Читать книгу Only Yours - Сьюзен Мэллери - Страница 7

MONTANA SPENT THE NEXT COUPLE of hours trying not to go crazy. Although Dr. Bradley had threatened to visit, he hadn’t said when that would happen, leaving her to constantly check the long driveway leading to the house and kennels. Knowing she wasn’t at her mental best while she waited, she decided to clean out the outdoor runs.

The interior of the building had large individual kennels with raised platforms and size-appropriate beds. The space was kept heated in winter and air-conditioned in summer. Skylights and windows filled the cavernous room with light. Although several of the dogs had learned how to unfasten the simple latch on their kennels, they stayed where they were supposed to. Each dog had his or her own toys, water and a door leading to an outside area.

Pads of cement were enclosed by chain-link fencing. During the day, the dogs were either working or together in a common area. The pads were rarely used, but still got dusty. A brief rain shower the previous night had left them muddy.

Montana kicked off her sandals, stepped into a pair of rubber boots and grabbed the hose. She started spraying down the cement, reminding herself as she worked that her conversation with Dr. Bradley was going to be a great learning opportunity. With her personality, her default position was to feel guilty and act like a doormat, something she didn’t want to do anymore. So this time she would be strong.

Yes, it was unfortunate that Fluffy had escaped into the hospital. It was a mistake. Neither Montana nor the dog was mean or evil. As far as Montana knew, there hadn’t been any lasting damage, so Dr. Stick-Up-the-Butt was just going to have to get over it. If he thought he could come over and intimidate her, he was wrong. Well, mostly wrong.

By three she’d finished with the outdoor runs and had managed to work herself up into a frenzy of righteous indignation. Just because someone was a doctor didn’t give him the right to make people feel bad about themselves. She wouldn’t stand for it, and as soon as he got here she was going to tell him that.

She stomped over to the main faucet and turned off the water. Her feet were hot inside the rubber boots, but she still had to coil the hose before she could slip them off. She would take a few minutes, tidy herself and then—

“Max said I would find you out here.”

The low, masculine voice came from nowhere. Montana spun toward the sound, nearly tripping over the boots and dropping the hose. Good thing the water was already off, she thought as she managed to stay upright and face the intruder. Or maybe not.

He was more amazing than she remembered. Not just the height or the broad shoulders. No, the thing that made him different, the thing that would make him impossible to forget was his face. The sheer perfection of his bone structure, the fullness of his mouth, the unusual color of his eyes. Even the sunlight seemed to shimmer around him as if it, too, were impressed.

He’d traded in his white doctor’s coat for a long-sleeved, white, button-down shirt with gray pinstripes. His tie was loose and, on anyone else, that would have been sexy. Except he was too stiff in the way he stood, too controlled. As if he weren’t comfortable being as mortal as everyone else.

“You know Max?” she asked, unable to think of another question and equally unable to stop staring at him. “You seem more the ‘Mr. Thurman’ type.”

He frowned. “Is that his last name? He introduced himself as Max.”

Which was like her boss. She shouldn’t be surprised.

Her visitor shifted then, turning his head slightly, and she caught sight of the scars. Once again she noticed the starlike pattern of the way they shot across his face. The scars should have made her sympathetic and him appear more human.

“It was an accident,” she told him, clumping toward him in her too-large rubber boots.

When she was only a few feet away, she came to a stop and put her hands on her hips. “You know there are accidents. What you do for a living proves that. No one hurts a child on purpose. Okay, a few do, but I would guess the kids you usually see have been hurt because of something unexpected. That’s what today was about.”

She didn’t know why he’d wanted to see her but guessed it had something to do with threatening her, or worse.

“Obviously Fluffy isn’t therapy-dog material,” she continued, speaking quickly so he couldn’t talk. “Max warned me, but I didn’t listen. I wanted her to make it because she has such a good heart. She loves everyone. Maybe not gracefully or obediently, but there’s still love and that’s not wrong. I wanted to give her the chance to prove herself. I know you don’t understand, but I swear if you say she’s just a dog, I’ll attack you with this hose and make you scream like a girl.”

She took a breath, waiting for him to laugh, or smile or start yelling. Instead he stood as still as stone, watching her.

She let her breath out. He was a medical professional. Was he going to tell her there was something seriously wrong with her? And if he did, would she have to listen?

Montana stepped out of her rubber boots. If she was about to be drummed out of her perfect career, she wasn’t going to endure it with her feet sweating.

“Say something,” she commanded. “Or did you come all this way to attack me with your ray gun vision?”

“What do you do here?”

She frowned. “Excuse me?”

