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The Dashing Doc Next Door
Helen R. Myers


Matchmaking pup!When city girl Brooke Bellamy rushes to Sweet Springs, Texas, to be by her ailing aunt’s side, little does she know what she’s about to take on! Managing Marsha’s floral shop and looking after her aunt’s mischievous dog is hard enough. Luckily Marsha’s neighbour, vet Gage Sullivan, is there to help…For years, Gage has heard about his neighbour’s wonderful niece and he’s curious to see if the stories are true. When Brooke proves to be everything Gage imagined – and more – he’s faced with his biggest challenge yet: to convince her that she belongs in Sweet Springs with him.









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.

* * *

Sweet Springs, Texas: Where love springs eternal!


The Dashing

Doc Next Door

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.


With special thanks to Dolores Dugger, Leslie King,

Gail Reed, Carolyn Bolin, Paula Rogers

and Norma Wilkinson

for sharing anecdotes, as well as

your beloved pets, with me.

And to animal lovers everywhere,

especially those of you who give the abused

and abandoned new hope.


Contents

Chapter One (#u6b89af66-948e-5c8d-a5b8-ce707b7272a5)

Chapter Two (#u36f9a5c4-0aea-5687-ad7b-5422b78f028c)

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)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Excerpt (#litres_trial_promo)


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.”


Chapter Two

“Give him a few more days. He’ll win you over.”

Brooke did a double take when her aunt said those words. Yes, she had just been complaining about Humphrey trying to block her from leaving him when she’d dropped him off at the house a little while ago, but then her thoughts had inevitably veered to Gage. As luck would have it, he had been called out on an emergency this evening when she’d gone to pick up Humphrey from the clinic, and she’d been surprised at how disappointed she’d felt that he wasn’t around.

“What? Oh.” Embarrassed, Brooke self-consciously fussed with a strand of hair that had worked free during the day and now tickled her neck. “It’s not that I don’t think he’s a good dog,” she assured her aunt. “It’s just that he’s confused by what’s going on, and, at his age, he probably doesn’t like his routine being upset. Sometimes I suspect that he thinks I’m the cause of it all.”

“Nonsense,” Marsha replied with a genteel wave of her hand. “It is what it is—he’s old. Wait until you’re our age. You’ll have your share of confused and cranky moments, too.”

Brooke shook her head. “You’re never cranky.”

That won her a wry laugh from her aunt. “Bless you for that, but you’re wrong. Just ask the nurses who were on duty today. As for Humphrey, I know this is a terrible inconvenience for you, sweetheart—”

“Don’t even think that. I’m relieved to be able to be here for you. I just wish—” As she filled the water pitcher to refresh the low reservoir in one of the flower arrangements filling the room, Brooke tried to think of something that her aunt would like to hear. “—I wish I’d interacted more with Humphrey during my other visits, so I wouldn’t feel like such a stranger to him, and an incompetent one at that.”

“Silly, you could never be that, and it’s not your fault that you have your own interests that don’t include pets.” Marsha glanced out the window, her expression slightly pensive. “It’s just as well—your father would never have allowed you to have a dog or kitten in the house, and I wouldn’t have been able to bear it if you’d ached for one.” Forcing a bright smile, she changed the subject. “Listen to this. Today I managed to sit up and swing my legs over the side of the bed without help from the nurse. I wasn’t sure I would make it—it hurt like blazes—and I was utterly exhausted afterward, but proud of myself.”

“That’s terrific!” However, Brooke couldn’t help but worry, too. She thought her aunt looked quite drained—dear as ever, even with her short, permed, silver hair a bit mussed, and wearing her old-fashioned bed jacket over her hospital gown—but if trying too much too soon was the reason, how could that be a good idea? Grateful that they had the room to themselves, she spoke frankly. “Is that what your therapist wanted, Aunt Marsha?”

The older woman patted the bed opposite from the table that bore her food tray. “You spoke with the surgeon. This was an extremely invasive procedure, and my muscles and tendons are as sore as everything else. Stop fretting and come sit down. You’re making me dizzy with all of your puttering and fussing. Have a bit to eat. I noticed that you didn’t bring anything tonight, and there’s way too much here for one person.”

Although she had little appetite herself, Brooke did sit down. All that was on the dinner plate was a broiled chicken leg and thigh, a dab of sautéed spinach, a scoop of wild rice and a green salad. Even the bran muffin on the side was small, and the bowl of strawberry Jell-O wouldn’t keep a toddler happy for more than a minute or two. Hardly the excess Marsha suggested.

