“I know,” she sighed, “but those claws—trimmed though they are—are not going to test my leather seats.”
Nodding his understanding, Gage drawled, “Just say, ‘Thank you for being sweet, Gage.’”
“I do appreciate your thoughtfulness,” Brooke replied instead. “There are several things that I need to get to at the store, and the extra time will be welcome.”
“My pleasure—now, isn’t that worthy of a kiss on my cheek?”
Trying not to laugh at the rascal, Brooke said, “Dr. Sullivan, any trouble you have with unwanted female attention, you invite!”
However, when he gave her a crestfallen look, she couldn’t resist. Rising on tiptoe, she aimed for his cheek. However, Gage proved what a scoundrel he could be when in the last second, he turned his head, and her kiss landed directly on his warm, welcoming lips.
Chapter Three
“Are you blushing?”
Jerked out of her daydreaming, Brooke glanced over to find that Kiki Webb had quietly entered through the back door of the shop. It was unlocked because their deliveryman, Charles Rollins, was outside checking under the hood of the florist’s van, as he always did before heading off on his first run of the day—and today was Thursday, usually one of their busiest.
The heat in her cheeks told Brooke that Kiki was probably correct in her estimation, and that flustered her, too. “Is it warm in here to you, too?” she asked, hoping to fool Kiki. “Do me a favor and ask Charles to check the air conditioner before he leaves? Hopefully, only the filter needs cleaning.”
“Ms. Brooke, the thing is blasting enough cold air to turn Mount Kilauea into an iceberg,” Kiki replied, her expression a mix of amusement and concern. “You could shut off power to those storage coolers and the flowers wouldn’t notice. So what’s up that has you gazing off into another dimension? Oh! Excuse me—is it your guy in Dallas? Is he coming to visit for the weekend?”
Since she’d arrived at the store, Brooke had encouraged Kiki to work as she always did. But the young woman was shy and deferential, calling her “Ms. Brooke” at every turn. Hoping to find some happy middle ground, Brooke replied, “There is no guy and no visit happening, and considering what our schedule has been and is about to be, that’s good news!”
The energetic blond cutie with the impish smile clasped her hands in excitement as she instantly made mental lemonade out of lemons. “That sounds promising. What’s up?”
“I talked Aunt Marsha into letting you get after those window displays.”
As expected, Kiki was enthused. She pumped the air with her fisted hands and filled the room with the music of jangling bracelets. Her colorful jewelry matched the rest of her artsy outfit—a gauzy pink blouse over an orange tank top, over a deep purple sports bra. Her jeans were enhanced with her own beadwork, and her purple flip-flops sparkled just as much as her metallic-orange toenail polish did.
“Oh, Ms. Brooke—”
“Please...just Brooke.”
“Thank you! I was afraid to hope when you said you’d do your best to get me permission.” With a new enthusiasm, the perky young woman shoved her bag—another of her own designs fabricated out of old blue jeans—under the workstation where Brooke kept hers and did pirouettes to the front of the store.
Catching a flirty fragrance, Brooke demanded, “Hold it! What’s that scent you’re wearing?”
Kiki shoved her hands under her shoulder-blade-length hair and flipped it to send more scent through the room. “You like? I’ve been working on this recipe for weeks.”
Nodding as it played through her senses, Brooke replied, “Adore it. Put me down as a guaranteed customer. That’s pure romance.”
Kiki snapped her fingers. “I couldn’t think of the right description, but it is, isn’t it? I feel so girly wearing this.”
“Defined notes without being heavy or too sweet.”
“Unfortunately, Ralph Lauren already trademarked the name Romance.”
“He would rethink his recipe if he got a whiff of yours.”
Retracing her steps to the worktable, Kiki reached for Brooke. “This is the best news I’ve been given in months.”
Although startled by the hug, Brooke found the impulse endearing. “You know what? When you get that and your perfume packaging finalized, we should put it in the store. I think it should be right on the front counter so you can do samples. I mean, if that was something you were interested in?”
“Are you kidding?” Kiki did another little dance of joy. “I can’t wait to tell my folks.”
The young woman had shared that, while her mother loved having her—the only girl born between two brothers—still living at home, her father was ready to see his offspring spread their wings and leave the nest. Brooke thought giving her creativity such a boost might help her reach that goal soon.
“I’m sure they’ll be even prouder of you than they already are. Aunt Marsha realizes that you need to put more of your training and talent to work. I think her delay in doing that is partly due to her having lost almost all of her family—my mother, then their parents—so early in life. Then, when my Uncle Sam died, I think she developed a certain fear of change.” She nodded to the front of the store. “After you get the window displays finished, we’ll talk about some improvements we might tackle in the rest of the place.”
Kiki looked like a kid on Christmas morning. She pressed her right hand to her heart. “I don’t know what to say, Brooke. I won’t let either of you down.”
“I’m fully confident that you won’t.” Brooke glanced around the store. There was no denying that things were looking a bit dingy and uninspiring. No doubt Aunt Marsha’s customers and friends loved her too much to have told her the truth. “It’s about time the place gets an update—including a brighter paint job. You were right when you told me that Aunt Marsha has faithful clientele, but that she’s not getting the younger crowd’s attention.”