He motioned to the kennel behind her. “Tell me about the work you do.”

Maybe it was just her, but wasn’t he the one with the advanced medical training?

“I work with therapy dogs.”

His eyes narrowed slightly and his mouth tightened.

Figures, she thought. She’d finally gotten him to show a little emotion and it turned out to be annoyance. Be careful for what you wish for and all that.

“Therapy dogs are used for a variety of purposes. They’re different from service dogs, who are trained to help people with specific problems. Like Guide Dogs for the Blind and so on.”

He nodded. “All right.”

“Okay.” She paused, not sure what he wanted to know. “Our dogs are used to provide comfort and companionship. We visit nursing homes and the hospital. Seniors’ centers. There are a couple of dogs who spend afternoons at a group home for mentally challenged adults. I recently started a reading program. Kids who have trouble reading are often more comfortable reading to a dog than a person.”

She explained a little about the program and how, now that school was out, they’d gotten permission to try the reading program at a local library.

“You mentioned hospitals, which means you bring dogs to hospitals.” He was making a statement, not asking a question.

“Yes. Usually the visits go better than they did today.”

“I should think so.”

She bristled. “You know, you could have been nicer. It was, as I’ve explained several times, an accident.”

“It’s not my job to be nice. It’s my job to help my patients heal.”

She opened her mouth to snap back at him, only to remember that Mayor Marsha wanted her to be charming and convince him to stay in town.

She was so the wrong person for the job, Montana thought, dropping her arms to her side.

“If Fluffy were aware of what she’d done, she would be very sorry.”

The man continued to stare at her without speaking.

It was probably good that he had such a sucky personality, she thought, wishing he would get to the point and leave. If he was charming and gorgeous, women across America wouldn’t stand a chance.

“I want a therapy dog for one of my patients.”

The words were so unexpected, she could have sworn she hadn’t heard him correctly. Montana blinked several times. “You want a therapy dog?”

“Yes.”

“In the hospital?”

“Yes.”

What about the germs? What about infection and whatever else he’d yelled about that morning?

She decided it was better not to ask.

“A live dog, right?”

He sighed heavily. “A live dog would be best. My patient is a nine-year-old girl named Kalinda. She was badly burned when the family barbecue exploded a few days ago. She’s had one surgery and is facing dozens more. Her parents are trying to cope. Kalinda is in pain and shock.” A muscle twitched in his jaw. “I do have her mother’s permission to be telling you this.”

“Okay.”

She wasn’t sure why that mattered, then remembered something about medical confidentiality. No doubt he wanted to make sure she understood he wasn’t breaking any rules.

“She’s in bed, right? The girl? Kalinda? She’s not walking around?”

“No.”

Montana thought about the dogs they had. A small one would be best. If Kalinda suffered any lung issues, then avoiding dander would be good, too.

“I have just the dog for you,” she said, smiling at him. “Come on. I’ll introduce you.”

THE WOMAN TURNED, as if she expected him to follow her. Simon didn’t want to go anywhere with the dogtrainer person, but he was here on a mission. Anything for his patients. He’d always believed that. He would do whatever he had to do so they could heal. Dealing with the likes of the woman before him was simply one more challenge he had to overcome.

As she glanced back at him, her long, blond hair caught the sun. He was aware of the colors, the various shades of light and dark gold, the slight wave. Her eyes were deep brown and sparkling with amusement. He had no doubt she was laughing at him.

He was uncomfortable, but that wasn’t news. He was uncomfortable anywhere that wasn’t a hospital. In the familiar space that was his kingdom, he felt at home.

The woman—Montana, he recalled her boss saying—led the way to a fenced in, grassy area. He heard several dogs barking and yipping. They sounded happy. The afternoon was warm, the sun bright.

Montana moved with an easy grace. Her feet were bare, her pink-painted toes contrasting with the dark green of the grass. They were hidden when she slipped into a pair of clogs, then stepped inside what he would guess was the kennel area.

The space was cleaner than he had expected. He didn’t notice any smell and the cages for the dogs were large. He saw big beds in plaid and plenty of toys. The lighting was good. It was obvious someone had put a lot of time and money into the facility.

“The dogs live here,” Montana said, facing him. “Dogs are pack animals, so they’re more comfortable in a group than in isolation. They’re nearly always with someone. We have college kids who spend the night. Just to make sure everything is all right. Sometimes they bring their significant others along and that gets interesting.”

She smiled as she spoke and it took him a minute to realize she meant the college students and not the dogs. Of course not the dogs. Dogs didn’t have significant others.

“Max has plenty of stories, but that’s not why you came,” she continued.

“No.”

