The Dashing Doc Next Door

by Helen R. Myers

  “Almost a year ago, yeah.” With a soft snort, Gage added, “The guys at the clinic were enjoying a few laughs at Liz’s expense as to why and how.”

  “Sweet Springs’ own Greek chorus,” Brooke mused. “No dull moments at your place. I may never have the courage to walk in there again.”

  “Then you’d be making a mistake,” Gage said, suddenly and completely serious. “You’re as respected and admired as you would be anywhere.”

  He wants to kiss you.

  The realization hit Brooke the instant he turned so their gazes met and held. The fact that she wanted that—to experience the feeling of his lips on hers again, his taste, being held against that rock-solid body—left her almost weak-kneed, so much that she jumped when the toaster popped behind her.

  Laughing in embarrassment, then sniffing at the telltale smell, she groaned. “Some help I am. I’ve burned the bread!”

  * * *

  Once they sat down to plates laden with steaming, aromatic food, Gage refilled their glasses. All the while he kept Brooke entertained with anecdotes from the clinic. In between, he slipped in a casual question or two—mostly harmless, nonsensical stuff—in order to relax her again. It eventually worked, but not totally. After that sexually charged moment, she’d withdrawn a bit into the comfort of her cool executive persona again.

  It’s because she’s still committed to eventually leaving.

  Not if he could help it. Gage felt terrible for Marsha’s latest crisis, but he damned well wasn’t going to let this opportunity for more time with Brooke go to waste.

  “Better?” he asked after they’d spent a few minutes quietly and appreciatively feasting.

  “Mmm...” Brooke closed her eyes as she finished chewing a bite of omelet. “It’s sublime. Why do my omelets taste like I’m eating a page torn from a magazine, while this is so moist, yet the vegetables have a crunch?”

  “You have to stay close. I think the general rule is to cook scrambled eggs slowly, but omelets go in a hotter pan, therefore it’s done faster.”

  “I’ll try to remember that. I guess the downside of growing up with a housekeeper is that I didn’t spend much time in the kitchen learning.” Brooke gave him a bemused look. “It seems my tab with you keeps rising.”

  “We’re friends. There’s no counting.”

  “I only meant—”

  “I know.” Gage decided he’d been too sensitive and said with a sly grin, “Wait until you taste my tortilla soup.” The day would come, he thought with determination. “Whenever your aunt gets the sniffles, I make it for her.”

  “Taking the cures with Gage,” Brooke quipped. “That sounds like it should be the title of a tiramisu-rich indie film to enjoy on a lazy Sunday afternoon.”

  His insides twisted with hunger and did it again when she glanced at him from under her long lashes. Those peeks were more shy than flirtatious; such a contrast to the character she strove for outside of this safe place. He found that beguiling, as tantalizing as the sleek body she framed in professional suits, silk though they were.

  Feeling himself getting aroused, he shifted in his seat. “Ah...when were you planning to return to Dallas?”

  “As soon as possible. I’ll know more tomorrow after the doctors finish their tests, but I’m thinking that I should be able to get over there on Sunday and at least pack my clothes and talk to my friend Andi—Andrea Demarco, the agent I mentioned. We can do the detail work later, and fax forms back and forth to formally get the house listed.”

  “I’ll come with you.” Gage knew he would have to clear a few things off his own calendar and arrange for someone to cover for him, but he would IOU himself to his neck to manage that. “We’ll use my truck. Don’t argue,” he said, as he saw protest in her eyes. “You can’t carry anything in that bracelet charm of a car you drive.”

  That had Brooke choking and needing a sip of wine to recover. “That’s funny,” she finally managed. “And you’re right—practical it isn’t. But...you’re serious? There’s no denying what a help you would be. On the other hand, you have such responsibilities here. You’re on call 24/7.”

  “In emergencies, we arrange for another vet willing to cover for us. I can even free Monday if need be. If you could arrange something similar for the store, I think we could get you fairly squared away.”

  “Undoubtedly.” Brooke stared at him as though he was someone a fairy godmother had conjured for her. “Gage, seriously? I’m no pack rat, so it shouldn’t take that long. Maybe half of Monday at the worst. Only...you have such little time for yourself as it is.”

  Until now, he’d had as much as he needed. Now he was aiming for what he wanted. Ignoring her latest protest, he playfully held up his hands to frame her like a photographer, and said, “The truck’s backseat will probably hold the entire contents of your clothes closet—even if you’re more of a fashionista than you look.”

  “Ho-ho, mister,” she said, pointing her fork at him. “May I remind you that I’m into quality, not quantity.”

  He knew that, without needing to see that closet. She wore the same diamond-and-gold knot earrings every day, and the same gold chain. She wore no rings or bracelets, only occasionally a gold watch.

  “Any furniture that you can’t live without until the sale?” he asked. “We’ll have an empty truck bed. We’ll just need to bring blankets and rope to keep things from getting scratched.”