Her aunt was still a pretty woman, despite the dark shadows that remained under her eyes. Her slender face showed few wrinkles for a woman who loved spending her free time away working in her yard. They shared the same large, doe-shaped brown eyes and petite build—as had Brooke’s mother. Brooke often wondered if this was what her mother would be starting to look like if she’d lived. Unfortunately, Marsha had long been taking her health for granted, and her doctor had cited concern over her low blood pressure and anemia, as much as the osteoporosis.

“Don’t worry about me. You’re supposed to build up your blood as well as your strength,” Brooke said, and set to work opening the silverware packet, then pulled off the foil lid on the juice cup. “Take a sip of this apple juice. I’ll bet you haven’t taken enough liquids today to help dissolve all of those vitamins and medications they’re giving you.”

“Please. The other half of my exercise is reaching for the call button to get a nurse in to empty my bag,” her aunt muttered. “At any rate, I don’t like juice, you know that. Too icky sweet. If I promise to drink some water, will you pour this down the sink?”

“Fair enough.” Once Brooke returned, she said, “I was so eager to tell you about how good business was at the shop today that I forgot to tell you that I met the older gentlemen who spend the day at Gage’s clinic. They all asked about you and sent their best.”

“How sweet. They can be such a bunch of characters.” Marsha halfheartedly broke off a bit of muffin and nibbled on it. “Isn’t it kind of Gage to let them roost there? That’s how I think of them—a motley group of roosters trying to still strut their stuff.”

“Having come from a rather large family, I guess Gage misses having more people around,” Brooke replied without thinking. Belatedly intercepting her aunt’s look of amusement and unabashed satisfaction, she quickly regretted the comment.

“You two have been visiting more,” Marsha said with a satisfied nod.

“Not really. There’s been no time.”

Looking unconvinced, her aunt pointed out, “You’ve been sharing details about family.”

Brooke took great pains in cutting chicken off the bone. “I felt I had to make polite conversation while walking through the neighborhood with him to find Humphrey. It would have been rude not to, what with him donating his time and showing so much interest in how we’re doing.”

“Yes, it would, and I’m proud of you,” Marsha replied. “Because, although I adore you, you can be a bit—”

Brooke’s breath all but locked in her throat. “A bit what?” Her aunt was never anything but complimentary and supportive. Was she about to get criticized?

“Insular.”

“That’s an awful thing to say.”

“I’m not being judgmental. It’s the place you’ve found yourself at this point in time. The sad thing will be if you stay like that.”

Her aunt’s opinion stung because Brooke wasn’t stuck in any mode of behavior; she was unemployed, and that had happened because of decisions out of her control. She hated feeling like just another piece of flotsam as a result of “government regulation”—and her helplessness and the injustice of it made her all the less eager to talk about it. How did she explain this to her aunt when Marsha could barely balance a checkbook, let alone do quarterly reports for Newman’s Florist and Gifts? She was that clueless about how the financial world operated; never mind what it meant to be a young, single woman holding her own in such a male-dominated cutthroat world. Why, if Brooke wasn’t handling the accounting side of her aunt’s business, Marsha wouldn’t still be open today! What seemed “insular” to her was savvy and self-protective to Brooke.

“Anyway,” Brooke said, forcing herself to put her aunt’s need for calm first, “Gage told me that he left Montana because he didn’t like freezing for that much of the year.”

Marsha looked a bit dazed for a moment and then caught up with their conversation. “That’s what I remember, too. Having emergency calls in blizzards can’t be any fun.”

As her aunt reached for the muffin again, Brooke sighed, scooped a bit of rice and chicken up with the fork, and held it up to Marsha’s mouth. “Try this.”

“Oh, Brooke, I’m not totally incapacitated. You don’t need to feed me.”

“Well, you don’t seem to want to do more than pluck at crumbs like a finch. Cooperate—and then I’ll let you hold the fork.” After her aunt obliged, Brooke set the fork on her side of the plate. “Now that I have your attention, there’s something else we really should discuss.”

“That doesn’t sound fun at all.”

Able to smile at her aunt’s childlike tone, Brooke launched into news she was sure her relative would like. “It’s about the store’s windows. Kiki offered to spruce them up and put in some Fourth of July decorations.” What Kiki had actually said was that it was embarrassing to still have the spring/Easter decorations up, and that even customers were asking when they were going to catch up with the calendar—and the rest of the shops on Main Street.

