The Dashing Doc Next Door Read online

  “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.