed to rely on the most important sense right now—touch.

“Three, right?”

“Give me a second.” Hoping she was right in separating the twist of legs, Rylie suddenly felt a yielding, and slipped out the first baby, slick and slippery. From the protesting movements, it was apparent this one was alive.

“Great,” Gage said, immediately using a little suction bulb to make sure the mouth and nostrils were clear. “We have one pretty strong boy,” he said, laying the firstborn by the mother’s head.

She immediately set to licking him clean, and Vicky moved to that end of the table to make sure the infant didn’t inadvertently fall or get knocked off the table.

“He’s probably the biggest, so maybe the others will be easier.” Rylie reached in again. Sure enough, while the puzzle of body parts continued, she was able to pull out a second baby in half the time. “Hurry, take this one,” she said to Gage. “The next one is acting like this is a sprint to the finish line.”

Gage scooped up that baby and proceeded to give it the same treatment. “Hopefully, that’s it,” he said. “Mama’s wide, but not a big girl herself. Isn’t three her standard, Vicky?”

“No, this is Wink’s third litter, Doc. While she had three her first time, she had four last time,” the anxious woman reminded him.

Sighing, Gage stroked Wink. “Don’t you know you’re supposed to stick with two?”

“Well, Mrs. Turner, I have a feeling that’s what’s going on this time, too,” Rylie said, delving into the womb again. “Why else did a pretty girl like this try to emulate a small aircraft carrier?”

Just as the wife of the grocery-store manager laughed, the third baby emerged. Trying to catch the wet thing was like trying to grab a fish. Thankfully, she managed. This one was about the same size as the second baby. “Looks like we have two girls and a boy,” she announced.

“Excellent. Girls tend to be easier to sell,” the woman replied.

“Better check a last time,” Gage told Rylie. “You’re starting to make a believer out of me.”

Once again, Rylie eased her hand into the mother and gasped. “Oh! There is one more. Poor little thing was pushed way in back.” Rylie grinned as she learned through touch what was happening. “I guess with finally having some room, she’s content to stretch out and enjoy herself for a while.”

“Do you really feel movement?” Mrs. Turner moved the third cleaned baby to the mother’s teats. “It’s not just a birth reflex? I’ve lost a few of the ones that have to struggle for space.”

Gage nodded to Rylie. “Get it out. The sooner we get them all a good dose of colostrum, the better.”

Rylie knew the “first milk” from the mother needed to occur within the first hour of birth to help build immunity. Searching again, she finally got a safe hold and drew it out. As soon as the tiny creature emerged, it started wailing lustily.

“Ha!” Rylie chuckled. “Nothing wrong with her lungs.”

Vicky’s eyes welled and Gage grinned.

“Good job,” he said, automatically making sure the infant’s mouth and nostrils were free of mucus. Then he gave the baby to the mother. “Here you go, Mama. Three girls and a big boy. Wish they gave awards for that.”

Vicky told Rylie, “Thank you for saving me a surgery bill, too. I really appreciate that.”

“You’re very welcome. I was thrilled to assist.” And she was. However, she was also feeling bittersweet, aware that this still wasn’t the same as being the doctor-in-charge making that life-or-death decision whether to do the cesarean or not.

Giving herself a mental shake, she continued to help, until they had all four kids in a carrier kennel in the SUV. Then they put the mother in the second one. Dawn was still hours away as they waved to their happy client while she drove off.

Side by side at the deep stainless-steel double sinks, they soaped up and started scrubbing. Standing on his right, Rylie could feel Gage’s scrutiny.

“I’ll bet you’re ready to crash,” she said. There had been so much overtime lately—and Gage’s schedule had already been virtually nonstop when she’d first arrived in Sweet Springs. “I hope you unwind enough to get a few hours’ sleep. Feel free to add an extra hour. When Roy arrives later this morning, we can split the usual chores between us.”

“What?” Gage protested. “You want me to give up this sleep-deprived look? It’s getting me plenty of sympathy from my bride.”

“I can imagine, but you can’t keep up this pace, so please, please, please, feel free to let me help whenever you want.”

After a short silence, the tall, gentle-mannered man said, “I just can’t keep silent any longer, Rylie. You’re a natural at this. What happened that you couldn’t get through a few more months of school?”