“It’s still spring,” Marsha protested. She suddenly looked smaller and weaker as she sank deeper into the pile of pillows behind her. “This whole acceleration of holidays is getting out of hand. You watch, in August, they’ll have Halloween decorations on the same aisle as school supplies. Tell her to wait until after the fifteenth. By then I should be able to help her.”

Incredulous, Brooke said gently, “Aunt Marsha...dear...you’ll be lucky if you’re moved to the rehab facility by then. Now, Kiki is more than capable of doing this. You taught her well, and she’s had good schooling in marketing and design. At least let her draft an idea for you about what she’d like to do.”

“That sounds expensive. For once I’m taking your advice, Ms. Financial Expert. There shouldn’t be any spending on new things. There are plenty of decorations up in the loft.”

Years ago, Newman’s Florist and Gifts was the site of Sweet Springs Farm Supply, and the upstairs—still accessible by the back steps—was still a good second-story storage place for inventory, decorations and supplies. But after talking to Kiki and jointly taking a look up there, Brooke had agreed with the younger woman’s perspective.

“Most of what’s up there is showing its age and should be thrown out, Aunt Marsha,” Brooke reported, combining both her and Kiki’s conclusions. “Why not let us do a real renovation and scrap what isn’t up to the store’s standards?”

“But people always look forward to the displays I do.”

“And next year, they’ll enjoy it again. But in the meantime, there’s another good reason to do some purging. If—Heaven forbid—there was a fire, there’s enough clutter up there to burn down the whole block.”

Marsha suddenly moaned. Seconds later, she pressed one hand to her hip, then the other to her chest.

“What is it?” Immediately concerned, Brooke was on her feet. “Is the pain worse?” She knew her aunt’s chart as well as the nurses and remembered Aunt Marsha wasn’t due another pain pill until ten o’clock. “I’ll get a nurse.”

“Just give me a minute.” Marsha’s voice was all tight, the words clipped, as though she was enduring a cramp or spasm of some kind.

Finally sighing with relief, her aunt shifted her gaze out at the pretty landscaping. Amid decades-old pines, there were beds of azalea and rosebushes providing blossoms three seasons of the year.

“Whew. It’s moments like this that you realize you’re getting old.” She slid an apologetic glance at Brooke. “It’s not that I’ve intentionally neglected taking care of things upstairs. There just never seems to be enough time to do the serious cleaning out that it deserves.”

“Oh, Aunt Marsha, we know,” Brooke declared. “Look, I’m here. There’s no reason not to make good use of that. What’s more, Kiki has a strong affection and devotion to you, too. We can do a little work upstairs every day, and before you know it, we’ll have things refreshed and the inventory in good shape.” “Kiki,” as Kimberly Katherine Webb was known around town, had just graduated from the community college nearby and had worked at the shop since high school.

“She’s been a good girl,” Marsha admitted.

“She’s twenty-one,” Brooke reminded her patiently. “A young woman, and if the economy wasn’t so challenging, she would probably already be gone trying to make better use of that business and marketing expertise. You have to let me give her more responsibility or she might yet take the gamble and fly off on her own. I promise you, Aunt Marsha, gifts like Kiki don’t come every day.”

As Marsha opened her mouth to reply, Brooke’s phone buzzed. She rose to take it out of her pocket and saw the caller was Gage. He’d given her his cell phone number upon her arrival in town last Sunday.

“Is something wrong?” she asked, certain that he wouldn’t have intruded on her time with her aunt if something hadn’t happened.

“Humph is howling. It’s not a complaining type of cry. This sounds serious. Could he have gotten into something that could hurt him?”

That dog, Brooke thought. “I can’t see how. Hold on.” To her aunt, Brooke said, “Humphrey seems to be in distress.”

“Is he choking? Could there be smoke coming from the air conditioner? Did you leave the oven on?” Marsha asked with growing concern. “I don’t remember when I last gave it a good cleaning. Oh, go, Brooke. I won’t be able to live with myself if my little boy gets hurt.”

Was her aunt tearing up? Disconcerted by the idea, as well as the thought that she might have done something she couldn’t remember that was endangering Humph, Brooke said into the phone, “I’m on my way.”

