Читать книгу A Touch of the Beast - Linda Winstead Jones - Страница 9

“Hey, there’s someone here to see you.”

Sheryl looked up from her chore as Cory stuck his head into the room. She never knew what color her young part-time helper’s hair would be. This week it was black. And spiked. Odd appearance aside, the teenager was wonderful with animals. Sheryl’s patients didn’t seem to mind what his hairstyle was like. They also didn’t mind that his pants usually hung so loose on his narrow hips they looked like they were about to fall to the floor.

“A drop-in?” she asked.

“Not exactly. He’s an inspector or something. He has a clipboard and a business card. I told him he could wait in your office.”

Sheryl’s heart sank. Just what she needed! There was bound to be something in this old building that wasn’t up to code. “I’ll be right there.”

“He’s kinda nice lookin’, for an old guy,” Cory added with a grin. “Maybe you shouldn’t leave him waiting too long.” He wagged his eyebrows suggestively.

“Not you, too!”

“Not me, too, what?” Cory asked, almost pulling off the innocent expression. “I’m just trying to, you know, fix you up. You’re hot, for an older woman. If you weren’t too old for me, I’d definitely ask you out.”

She’d never imagined that she’d be “too old” at twenty-six. “Cory, do you like your job?”

“Sure!”

“Then I suggest you shut up.”

Cory locked his lips with nimble fingers and watched her work. Silently.

Sheryl finished with the small dog on the table, then handed it over to Cory for grooming.

Her offices were located in an old building. True, the place needed some work, but the rooms were spacious and the hallway was wide, and some of the interior walls were red brick, giving the place a solid and homey feel. In addition to the equipment necessary for her practice, she’d livened the place up with plants and hung framed pictures—photographs and drawings of animals—down the long hallway. The clinic wasn’t home yet, but it was certainly beginning to feel that way.

The man who waited in her office was indeed “kinda nice lookin’.” But he didn’t look at all like a building inspector. Did men who worked for the state of North Carolina dress in black, wear their hair in a short ponytail and sport a gold earring in one ear? She didn’t think so.

“Dr. Eldanis.” The man, who hadn’t been waiting in a chair but was perusing her bookshelves, offered his hand for a quick shake. “Tony Carpenter, North Carolina Department of Structural Safety. I need to ask a few questions and take a look around the building, and then I’ll be out of your hair.”

“Sure,” she said, seeing this intrusion as an annoyance that came with owning an old building.

“You’ve been here how long?” he asked.

“Three months.”

He nodded curtly. “And the building was empty for several years before you bought it, correct?”

Sheryl cocked her head and studied the man’s face for a moment through narrowed eyes. “Yes. The building was empty for quite some time. Don’t you have this information in your files?”

He gave her a practiced and disarming smile. “The database is woefully out of date, I’m afraid. I always find it best to cover everything pertinent when I conduct an inspection.”

Sheryl no longer trusted disarming smiles. In fact, they put her on edge.

Over the next several minutes, Mr. Carpenter asked a few questions about the condition of the building. He made a couple of quickly scribbled notations on the paper on his clipboard, and while he certainly wasn’t nervous, he was definitely wound a bit too tight.

There was something about the way he glanced around her office that made Sheryl suspect that he was a little bit too interested.

“Did the previous residents leave any materials behind?” he asked, finally laying his eyes on her again. “I understand that several years ago there was a fertility clinic at this location.”

“Yes.” Sheryl crossed her arms across her chest. “That was quite a long time ago, Mr. Carpenter.”

There was that smile again. “Call me Tony.”

Oh, I don’t think so. “A few years after the clinic closed, a doctor’s office opened here. After that the building stood empty for more than five years before I bought it.”

“I see,” he said, making a notation. “And you didn’t come across anything out of the ordinary when you moved in? Sometimes businesses will leave files and materials behind in their haste to leave.”

Sheryl backed slightly away from the so-called inspector. Why wasn’t he asking questions about the plumbing and the electrical? Why didn’t he want to know if the roof leaked when it rained, or where she stored her fire extinguishers? And why was this inspector working on a Saturday morning? It just didn’t add up.

The fertility clinic he seemed to be so interested in had been closed for close to thirty years.

“Can I see your ID, please?” she asked him.

“I showed your assistant….”

“I’d like to see it myself.”

The man with the ponytail reached into his pocket and withdrew a business card. Sure enough, it read Tony Carpenter, North Carolina Department of Structural Safety. Looked to Sheryl as if the card had been printed up on a computer. A very good computer but still… She could print up a card declaring herself a queen, but that wouldn’t make it so.