Rylie worried her lower lip, trying to think of another evasive answer to buy herself more time; however, she was growing more and more fond of him—as she was everyone here. That was making it difficult not to be completely forthcoming. In the end she could only offer, “I promise to tell you one day soon, Doc. I’m not hiding anything that will embarrass or upset you. I’m just not ready to talk yet.”

Although he looked disappointed, Gage replied, “Okay. Ask my wife if I have patience. It took a lot of mental fortitude to outlast Brooke’s determination to get back to Dallas and resume her career, not to mention to make her see me as the guy she was going to fall in love with.”

Appreciating the playful note in his voice, Rylie chuckled. “I’m glad she saw the error of her ways.”

“Me, too, since she’s carrying my baby!” Then he grew serious again. “If it helps, all you need to know is that you’re an asset that I don’t want to lose. I’m all the more convinced we need to get you your technician’s certification as soon as possible. How do you feel about that?”

“Wow. I knew you were suggesting that we’d be working toward that, but I thought I needed to prove myself over a sixty-or ninety-day trial period. Thank you, sir!”

“For heaven’s sake, will you please call me Gage?” He glanced over his shoulder. “Unless someone with a badge is present and I need to look like a serious authority figure.”

Rylie nodded, grinning. “That’s not a problem you’ll have to worry about with me.”

“I’m so relieved that you were here,” Gage continued. “As great a helper as Roy had been, his hands aren’t much smaller than mine. Sleep loss aside, I’m also glad this didn’t happen during regular hours when you had a grooming appointment. That’s not to take away from what you’re achieving with your business. I’m aware of the clientele you’re taking from Rusk as a result of word getting out about you.”

“Mrs. Prescott alone saved me plenty on advertising costs.”

“Well, keep it up. I’m working on getting us more help.”

Although she was doing better dealing with the abrupt turn in her career path, Rylie couldn’t ignore a sinking feeling. “Have you settled on anyone yet?” She was aware that he’d talked to a few people, but no one had come in for a tour and meeting yet.

“I’m afraid not. Does that make me seem too particular?”

“Not at all. I can’t imagine having to try to fit personalities and abilities to their best effect.”

“Thanks. You don’t by chance have a twin with your talents? We could use another technician, too.”

Rylie knew her uncle was happy in the reception area and managing the stock and storerooms, but she couldn’t help but wish more for him. “You can’t change Uncle Roy’s mind about working toward his certification?”

Gage shrugged. “He’s willing to help in an emergency, but he said he thought it was time to get some younger help to handle the more physical stuff. I can’t completely regret that—he’s excellent and honest to a fault when it comes to the paperwork side of things.”

“That’s a wonderful compliment, but I can’t help wishing more for him.”

“Well, I’m sure I’m not sharing any secret,” he drawled, “but he feels the same about you.”

Once again she saw how Gage was perfect for this work, and why he was so well liked in the community. He had an ability to at least appear laid-back and able to go with the flow. However, she had seen enough to know he missed nothing and was on top of everything at all times. No wonder he’d had the patience and savvy to outwait and outmaneuver Brooke.

Rylie couldn’t help but eye him with growing affection. “You sure seem happy despite the workload, Doc. Gage. How’s Brooke doing? Any more morning sickness?” He had shared the news about them expecting their first child, and that the baby was due in the late spring.

“No, thank goodness, she’s about done with that, I hope. But she’s starting to look like she might cry every time she goes to the doctor and has to step on the scale. To keep her from obsessing, I’ve locked up the one at home.”

Rylie chuckled. “Now that is being a gentleman.”

“Yeah, well, if she’s carrying a boy, he’s likely to take after me. The sooner she forgives herself for every few ounces she gains, the better for everyone within hearing distance.”

Rylie thought how wonderful it would be to have someone whose every thought was about you. “Have you started thinking of names?” she asked, as they headed toward the back door, where he would lock up.

“A little bit. I got ‘the look’ for suggesting Gager, which I thought was a clever avoidance of Gage Jr. I think we’re narrowing things down to Mitch, short for Mitchell after my grandfather, and she gets to choose if it’s a girl. Her Aunt Marsha never cared for her name and warned her not to do anything nostalgic on her behalf.”




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