* * *

Minutes later Brooke pulled into the driveway at her aunt’s house. Gage stood at the gate using the time to do some texting. What’s more, he’d been home long enough to shower—his wet hair was a clear giveaway—and to change into a clean white T-shirt, khaki shorts and flip-flops. Although she couldn’t ignore the little flutter inside from noticing how good he looked—wide shoulders, flat stomach and strong legs—she wondered why he wasn’t at the door or windows peering into Aunt Marsha’s house to see if the fire department or sheriff’s office needed to be called, too.

“I’m so sorry for the noise,” she said, as she got out of her BMW and used her remote to lock up. Almost immediately she heard Humphrey’s wails coming from inside. That stopped her from asking the countless questions that had flooded her mind between the hospital and here. Humphrey was so loud it was a miracle the neighbors across the street hadn’t yet complained. Then again, they were much older than Aunt Marsha and liked to watch TV in their sunroom in the back of their house. No doubt the volume was set high, too. “I didn’t realize you would make it home this early,” she added as Gage opened the back gate for her.

With a grimace, he said, “The owner had waited too long before calling me. The only humane thing to do was to put down the cow.”

The jarring news sent Brooke stumbling over a concrete step stone. She would have fallen if he hadn’t caught her by the waist and steadied her. She cast him an apologetic look over her shoulder. “And now I’m making you listen to this. I’m so sorry.”

“No need. But I’ll come with you if you don’t mind, in case Humph needs medical attention.”

Brooke had already sent up a quick prayer that wouldn’t be the case. She didn’t want to think about having to bring bad news to her aunt.

Her hands weren’t quite steady as she unlocked and opened the door. Then she saw Humphrey sitting a few yards away. When he gave her a toothy grin and wagged his tail in welcome, she thought, What on earth?

After glancing around to see that nothing seemed amiss, she muttered, “Devious dog.” Both she and Gage had been played for fools. “I should have known you were a born con artist.”

As Humphrey hung his head and eyed her sheepishly, Gage tried but failed at subduing his laughter. That had the basset hound trotting to him and woofing as though in total agreement that what he’d pulled was great fun.

“Stop that!” Brooke protested as Gage stooped to rub the dog’s extra rolls of skin. “You know this is all because of your bright idea about him being lonely and in need of companionship. Now you’ve made things worse with all of that dog-sitting psychology.”

She set her purse and keys on the kitchen counter and returned, hands on hips, to confront the four-legged conniver. As Humphrey raised his paw toward her, she muttered, “Don’t even pretend that you’re experiencing separation anxiety from me. I left Aunt Marsha near tears. She thinks that you were somehow injured or in danger.”

With one more reassuring pat for Humphrey, Gage rose. “What you need is a glass of wine. Do you mind?”

Before Brooke could respond, he headed for the refrigerator, which quickly had her narrowing her eyes with growing speculation. Sure enough, he brought out an open bottle and then took two glasses from the china hutch in the breakfast nook.

“Why didn’t you tell me that you know your way around here?”

“I was waiting for the right moment. Would this be the time to tell you that I know where the spare key is hidden?” Gage’s look held no less appeal than Humph’s had.

Meaning that he could have come inside and checked on Humphrey himself if there had really been an emergency. The stinker...and so was her aunt! Marsha had to have surmised quickly that there had been no crisis. She’d just wanted to escape finishing a conversation she didn’t want to have and, too, eating a dinner she had no interest in.

“So much for thinking Humphrey’s the only conniving one,” she began.

“I had hoped that Marsha would have told you by now.” As he poured the red wine, Gage did manage to look uncomfortable at finding himself in this position.

Able to appreciate he’d been caught in an unenviable position, Brooke wearily rubbed at her brow. “There’s been too many other things going on.”

Nodding, Gage said, “If it will reassure you, move the key until she’s out of the hospital. The last thing I want is for you to have doubts about me.”

He was as sensitive as he was a gentleman, and she’d been around him enough to gauge he was sincere. “What I should do is go back and make Aunt Marsha eat every bite of her dinner. I just know she feigned angst to force us to spend more time together, too.”

“Don’t be too hard on her.” Gage handed her a glass, his smile coaxing. “She means well. She probably could see that you’re burning the proverbial candle on all sides and could use an early night. Beautiful as ever,” he assured her, as she self-consciously rubbed at nonexistent mascara under her eyes, “but in need of a break from being a perfectionist.”

Was she that? Disciplined and devoted, maybe; however, accepting that to argue would only prove Gage right, Brooke gestured to the back porch. “Would you like to sit outside?”