“Wait right here,” she said with a smile of her own. “I just remembered I have a phone call I need to make. I’ll be right back, Tony.” She left the room as casually as possible, then once the door was closed behind her she hurried down the hallway to the lobby. She snagged the phone on the front desk. Every instinct told her that the man in her office was not who he said he was. If she was wrong, she’d be embarrassed. But if she was right…

Wyatt had a small police force. They weren’t exactly NYPD but they did their best, considering that most of the officers were younger than Sheryl and the chief was a good ol’ boy who had grown up here and was trusted not because he was good at his job but because everyone knew him from way back.

Sheryl asked for a policeman to be dispatched to the clinic and then hurried back to her office. She might need to stall the so-called inspector for a few minutes, since law enforcement response was erratic at best. She burst into the office, ready to answer any question the ponytailed man might have.

Her office was empty.

It was a two-day trip by pickup truck from Greenlaurel, Texas, to Wyatt, North Carolina. Two full days, with a few hours’ sleep at a hotel in Tennessee along the way.

Hawk was tired, he was cranky, and with every mile that had passed he’d wondered if this impulsive trip was a mistake. Cassie needed him, the horses he’d left behind needed him.

But the odd woman’s words kept echoing in his head. She said the answers to his questions could be found in the past. What if Cassie’s new health problem was genetic? What if the address in Wyatt somehow led to their birth mother? It was a long shot, but he had to do something.

Cassie would be in good hands during his absence, and so would the horses he trained and cared for. The Donovan Ranch was a good-size organization, not a two-man operation. There were people to care for Cassie, if she needed help, and there were employees to care for the horses. If there was even a small chance that he might be able to help his sister by coming here, he had to try.

Wyatt was a small community, smaller even than Greenlaurel. It boasted a town square, complete with courthouse, sheriff’s auxiliary office and local police department. The square was completed with shops necessary for a small town to survive. Maybe they picked up some of the tourist traffic that ventured off the interstate. There were a couple of antique shops, a candy shop, two small restaurants, a bookstore and other assorted businesses. All around town, signs advertising Wyatt’s autumn festival were posted. This weekend. With any luck, he’d be long gone by then.

Two turns off the main square, he found Pine Street. There it was, 204. The freshly painted sign out front read Eldanis Veterinary Clinic. Hawk parked his truck at the curb and reached over to run his fingers through Baby’s fur. She whined, as if she knew what awaited her here.

“We’re just visiting,” Hawk said as he left the truck. Baby came with him, though not as enthusiastically as usual. “No shots, I promise.”

Baby perked up considerably, and they walked into the clinic side by side. Down the hallway that led to individual rooms, a thin teenage boy with spiked hair was pushing a broom. Curious, the kid glanced toward the lobby, checking out both Hawk and Baby as he continued with his chore.

A woman stood at the counter with her head down, a phone in one hand, a pen in the other, as she made note of an appointment. She said something pleasant to the person on the other end of the phone and smiled as she lifted her head to see who had arrived.

Sleek, dark-blond hair had been pulled back into a long ponytail, and intense blue eyes sparkled when they landed on him. Pretty girl. Very pretty. Hawk had to remind himself that he wasn’t here to admire the scenery; he didn’t have the time. Still, he had to admit that she had a nice wide mouth and a genuine smile…and man, were those eyes blue.

The smile was wider and more real for Baby than it was for him, even at the end of the day. According to the hours on the sign at the entrance, the place would be closing in five minutes.

“Can I help you?” the woman asked as she walked around the counter. She wore a long white smock that disguised her figure. Beneath her smock baggy trousers hung loosely around her legs. Her shoes were of the sensible sort.

Could she help him? It would be a whole lot easier to figure that out if he knew what he was looking for. “I guess I need to speak to Eldanis.”

“I’m Sheryl Eldanis,” she said, her smile fading slightly. “What can I do for you?”

Sheryl Eldanis was definitely the cutest vet he’d ever laid eyes on, shapeless clothes and all. And he’d known his share of vets. “I’m not really sure,” Hawk admitted. It didn’t really matter what she looked like. He needed answers, and if she was the one who had them, he didn’t care how pretty she was.

“I’m looking for information. Have you been in this location very long?” She was much too young to have been here more than a couple of years at most. “What I’m looking for is probably going to go back several years. I’m not even sure what it might be, exactly. Some information from past activities in this building, I imagine.”