  After only a slight hesitation, she shook her head. Her expression almost sad, she said, “I don’t think so. Just personal belongings. The house will show better with furniture anyway. Besides, you’ve undoubtedly noticed what a collector Aunt Marsha is. It doesn’t need one more thing added to it.”

  The admission had her quickly dropping her gaze to her plate. It was obvious that she regretted even that much criticism.

  “Are you okay?” Gage asked gruffly.

  “Not really. It’s just that...this is actually going to happen. All of it, and it feels so déjà vu.”

  Understanding that she was being reminded of the upheaval she’d lived through when losing her mother, Gage muttered, “Hell, Brooke, please don’t cry.”

  “Easy for you to say,” she said, dabbing under her eyes with her napkin.

  “Well, think about this—if you do, I’ll feel obliged to carry you upstairs, and if that happens, angel, all deals are off.”

  Chapter Four

  “Whatever you want—it’s yours.”

  It was Sunday, and Brooke had unlocked the door to her Turtle Creek home, welcoming in Gage. After his outburst on Thursday night, he’d half believed that she would cancel this trip—or make different arrangements. Then on Friday when her aunt’s condition had worsened and the doctors were thinking that the valve procedure was impossible, he’d wondered if the trip would happen at all. However, later Saturday, Marsha had rallied, and here they were.

  Brooke’s house bordered University Park, near SMU, another of the most desired neighborhoods around the heart of Dallas. He’d passed through the area a few times while familiarizing himself with the region during holiday breaks, and it was still a prime real estate area. No surprise, then, that Brooke had claimed a piece of it for herself. In her world, the world her father had groomed her to live in, prestige meant a great deal.

  “Now who’s being provocative?” He wasn’t referring to her welcome, rather her laughing gasp, then gentle demurring, after he’d seductively warned her on Thursday night.

  “I was referring to whatever is in the kitchen or wine cooler,” she explained. “Please help yourself.” But the schoolmarm-like enunciating didn’t work because she was failing at keeping a straight face. “Just get your mind out of the gutter, Doctor.”

  “That was nowhere close to where my mind was,” he murmured.

  As he followed Brooke into her cozy cotta
ge, he thought it was welcomingly more romantic than what he’d expected from a fast-tracking young executive. The 1950s dark brick-and-mortar structure with pronounced V-roofing and diamond-shaped lead windows reminded Gage of the dollhouse his sisters had played with as kids, and he said as much to Brooke.

  “I played with one, too,” Brooke replied. “People sometimes call them gingerbread houses. Our housekeeper had been a German widow and her name for the style was Hexenhaus. Witch house,” she translated, “like in the Hansel and Gretel story.”

  “No wonder I feel like a giant in here.”

  “Don’t worry, it’s not so small that you’ll bang your head anywhere.”

  She was right, and despite what the outside suggested, the interior had been totally updated, including fixtures and appliances current to what today’s homeowners desired. The decorating scheme was sophisticated, the colors soothing—a mixture of taupe, ice-blue and ivory, a theme carried throughout the house, except for the ivory and gold in the kitchen, designed to please a weekend chef. Gage was tempted to tease Brooke by asking if the owner’s manual was still taped to the top rack in the oven, but one look at her biting her lower lip, and he decided not to push his luck. Instead, he noted that the furnishings were inviting but true to her claim that she didn’t equate quantity with quality on any level.

  “I can see you in here,” he said, slowly nodding as he continued to look around.

  “That’s sweet, but after a week away, it already feels like someone else’s home.” Brooke set her leather shoulder bag on a brass and ivory-suede bar stool and waved her arms to encompass the room. “Well, I meant it—make yourself at home. That door across from the laundry room is a bathroom. There’s another midway down the hall leading to the bedrooms, and another in the master suite. Andi should be here at any minute, so I’m going to check in with Aunt Marsha and let her know we’ve arrived.”

  “I’ll start getting the boxes from the truck.”

  Gage understood Brooke was still basically winging things emotionally. No matter how Marsha’s doctor tried to soft-pedal around issues, Gage knew the dear woman would need to take things more slowly from here on, and it was likely that her days of running Newman’s Florist and Gifts were also at an end. Brooke hadn’t said more about that and was remaining stoic, and Gage couldn’t have been prouder of her. It was totally human to dread, or at least worry about, what was going on, and it was a true example of character that she did it with such grace.

  On his second trip back to the truck to retrieve more boxes, a sleek white Mercedes SL550 pulled into the driveway, stopping him in his tracks. Although it was a cloudy day, the raven-haired driver lowered her Jackie Kennedy-style sunglasses to eye Gage over their black rims. So this was Andi, he thought. Brooke’s college friend and the BFF who’d helped her purchase this house some three years ago. Also true to advertisement, Andrea Demarco emerged from the sporty coupe like a model filming a pricey commercial. Gage watched long, gleaming legs, then the rest of an attention-getting body, finely encased in a silk khaki dress, emerge. The four-inch heels were leopard print, as was her briefcase-style purse. The woman looked ready for a shopping safari...or to bid highest at a charity auction—particularly if the next item up was male. Another Liz Hooper? he wondered. He couldn’t see someone like Brooke being anything more than polite with someone like that.