“Don’t you want to call your aunt just in case?”

“She showed you where the extra key was hidden,” was all Brooke replied. It struck her that was how Gage had gained entrance on Sunday to help Marsha after her fall. In all that had been happening since Sunday, she’d overlooked that critical detail. “If we turn on the ceiling fan, it should be pleasant,” she added, trying to suppress her annoyance with her relative. “And the breeze will help keep the mosquitoes away.”

“Perfect.” Gage whistled to Humphrey. “Come on, old man. You get a reprieve. Go roll in the grass and maybe a dragonfly or two will come by to entertain you.”

Humphrey waddled outside and eased himself down the three stairs. Then, with a deep sigh of relief—or contentment—he plopped himself on to the grass and gazed at his domain with satisfaction.

Brooke and Gage settled on the glider and tasted their wine. The flavor was lush and fruity with a teasing peppery finish—exactly what the end of a hot summer day called for. Brooke couldn’t remember when she’d last given herself an evening to just...unwind.

“I wish I could understand him half as well as you do,” Brooke said, nodding toward the hound.

“I have an added edge—I see him more often than you do, and I’ve been around animals all my life.”

“No, it’s more than that. You have a gift. Aunt Marsha calls you a dog whisperer.”

Gage uttered a dismissive sound. “There’s no magic. All the old guy—or any animal for that matter—wants is food, security and companionship.”

“That sounds fairly universal for humans, as well. It’s the quantity and timing that seems to cause the problems.” Realizing that she could well be discussing her own life, she said abruptly, “So tell me, how was your day?”

“You’ve heard enough. It doesn’t get better.”

“How awful.”

“Well, you’re saving me from dwelling too much over it.”

That pleased her. “You really have a tough job for someone who’s so easygoing and good-natured,” she said. “I guess I’ve never thought about all that goes into being a veterinarian.”

“I wasn’t fishing for sympathy...but I’ll take the compliments.” After Brooke’s soft laugh, he grew philosophical. “There’s a downside to every occupation. What would you be doing in Dallas on a gorgeous evening like this?”

“Not enjoying it, that’s for sure. Before my department was shut down, I’d probably be taking a meeting or eating takeout while studying client portfolios.” That sounded as dry to her as the actual work could be.

“If you have to work late, you should at least eat well.”

“And I do. Did. I have to confess, I’m not much of a cook. Besides, it’s always seemed a waste of time to go through so much trouble for just myself.” That earned her a concerned frown from Gage, and she concluded that he thought her boring. With a twinge, she thought he hadn’t been the only one.

“Marsha was concerned for you. She always felt you worked too hard.”

“I liked being good at what I do.”

“Same here. Only not if it starts to dictate almost every waking hour of my day.”

Brooke couldn’t help but be dubious. “Really? Aunt Marsha has talked about you, too, and when she wasn’t calling you a dog whisperer, she was describing a twenty-first century Dr. Doolittle. Do you mean to tell me that there isn’t a house full of cats and birds, fish, turtles and maybe a monkey over in that house of yours?”

He lived in a two-story colonial, but without the extra gingerbread-style ornamentation that adorned her aunt’s Texas Victorian home. Painted a country blue with white trim, it was well tended, and the metal storage building in back looked large enough to keep a vehicle, as well as any yard equipment he might own.

“Want to come over and find out?” Gage teased, breaking into her thoughts.

Charisma emanated from those blue-gray eyes as his gaze locked with hers. Whenever he looked at her, she felt as though he was analyzing every atom of her being. When he openly challenged her, as he now did, she became all but mesmerized.

Tearing her gaze from his, she shook her head. “I’ll never sympathize again for that unwanted female attention you complained about. You’re a relentless flirt.”

“With you.” He glanced at her hands. “I don’t see a ring, and your aunt said that there was no one serious in your life.”

“Note to self,” Brooke muttered. “Remember to take duct tape to the hospital tomorrow to repair loose lips.”

Chuckling, Gage lifted his glass to inspect the wine’s deep red coloring. “This is nothing like Marsha’s boxed wine. I should have looked at the label more closely. There are hints of currant and undertones of something spicy.”

“Glad you like it.” Relieved to have something else to focus on, Brooke explained where it had come from. “It was a Christmas present from a client. He sent a case, and I brought two bottles with me.”

“You have seriously generous clients. I tend to get homemade dog biscuits.”