All pretense of friendliness disappeared. The smile vanished, the blue eyes went hard. Her stance changed, as she became defensive, and the muscles in her body tightened. “What are you?” she asked sharply. “The second team? I don’t go for the fake building inspector, so two days later they send in an aw-shucks cowboy to charm the files out of me?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

She lifted a finger and wagged it at him. “You can tell your friend that I called the police after he disappeared. It only took one phone call to find out that there isn’t any Tony Carpenter. There isn’t even a Department of Structural Safety!” Eldanis stepped behind the counter and lifted the phone, dialing with anger and precision. “Let’s cut out the middle man this time around. You can talk directly to the chief of police.

“Sandy?” she said into the phone.

Hawk glanced down at the gray cat that had begun to weave between his legs. In and out, around and around, that long tail twitching and twining. He smiled and reached down to snag the friendly feline with one large hand. He felt her deep purr in his palm as he said hello.

“Hey!” Eldanis called, moving the phone away from her head so she wasn’t shouting into the receiver. “Laverne doesn’t like—”

She stopped speaking when the cat in question purred and wound its way around Hawk’s neck to settle comfortably on his shoulder. The long tail twitched and wound around his head.

“Never mind, Sandy,” Eldanis said in a calmer tone of voice. “False alarm. I’ll call you later if I need help with anything.” After she ended the call, she leaned onto the counter and studied not Hawk’s face, but the way her cat had made a home on his shoulder. She didn’t relax all at once, but gradually her distrust of him faded. A little. Maybe a trace of the smile crept back, and her expressive eyes definitely changed.

“Laverne seems to like you,” she said. “That buys you three minutes to explain yourself. I suggest you make the best of it.”

Sheryl stayed close to the phone. In fact, she kept one hand on the receiver, just in case. She was absolutely stunned by Laverne’s reaction to the man in the waiting room, and she couldn’t ignore what she saw. The stubborn cat never cuddled up to anyone, and yet she had definitely made herself comfortable on the stranger’s wide shoulders.

“My name’s Hawk Donovan,” the man said simply. “If you want to call the police, go right ahead. I don’t have anything to hide.”

That was a good sign, Sheryl decided. She relaxed a little bit. “What do you want?”

“I’m not sure,” Donovan said. “You mentioned files. What kind of files?”

Was it possible that her two visitors were not connected? Possible. Not likely. And she still didn’t trust this man—or any other. She especially didn’t trust men who looked like this one. He was too pushy. Too big. And he had a fascinating face that suggested women had been doing whatever he asked of them all his life.

She didn’t allow herself to be pushed around, not anymore, and no one told her what to do. Especially not men. “Don’t try to turn this around on me. Why are you here?”

He didn’t answer. At least, not immediately. Hawk Donovan, if that was indeed his name, was not at all bad looking. Not at all. He had the required iron jaw, and the hard body and the way of moving that came from being in the kind of physical shape most men simply dreamed of. There was something sleek about Donovan, in the way he walked, in the way he moved his head. He reminded her of a caged animal. Beautiful, fascinating, but also dangerous and unpredictable.

Big men could be aggressive, so for a moment she ignored the fact that he was over six feet tall and wide in the shoulders. His hands were big, too, and they were definitely a working man’s hands, weathered and scarred.

His dark hair might’ve been conservatively cut a while back, but was growing out just a tad on the shaggy side, untended and thick. Those eyes set above killer cheekbones were deep and dark and warm. His face would be like granite, if not for the unexpected and subtle dimple in his chin. Well-worn jeans hugged muscled thighs, and the shirt he wore was a plain and sturdy denim. The boots were leather, expensive and had seen better days. There was no cowboy hat in sight, at least not today, but she’d bet her last dollar that he had one at home.

“My sister is sick,” he said in a lowered voice. “The doctors are having a problem coming up with answers for us. Since we were adopted as infants, we don’t have any family medical history available.” The dog who’d arrived with Donovan sat at his side. Laverne continued to rest on his shoulder, and instead of dismissing the cat, as many men would have, Donovan seemed to have forgotten she was there.

“Don’t tell me,” Sheryl said sternly, not at all convinced by his supposedly tender words or swayed by the fact that he was mouthwateringly studly and intriguingly different in a way she could not explain. “You want the files from the fertility clinic to assist in your search for answers.”

He didn’t smile, but it seemed that the muscles in his face relaxed as if he were thinking about it. “Fertility clinic?”

Disgusted, Sheryl waved her hand at him. “Don’t play games with me, Donovan. Don’t stand there and pretend you don’t know exactly what I’m talking about.” What could possibly be in those old boxes that was suddenly so desirable? Maybe she should have looked through a couple of them when she’d moved them from the basement of this old building.

Donovan reached into his back pocket and pulled out a thick wallet. “I don’t know what’s going on here exactly, but it seems to me you’ll rest easier once you know that I am who I say I am.” He withdrew a driver’s license and tossed it to her. It landed on the counter and skidded to a stop directly in front of her.