“I’ll be happy to go online and get some paint color samples for you to show her.”
Setting the arrangement she’d just finished by the other four waiting for delivery, Brooke nodded, although she thought she might just want to keep this bit of information to herself to surprise her aunt with the new and improved store. “In the meantime, let me go up to the loft and take a look around while you watch things in here. Once I’m back, you can go up and start purging what’s showing its age and bring down anything you think will work for the display. Then we can figure out what else we need.”
“Sounds like a deal.”
Outside, Charles Rollins was just slamming the hood on the delivery van. A gangly senior with silver hair and a neatly trimmed mustache, he wiped his hands on a paper towel and beamed at her. Handling deliveries was exactly the amount of work the retired math teacher wanted to keep himself active between afternoons gardening with Chloe, his wife of forty years.
“All set when you are, Brooke,” he said.
“Everything is ready for you.” She gestured back to the store. “You have four deliveries and the tickets are under each vase. But do me a favor and grab an extra cup of coffee and keep Kiki company while I’m up in the loft for a quick check. With both the front and back doors unlocked, I don’t want her being in there alone.”
“Understood. Be happy to,” he said, only to look up the two levels of stairs. “You sure you don’t need me to help up there? Are you planning to carry down something heavy or complicated?”
“More likely I’ll be yelling, ‘Look out below!’ and tossing things into the Dumpster,” she replied, indicating the big unit beneath the stairs. “We need to catch up with the rest of the community and prepare for the summer traffic by redoing the front windows, but from what I remember being up there, the pickings are slim.”
Charles nodded, his look sympathetic. “Marsha has just been too busy to
give the place the attention it deserves. After I make these deliveries, why don’t I come back to help?”
Brooke had always liked Charles and appreciated his gentlemanly manner. He was a low-key throwback to another age. “If Chloe can spare you, I will definitely take you up on that offer, Charles. Thank you. That will allow Kiki to get to work in the windows all the sooner.”
As she went up to do a quick inventory, Brooke’s thoughts inevitably drifted back to last night and the kiss. In truth, that was what she’d been doing when Kiki had arrived. She was amazed that she’d gotten the good rest that she had, considering how her mind had been churning.
For such a brief incident, Gage had really left her thrown off balance. She’d had two serious relationships in her thirty years—the last being when she’d thought things might progress to marriage—until Parker had received a great job promotion/transfer that would relocate him to California. Before they’d had a chance to talk, he’d accepted, convinced that Brooke would give notice and come with him. Stunned, she had only voiced one question.
Why?
Because you love me.
She’d thought she did; however, she’d never said the words because he didn’t. He’d said he’d loved a gift, loved some impressive function they’d attended that her father had invited her to, loved the parties she’d arranged for their friends...until it struck her that there were degrees of love, or maybe she’d confused contentment and caring for that deeper feeling?
Upon realizing that she didn’t feel enough to walk away from everything she’d accomplished career-wise, she’d said goodbye to Parker. How ironic that only weeks later, her so-called career was snatched from her.
Now there was Gage, the unexpected one, as she was coming to think of him. She had no time for frivolousness, let alone romance, and yet he was making her feel all fuzzy and fluttery at just the thought of him, the way she hadn’t felt since Bobby Stafford had kissed her outside of their high school gym back in the ninth grade. The problem was that she was thirty, not fourteen, something she’d felt compelled to warn Gage of last night.
“Cat got your tongue? You should see your face.”
“You shouldn’t have done that.”
“Because there’s no sense in starting something that has no future,” he’d recited. “You’ve more or less already said that.”
“I wish you’d take me seriously.”
“I don’t want to. I’d thought after two glasses of wine and an hour more of my irresistible presence, I’d have started to wear down that argument. How many thousands of relationships have started with seemingly no chance at a future? What about the soldiers heading for war who met a girl at a dance or airport? What about the soldiers who met girls overseas and instantly felt something special? Were war brides a bad idea because of inevitable challenges?”
He’d enjoyed picking apart her logic, while she’d countered by suggesting that he was way too romantic to have managed to stay single for this long, and she suspected he just liked the chase—as he’d admitted—and saw her as safe entertainment.
“Try me,” he’d challenged, a gleam in his sexy blue-gray eyes.
She had demurred, of course, and sent him home. However, once in her room, Brooke had stopped before a full-length mirror and touched her lips. Letting her eyes drift shut, she’d relived the moment of his brief but sensual assault. What would it feel like to lay breast to thigh with him and feel those strong arms drawing her closer yet? To be kissed deeply as he entered her?
“Be honest,” she said to her reflection, “you want to find out.”
* * *
“Pardon?” Gage asked, looking up.
He had hoped to lock the front doors at the stroke of five and get the rest of his obligations here done so he could get Humphrey home. It probably wasn’t likely that Brooke was of the same mind, but a man could hope. Instead, Liz Hooper had swept into the clinic with her obnoxious Chihuahua, Banderas, named after Liz’s favorite Latino-heartthrob film star. This afternoon, “Bandy” had been stung in the face a few times when he’d stuck his curious nose down into an underground bee nest.