Bursting out laughing, Brooke sputtered, “You’re not serious?”

“I wish. My clients tend to think I’m the animal world’s version of the Good Housekeeping’s seal of approval. They think if I like their concoctions, it’s not only okay to feed the stuff to their four-legged children, they should consider going into commercial production.”

“How funny. I’m glad you like the wine, though,” she added, regaining her composure. “If I’d had to guess, I would have bet that you preferred beer.”

Gage let his head drop back and groaned, “More aspersions on my character. Do I have to get a marine haircut and wear my clinic jacket 24/7 to get any respect?”

“No, no, you’re absolutely right. In fact, you remind me of another client who came into my office several times dressed in worn jeans and dusty Western boots and an equally weathered hat. He cross-examined me relentlessly during his first two appointments. The third time he came, he gave me full control of his five-million-dollar portfolio.”

Gage grunted. “If I had that kind of money, you can bet I’d be giving you the third degree, too.”

“My point,” Brooke said, hoping a few sips of wine on a half-empty stomach wasn’t turning her into a complete ditz, “is that that I’m usually more sensitive and don’t make such perception errors.”

Gage stretched his legs before him, crossed them at the ankles and beamed at her. “Take your time. I’m happy to be your refresher course.” When Brooke failed to play along, he relented. “Actually, it does take a while to really get to know a person. Rush things and you’re apt to regret it.”

“This from the guy who announced he was going to ask me out the second time I said more than ten words to you.”

“‘Announced’ being key. I was planting the seed of an idea.” When Brooke only sipped more wine, he amended, “So I let my eagerness at getting to spend some time with you get the better of me. Are you going to hold it against me?”

“I can’t when you’re being so good-natured about my teasing you.”

“Is that what’s going on? It sure feels like flirting to me.”

“Teasing.” Brooke knew she sounded about as prim as an old-time schoolmarm. But she could feel herself softening toward him with every minute they spent together, and she had to be careful that she didn’t let things go further.

Hoping to change the subject, she drew in a deep breath, only to inhale the subtle fragrances emanating from the yard where the sinking sun was triggering long shadows and her aunt’s pocket of four-o’clocks and moonflowers—both nocturnal bloomers—were beginning to open. “I loved summers here while growing up. I would sit for hours on this porch reading Anne of Green Gables, Little Women, The Three Musketeers.... When my mother got sick, she made me a list of what to be sure and read, knowing she wouldn’t be around to guide me.”

“Did you get through it?”

“No,” Brooke admitted. “The following summer, my father decided it was time for me to read ‘serious books’—biographies about successful businesspeople, world history, that sort of thing. He wanted me to recognize trends and warning signs of manufactured or sociopolitical conflict.”

“Wow,” Gage drawled, “you weren’t just smart, you must have been a little Einstein.”

Feeling undeserving of such praise, Brooke replied, “It was more about wanting to please my father. He’s the brilliant one.”

“Where does he live? You said he’s out of the country? I can’t help noticing that he hasn’t come up to see your aunt yet.”

It struck Brooke that he misunderstood which of her parents Aunt Marsha was biologically related to. “She’s my mother’s older sister. By fifteen years,” she added, knowing that he would be confused, considering her own age. “Marsha never did warm to my father. And I have to admit that went both ways, so my father tends to keep his distance. But a lovely arrangement of flowers arrived from him the evening I arrived.” Or from his secretary, Brooke thought with some cynicism. She also wouldn’t tell Gage that as other gestures arrived from dear friends, Marsha had donated her father’s arrangement to the nursing home in town. All she offered was, “My father runs his own investment business, which is based out of Houston, but he travels the world over.”

Looking neither impressed nor intimidated, Gage said, “Obviously, you admire him. I hope he’s equally proud of you?”

“Sometimes,” Brooke demurred, ignoring personal hurt to reach for diplomacy. “He thinks I’m being foolish in how I’ve chosen to handle things here.”

That sent Gage’s eyebrows rising. “What would he have you do? Leave your aunt alone in the hospital and let her business flounder?”

“My aunt would never be totally alone,” Brooke replied, her loyalties torn. “As you’re aware, she knows virtually everyone in town, and then there’s that broad network of friends in church. She’ll never want for company. As for the shop... I could have asked Naomi to handle things—at least temporarily. She retired, but she’s helping me with the more involved orders or a big event. Only, Naomi doesn’t need or want to work full-time again. Despite being two years younger than Aunt Marsha, her own health isn’t that great.”