She glanced at the authentic-looking license. “Fake IDs—”

“Call your police chief,” Donovan interrupted briskly. “Have him check me out if it’ll make you feel better. Have him call anyone in Greenlaurel, Texas, and ask them about me.”

She picked up the phone, ready to call his bluff. “Fine.”

Instead of challenging her, Donovan walked to a lobby chair and sat. Laverne remained on his shoulder. His dog, a large, yellow, mixed breed who obviously adored him, curled up at his feet. An absent hand, tanned and long-fingered, reached up to stroke Laverne’s thick gray fur, and the usually unsociable cat purred and swished her tail.

Donovan hadn’t been exactly warm in dealing with her, but any man who was so obviously adored by animals couldn’t be all bad.

“Aren’t you going to make your phone call?” the cowboy asked as he waited. At the sound of his deep voice, both Laverne and the yellow dog turned accusing eyes to her. This was her clinic, and that gray cat usually wouldn’t let anyone but Sheryl near her. So why did she suddenly feel like the outsider here?

“No.” He didn’t care about her phone call to the police, which meant that, true or not, his story was going to check out. She still didn’t trust him. “Come back tomorrow.”

He stood quickly, one big hand on Laverne so the cat wouldn’t be frightened by the sudden move. “Tomorrow? What’s wrong with right now?”

Carpenter had been smoother than this! The last thing she needed was a bossy man showing up to issue orders.

“It’s late, and I’m tired,” she said. “I’m sure the hotel has a room available. It’s cheap and just a couple blocks away.”

“But—”

“Tomorrow,” Sheryl said. She stepped out from behind the counter. “And if you don’t mind, I’d like my cat back.”

He reached up and grabbed Laverne in one large hand, swung the cat down and handed her over. Laverne allowed herself to rest in Sheryl’s arms for about three seconds, and then she leaped to the floor. She and the dog were nose to nose for a moment, and then Laverne began to once again wind her supple body around Donovan’s legs.

Anthony Caldwell made his way out of town, empty-handed and frustrated. According to the computer file he’d stolen, thirty-odd years ago genetic experiments had taken place in that building where Sheryl Eldanis now operated her veterinary clinic. There should be something that had been left behind. Something concrete. Proof.

Nothing remained in the building itself; he’d confirmed that for himself. After darkness had fallen and Eldanis had gone for the night, he’d searched the place from top to bottom and found nothing out of the ordinary.

That didn’t mean what he wanted didn’t exist; it just meant it was going to be tougher to find than he’d imagined it would be. Did Eldanis have possession of that “something concrete?” Or was it long gone? Somehow he’d spooked her, and he hadn’t had a chance to look around the clinic properly on Saturday morning. He’d watched her for a few days before visiting the clinic, and he’d watched her over the weekend. Not that there was much to see. She led an ordinary, dull life—her and her animals.

A neighbor had seen him last evening, dammit. She hadn’t said anything to him, but Anthony knew he’d been seen. And a woman at a store in town, where he’d stopped twice for supplies, had started asking why he was in Wyatt. Time to get out of town, at least for now.

There was a festival this upcoming weekend, and the town would be filled with strangers. He could blend in with a crowd, he knew.

He was leaving Wyatt behind him for the moment, but he’d be back.

Hawk arrived at the vet’s office shortly after eight in the morning. Sheryl Eldanis was already in and supposedly hard at work. Her cat met him before he’d taken three steps into the lobby.

There were two customers in the waiting room, even at this early hour. An older lady, who cradled a small dog in her generous lap, and an equally older gentleman with a calico cat curled up on one thigh. Both animals perked up as Hawk walked into the lobby and claimed a seat to wait. Eldanis’s cat seemed anxious to reclaim her place on his shoulder, so he moved her there. Baby curled up at his feet.

After a moment the small dog jumped from the lap where he’d been sitting contentedly before Hawk’s arrival. The cat followed suit a few seconds later. They both gravitated to Hawk, and without hesitation he reached down to give them each a gentle stroke on the head. The cat leaped into his lap. The little dog, whose leaping days were over, went up on his hind legs. Hawk reached down and snagged the dog, and made a place for the animal on his lap, there beside the cat. They did not hiss or growl at each other, but settled in much as Laverne had.

Animals had always liked him, and he’d always liked them. They were less complicated than humans, more honest and open and loving. An animal would never betray or lie. They loved completely and without demand.

For a long time Hawk hadn’t questioned his affinity with animals. It hadn’t seemed at all odd that there were times when he simply knew that one of his pets was ill or afraid. He’d called it instinct and left it at that. As a child, as a young man, he’d understood that the other people he knew didn’t have this instinct, but he didn’t worry about that too much. Everyone had his own talents.