“I said, ‘Come over and find out.’”
Gage blinked at Liz, although the image of Brooke after he’d kissed her good-night lingered before him.
“Earth to Gage—you wondered what kind of bee it was.” As Liz explained herself, her wrist full of bracelets jingled when she gestured in the direction of town. “I certainly can’t bring one to you without getting stung myself.”
“It was just a— Never mind,” Gage replied, mentally berating himself for the slip in concentration. Liz was a handful under normal circumstances. He didn’t need to let his guard down and give her any ideas.
“There’s some swelling,” he said, gently feeling around the wounded dog’s neck, “but there doesn’t seem to be any signs of anaphylactic shock. I’ll go ahead and give him some Benadryl to reduce his discomfort. Let’s go with half of a child’s dosage, considering his size.” He did so, using an eye dropper to get the liquid into the Chihuahua’s mouth. As the small animal licked and swallowed, he handed Liz the box. “Follow the schedule on the box. Unless something gets worse, you should be able to stop tomorrow.”
Liz looked disappointed. “You’re sure you don’t need to keep him under observation for a few hours? I would rather wait than put him through the stress of another trip here, not to mention having to call you back.”
Gage didn’t believe the shapely brunette. She wasn’t the most subtle woman on the planet and had made it clear since their first meeting that he would be welcome in her bed anytime. That was why he’d left both doors in the examination room open, so Roy could hear what was happening at all times. The last thing he needed—especially after last night with Brooke—was for Liz to start unfounded rumors about them being an item.
“I don’t think that will be necessary,” he told her. “Besides, you look like you’re on your way somewhere.”
Liz immediately ran her hand over her white figure-hugging dress. “Why, thank you for noticing, Gage. Aren’t you the gentleman? But no, I’m just not one of those women who can allow herself to be seen in public looking anything less than her best.”
Even if her dog was gasping for breath? Gage wondered.
“It would just seem disrespectful to Darryl’s memory.”
The late Darryl Hooper had been mayor of Sweet Springs for two terms before dying prematurely of a heart attack last year. The tongue-in-cheek gossip around town was that second wife, Liz, had, one way or another, worn out the poor guy.
“Well, I’m sure he believes you’re doing him proud,” Gage drawled, handing the dog back to her. “Just make sure to keep Bandy calm and out of the sun. If he continues to rub at his face, you might cool him off with a cold compress. That’ll also help the swelling recede faster.” Hopefully, that would also keep her off the phone, calling him to give him updates he wasn’t asking for.
“All right, I’ll do my best.” Liz gave him a beseeching look that included a fluttering of her expensive false eyelashes. “Do I need to bring him in for a follow-up?”
The sound of Roy clearing his throat saved Gage from having to reply to that. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Roy poke his head in the doorway.
“Sorry, Doc, but we have a dog that got into antifreeze.”
Gage winced. “Damn. Will people ever learn?” Dogs found the taste of antifreeze appealing, and humans were warned relentlessly to keep such things in closed containers out of reach of animals, but he had to deal with at least a few cases a year of an animal that had imbibed some. In all but two cases, the liver damage was such that the animal had died.
He gave Liz an apologetic look. “Sorry. Time means everything in this case. Ah—no follow-up is needed. Roy, please get Mrs. Hooper checked out.”
Gage dashed ou
t of the room, leaving Liz in Roy’s care. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t have charged for this service, minimal as it was. But he’d been more than generous to Liz in the past and suspected she was seeing that as encouragement. At this stage, she came here as often as high school kids showed up at the local Dairy Queen’s drive-through window.
In the main examination/operating room, Gage was surprised to see there was no one waiting for him, which wasn’t exactly a surprise, since he was belatedly realizing that he hadn’t heard anyone enter the building. He then went to the other three examination rooms, but they, too, were empty. What the heck was going on? he wondered.
“Thank you, Mrs. Hooper! Hope Banderas feels better soon.”
Roy never spoke in such a booming voice, unless he shouting a warning to Gage that he was about to get stepped on by a half ton of beef. That seemed a strong hint to Gage to wait for the sound of the front door buzzer indicating that Liz had left. Only then did he venture out front.
Coming to stand beside Roy, they watched Liz spin her metallic cashmere-colored Jaguar into a sharp U-turn and speed out of the lot. If Bandy wasn’t safely in his carrier kennel, he was definitely worrying about more than bee stings.
“What did you say to her?” Gage asked.
“I asked her to swipe her credit card. She’s been here four times in seven weeks, Doc, and hasn’t paid for any of the visits.”
“I felt guilty charging her when I didn’t do anything. Was it really four times? I thought it was two, maybe three. Well, thank you, Roy.”
“You’re welcome.”
It didn’t slip by Gage that Roy was issuing a message, something akin to “Let’s end this before it becomes town news.” That was fair. It was one of the many reasons he relied on him so much.
“I take it there’s no dog with a ruined liver?”
The Dashing Doc Next Door Page 6