“The other younger woman there—Kiki, you called her this morning?”

“Yes. Kimberly Katherine is her real name, only her talents lie in the front of the store. She never trained to do arrangements, and my aunt isn’t close to giving her full management authority—Kiki has only just graduated from the community college. In Aunt Marsha’s viewpoint, she’s still a child, so my coming seemed the least disruptive for everyone.”

“Except for you,” Gage said quietly.

“Please,” Brooke entreated, “forget I complained about having to leave Dallas.”

“Okay... If you’ll tell me why there’s no one back home miserable that you’re here?”

It wasn’t a matter she let herself dwell on too often. “Let’s just say that I’ve been luckier in business than I have in love.” Hearing that phrasing had her immediately covering her eyes with her free hand. “Considering that I’m unemployed, that’s not saying much, is it?

“The problem is that the men who show interest in me either don’t react well if I’m more successful than they are, or—if they don’t mind, or find value in that—they still want me to be available at a moment’s notice like some trophy wife. I’m not someone who can spend half a day in a spa and the rest shopping while waiting for a guy to text me that he’s ready for my company.”

Gage just sat there watching her, but Brooke could read his mind as though he’d spoken. “You’re wondering how often that’s happened,” she said, with more than a little chagrin. “Enough times to be content to focus on my career at this stage of my life.”

“What I think,” Gage replied, slowly amending her opinion, “is that it sounds like someone hurt you pretty badly.”

Having had a few months to think over the matter, Brooke didn’t hesitate in her response. “No. He made me angry. His lack of respect disappointed me.”

“Does he have a name?” At her arched look, Gage offered amiably, “Just in case he happens to show up acting like he owns the place and you need some backup.”

“Parker. Parker Minot. But he won’t do that. When I close doors, they stay shut.”

Nodding slowly as he digested that, Gage said, “Strong woman. I’m relieved.”

Glad to have that done with, Brooke thought it only fair to see how he acted when the tables were turned. “What about you?”

“Pretty much the same story.”

“What, you couldn’t handle half a day in a spa, either?”

Grinning, Gage rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know—there are days when a good massage would be heaven. But no, I was referring to the unlucky part. On principle, I’m just a guy who likes to do the chasing, not be wearing a target on my back—or on my checkbook. If you ask my mother, though, she’ll tell you that I’m more fickle than my sisters ever were.” He struggled for and failed at a scowl of indignation. “I thought only women could be fickle.”

“Ho-ho,” Brooke replied. “Men are perfectly capable of being changeable and less than faithful.” Curiosity got the best of her. “So even after resolving the office situation by hiring Roy, you’re being chased, huh? Do the ladies bring their poodles and Pekinese into the clinic under false pretenses?”

“It’s calmed down some, but it happens. I have more work than I can handle, and it’s not fair for clients with animals in crisis to have to wait because of something clearly superficial. Then there’s the perfume they douse themselves and their pooches with. I confess there are times we can’t get them out of the building fast enough.”

“The things some women will stoop to,” Brooke lamented in mock protest of her sex.

As Gage leaned over to gently nudge her with his shoulder, Humphrey uttered a soft “woof.” Mounting the stairs far more slowly than he’d descended, he waddled to Gage. With a baleful look, he put one paw on his almost bare foot.

“What’s that all about?” Brooke asked. “Is he wanting me to get off his side of the glider?”

“Nah, this probably just reminded him of the good old days. My dog, Joey, used to come over with me to visit with him and Marsha, and even though Joey was a big chocolate Lab, he was really gentle with Humph. Joe made it to the ripe old age of sixteen, but he passed away right after Christmas.”

“How sad...but what a wonderful friendship you must have shared—and Humphrey, too.” Brooke leaned over to scratch the hound under his chin. Could it be that this was another reason for the poor dog to be having such strong separation anxiety from her aunt? “I guess, then, that he’s asking when things are going to get better?”

“Pretty much. I know he’s ready for me to bring him a new playmate, but I just haven’t been ready yet. That’s another reason it’s good for him to come to the clinic. We have dogs being boarded all the time if the family is on vacation. There’ll usually be someone for Humph to play with if he tires of human company.”

Knowing she had yet to fully appreciate what people like her aunt and Gage felt toward their pets, Brooke shifted to face him. “Was Joey one of those dogs that went everywhere with you?”