He had been nineteen when he’d discovered that his talent with animals went beyond the ordinary.

The calico purred, and the little dog rested his head on Hawk’s knee and closed his eyes. Hawk laid a hand on the small canine body, and for an instant, just an instant, he felt the sharp pain in the animal’s hip.

Arthritis was a bitch, no matter what species it attacked.

Hawk laid his big hand on the dog’s head, and everything else faded away. In spite of the pain, the animal was happy. He was horribly spoiled, in fact, and was already thinking of the treat that would be hand-fed to him when he got home. Colors faded as Hawk saw through the dog’s old eyes. His vision wasn’t as crisp as it had once been, and in true canine fashion there was no color. Ah, but he heard everything, and he lived in a world of smells. He could even smell the woman who gave him shots and fed him treats and clipped his toenails. Sometimes she hurt him, but he liked her all the same because she knew just where to rub his tummy and she kept those treats nearby.

“What are you doing?”

Hawk’s head jerked up at the sound of that annoyed voice. For a moment Sheryl Eldanis and everything around her was gray. Gradually, color and depth came back, and he found himself staring into a very pretty—and very annoyed—face. He realized, as he removed his attention from the animals who had gathered on and around him, that he was not alone in this room. The owners of the small dog and calico cat were staring at him with wide, confused eyes.

Go. The command was silent and friendly, and the animals on his lap obeyed. The calico cat jumped to the floor and sauntered to her owner, and the little dog stood shakily. Hawk wrapped one hand around the small furry body and lowered the dog to the floor.

“You wearin’ bacon under them pants?” the old man teased as his cat leaped into his arms.

“No,” Hawk answered.

“My, the animals surely do like you,” the little dog’s owner said as she retrieved her pet. “Why, I haven’t seen Toby move that fast in five years or more.” She cast a sharp glance at the cat owner. “Though I have to say, Harold Johnston, it’s quite rude of you to suggest that the young man is hiding bacon beneath his blue jeans.”

“I was just having a bit of fun, Mildred,” Harold said with a snort. “I shoulda known you wouldn’t recognize a joke if it walked up and bit you on the—”

“Mrs. Harris,” Sheryl interrupted brightly, “you and Toby are next.”

The woman rose, offering the old man, Harold, a lift of her pert nose and her double chin as she carried her little dog to the veterinarian, and the two women began walking down the hallway. Eldanis glided; Mrs. Harris waddled. The pretty vet gave Hawk one last, sharp glance before she disappeared from view.

Sometimes Hawk wished he could read humans as easily as he could read animals. Other days he was very grateful that his talents were restricted to the animal world.

“Hot broad, ain’t she?” Harold said once the women were well down the hallway and out of hearing range.

“Dr. Eldanis?”

“Her, too, I reckon,” the old man said. “Though she is a mite young for me. Shoot, I’ve got grandkids her age!”

Which meant Harold was talking about Toby’s owner, the older woman who had turned up her nose at his supposed joke.

“You’re a young fella,” Harold continued, even though Hawk did not participate in the conversation. “How does a man go about asking a lady out these days?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Hawk answered.

“Handsome young fella like you?” Harold protested. “Surely you can give an old man some pointers. Help me out here. I’m spending a small fortune, bringing Bitsy down here every Tuesday morning just because I know Mildred is going to be here with her cantankerous mutt. Usually we don’t talk at all, and if we do it’s mostly arguing. Stubborn woman,” he added beneath his breath. “It ain’t easy to start all over again, you know. I was married for forty-one years before my wife passed. Mildred had been married almost as long when her husband passed away last year. What do you think? Should I ask her out to supper? Maybe I should just invite her to take a walk around town with me, though with my bad knee that might not be such a good idea. Maybe we could go out for an ice cream cone. I just don’t know.”

Hawk stood, at the same time scooping the gray cat from his shoulder and placing her on the ground. “Tell Dr. Eldanis I’ll be back this afternoon,” he said as he and Baby headed for the door.

“Okay. But what do you think I should do about Mildred? You never did say.”

“Sorry. I don’t know,” Hawk said as he pushed the clinic door open and stepped onto the sidewalk, his mind filled with questions of his own. Maybe he could find some answers at the courthouse, if they kept decent records. All night his mind had spun and danced. A fertility clinic! Had his birth mother been here, in this very building? His biological father?

Perusing old records was preferable to offering advice to a man old enough to be his grandfather. Even if he were inclined to chat with strangers, he was the last man who should be giving anyone advice on romance.