He knew he should make some kind of small talk. It made people more comfortable. He’d never seen the point, but then he didn’t see the point of most common rituals. Telling someone to have a nice day was beyond ridiculous. As if anyone had the power to make that happen.

She walked to a door that led outside. When she pushed it open and stepped onto the grass, at least a half dozen dogs came running. He followed, curious about them. He’d never had much contact with dogs. From the time he was eleven until he’d gone to college at sixteen, he’d been in a hospital. No dogs allowed.

Large dogs and small hurried forward with equal enthusiasm. He recognized the disastrous mutt from that morning and did his best to avoid her enthusiastic jumping. Montana petted them all, called out to a few and restored order more quickly than he had thought possible.

“Cece, come here, honey,” she said, then looked at him. “I think she’s going to be the right dog for you. Quiet, well behaved and, best of all, clean.”

A small apricot-colored poodle made her way to Montana. The dog was maybe a foot tall to the top of her head, with long legs and a slender body. When Montana said, “Up,” the dog turned so she could easily be scooped into the woman’s arms.

“She would be very happy to curl up next to Kalinda for as long as she would like,” Montana told him. “She’s great with kids, sweet tempered, and because she has hair rather than fur, no dander. We can keep her really clean, which I know is important.”

As she spoke, Cece stared at him. Her eyes were darker than Montana’s, and never left his. Her nose quivered, then her whole body began to tremble.

“Is she sick?” he asked, wondering if he should worry about transporting germs back to his patients.

Montana laughed. “Not in the way you mean.” She whispered something to the dog, who swiped her tongue across her chin. Montana turned her attention back to him. “She has a crush on you.”

“What?”

The dog was thrust toward him. He reacted instinctively, reaching for it.

She was lighter than he’d expected, with bones that felt delicate. Her fur was soft, her body warm. Even though he didn’t know how to hold her, she snuggled close, perfectly content to be next to him.

“Support her butt,” Montana told him.

He shifted slightly. Cece cuddled against his chest and stared at him with eyes that seemed able to see into his soul. He wondered if she was aware of all the flaws lurking there.

“She likes you.”

Montana spoke in a tone that told him that she was really thinking, “There’s no accounting for taste.”

“She seems nice enough,” he said, tentatively rubbing his fingers against the animal’s back. “As long as Kalinda will be safe.”

“You don’t have to worry. Cece has a great temperament. And I’ll be there the whole time.”

He had his doubts about how much help she would be, but if Kalinda wanted a dog then, by God, he would get her one.

He passed Cece back and made arrangements for her to be brought to the hospital the following day.

“For a test run,” he said. “If it helps, we continue the visits.”

“Of course.”

He turned to leave.

Montana, still holding the dog, walked with him. At the doorway they both paused, as if expecting the other to go first, then they moved at the same time.

They bumped into each other. People did it every day. Simon was used to all kinds of casual contact. He touched his patients, was passed things during surgery. Every now and then he even enjoyed the company of a woman for a few hours. So he had no reason to expect the brief brush of her arm against his to register.

But it did. The second Montana touched him, the second he felt the heat from her body, something large and uncontrolled stirred to life. He was so surprised he came to a stop, and she did, too. They bumped again, which caused her to grin at him.

“Okay. You first.”

Easy words. A casual, happy smile. As if she couldn’t feel the rage of desire that burst to life like an explosion.

He’d never felt anything like it before, had no way of knowing what he was supposed to do next. He wasn’t sure he could keep from reaching for her, kissing her. Because that’s what he needed—not just the possession of her, but her hunger as well.

“Are you all right?”

Simon forced himself back to the moment. He hung on to the ragged remains of his civility and nodded.

“Yes. Thank you for your time.”

Her eyebrows rose slightly. He suspected she was remembering her comment from earlier in the day—when she’d accused him of having a stick up his ass. Better that than the truth, he told himself. Better for both of them.

He quickly made his escape. When he was back in his car, he was disgusted to find that his hands trembled and his sexual thoughts had produced a predictable manifestation. Pray God she hadn’t noticed, he thought grimly, starting the car engine.

As he drove back to the hospital, he tried to figure out what had happened. He’d never considered himself overly sexual. Every few months, when the need became a distraction, he found someone who wanted what he did—physical release and little else. The events were pleasant enough, but more about biology than anything else. He’d never felt compelled. Driven.

It was chemistry, he told himself as he entered the main highway and headed back to Fool’s Gold. One of those quirks of DNA that was intriguing but ultimately meaningless. So, he’d briefly wanted Montana. Later he would see her and everything would be fine. He had his work. Nothing else was as important. He had his work and his patients and that would always be enough.