“You bet. He knew when he could jump out of the truck and when to stay put. He liked everybody—well, almost everybody,” he amended with a secret smile. “He instinctively gave wide berth to people with short fuses, even when they were behaving.”

When he took a deeper swallow of wine, Brooke recognized that he was ready to change the subject. “You still haven’t told me what made you settle in Sweet Springs?”

“An aversion to being cold.”

“Where did you go to school?”

“Texas A&M. I finished my training here at the clinic.”

“No kidding? I guess Aunt Marsha may have mentioned that, but I must’ve been just getting out of high school and was totally fixated on college at the time. How long have you lived next door?”

“Just over two years.”

That explained why they hadn’t met sooner. “I haven’t been getting over here as much.”

“And prior to that, there was college and grad school.”

That again confirmed that her aunt had confided plenty in him. “Well, Dad expected a 4.0 average daughter.”

Gage’s expression turned pained. “I don’t mean to offend, but your father sounds more like a field marshal or a paid personal trainer than a dad.”

He was partly correct, and Brooke could only admit ruefully, “He’s definitely one of a kind.” Not liking this subject any better, she nodded to Gage’s glass. “Are you ready for a refill? Now that the wine temperature has had a chance to warm to perfection, you should really like the bouquet.”

“I shouldn’t drink all of your present.”

Knowing by the halfhearted protest that he wanted her to coax him, she reached for his glass. “Wine is always better when shared.”

He outmaneuvered her and took her glass instead. “In that case, at least let me do the legwork. You enjoy the rest of this sunset.”

As he disappeared into the house, Humphrey looked perplexedly from her to the door. “Oh, don’t worry,” she assured the pooch. “He’ll be right back. You won’t have to suffer my company for too long.”

The soulful-eyed dog let his front paws slide, and he settled on his tummy, then rolled halfway over to press his back against her feet. After a second of surprise, Brooke leaned over again to stroke his sleek, short fur.

“Well, thank you, Mr. Charming. So if he likes me, you’re going to give me the benefit of the doubt? How magnanimous of you.”

Gage returned with the wine and a beefy treat from the pantry for Humphrey. The dog sprang up to a sitting position, grinning in pleasure. As soon as Gage gave him the snack, he lay down and started to chew enthusiastically.

“I thought treats after dinner were frowned upon?” she asked, accepting her glass.

“When I saw him scooting over to you, I thought he should get some reward.” After resuming his seat, Gage touched his glass to hers. “Here’s to things continuing to work out to everyone’s satisfaction.”

The openly inviting look in his eyes told Brooke that he was also talking about matters that had nothing to do with Humph behaving and bonding with her, or Aunt Marsha. But they soon fell into easy conversation again, and before Brooke knew it, their glasses were almost empty once more. They had covered several other topics—local politics, who was closing their business, who was opening one and finding a reliable lawn-care person. That last subject had Gage reacting right away.

“Don’t worry about it—I’ve been doing Marsha’s yard at the same time I’ve been doing mine. With my big zero-turn machine, it takes no time at all.”

“You’re sure? I already feel as though I’m taking advantage.”

“Positive. If the guilt gets too bad, just invite me over for another glass of wine.” When Gage noticed her slapping at mosquitoes for the third time, he reluctantly rose to his feet. “We’d better call it a night before the bats join the mosquitoes and try to carry you away.”

“Was that a diplomatically phrased short joke?” She narrowed her eyes with playful speculation.

“Only stating the obvious—you’re the one with the most tempting skin.”

Cocooned in the amber glow of the porch light that had just come on automatically, Brooke felt more than relaxed; she felt part of a special moment that she honestly wished wasn’t ending. What a surprise, considering her previous intent to keep him at arm’s distance.

“Thank you...and for the visit. I can’t remember when time passed so quickly or pleasantly,” she admitted, rising herself.

“That’s good to hear. That means if I suggest it again, you’ll say yes.”

Before she knew what was happening, Gage leaned over and tenderly kissed her cheek. The caress sent such a unique warmth through her body that Brooke tried to quickly blame it on the wine.

“That would be nice, but you’re the one who said you have more work than you can handle,” she reminded him, before any additional romantic thoughts—and ghostly yearnings—tripped her up. “And I have to get back to my schedule of spending evenings with Aunt Marsha.” Then doing the bookkeeping when she got home. That wasn’t going to happen tonight. Right now all she felt capable of doing was to shower and slide into her comfy bed.




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