  “You must be Andi,” he said, stepping forward to extend his hand. He expected quick rejection, since he was wearing a T-shirt and jeans—in his case the shirt was Texas A&M maroon and white. But this was as good a time as any to find out if this modern-day Queen of Sheba would be a help or hindrance where Brooke was concerned.

  “I must if you’re Gage,” she purred. “Goodness, Brooke told me that I had a treat in store, but she didn’t tell me that her doctor friend was such a specimen.”

  “Just a veterinarian,” he replied, accepting her slender limb that was adorned by an array of gold bangles and diamond rings.

  “Woof.”

  He couldn’t help but chuckle at her easy flirting, especially since her sultry gray eyes held a subtle acknowledgment that she knew where to draw the line if necessary. At least Andi’s approach was far more relaxed than Liz Hooper’s edgy, almost desperate style.

  “Brooke will be relieved that you’re here,” he told the undeniably attractive real estate agent. “She could use your moral support. It’s been a hard week for her.”

  “I’ve gathered as much. Having expected her to stay in this place for several more years, I know it would be no small thing to make her put it on the market.” Andi eyed the house and the lush and whimsical landscaping. “On the other hand, I’ve been drawn to this property since I first showed it to her. Believe me, it looked nothing like it does now. I hate that her aunt’s not well and that Brooke will have to stay put in Sweet Springs for some time, but I’m thrilled with the chance to get her the price she deserves.”

  “She’ll appreciate that. Someday.”

  Andi turned to study him anew. “Not only handsome, but sensitive.”

  “I’m nice to kids and senior citizens, too.”

  Laughing, Andi said, “Lead me to our fair friend before I forget that I’m supposed to be here on business.”

  With a wry smile, Gage grabbed up the last bundle of boxes and opened the door for Andi. As soon as Brooke spotted them, she rushed to the taller woman and hugged her.

  “It’s so good to see you. Thank you for coming. I know the property is small potatoes compared to what you’re handling these days.”

  “Nonsense. Besides, a storage shed is worth a nice bundle in this neighborhood, and your precious abode is anything but.” Then Andi leaned back to study her friend. “What a spell you’ve had. I’ve been worried for you—and Marsha, of course. How is she?”

  “Scared. A hip is bad enough. A heart...” Brooke shook her head.

  “I can’t imagine. But having you there has to be a huge reassurance.” Andi hugged her again. “So tell me—what stays and what goes?”

  “I’ve drawn you up a list.”

  As she went to pluck it up from the kitchen counter, Andi gave Gage a look of pride. “I’m efficient. That one makes me look like a rank amateur. If all of my clients were this thoughtful and thorough, I could handle twice the clientele that I do, and there would be fewer misunderstandings.” But when she looked at the list that Brooke handed over, her carefully tweezed eyebrows arched higher. “Good grief. Darling, mad friend, you have obviously been working too hard and lost all sense of reason. Practically everything is on this list.”

  Although Brooke’s gaze held regret as she inspected the room, she still ended up shrugging. “I hate the idea of these beautiful pieces being locked away out of sight for who knows how long. At least this way they would be used and enjoyed...if you happen to find the buyer who will fall in love with them as I did.”

  Andi remained confused. “Why would you need to put anything in storage? You said your aunt’s house is as large as some museums.”

  “Also as full as one,” Brooke replied, drily. “And then there are all of those stairs. After two trips up to the attic, which is my option, although probably crammed, too, the movers would likely abandon the rest of my things on the veranda and back porch and run for their lives.”

  Leaning against the counter, Gage raised his right hand. “Permission to interject? You know I’m going to help,” he told Brooke. The look he gave her underscored that the matter wasn’t up for discussion.

  “You’re doing plenty helping me this weekend,” she insisted. “Not to mention everything you’ve done up until now. What if you injure your back? I have enough on my conscience as it is.”

  “It is a very nice back,” Andi murmured from behind them. “And—oh, my—strong.”

  Casting Andi a wry look, Gage told Brooke, “This is clearly a good time to tell
you that I have plenty of empty rooms at my place—and half are on the first floor. Anything not sensitive to dust or humidity—garden tools, lawn furniture—could go in the barn. The movers could back a truck halfway inside and let the hydraulic lift do the majority of the work.”

  Stepping forward to lean against the counter, Andi gave Brooke and Gage a narrow-eyed look, then drawled to her friend, “Don’t let me leave without getting the number of your fairy godmother. If there’s another man half as good as this one appears to be, I’ll take that introduction as payment of your IOU.”

  All but blushing, Brooke uttered, “You’re embarrassing him—and me.”

  “And me,” Andi replied cryptically. Then with an ironic laugh, she set down her bag and took out her Android and notebook. “No damage. I’ll get started on taking measurements and pictures. Call me when you two are ready for wine. I want to know if there’s anything else worth seeing in East Texas.”

  Brooke waited until the door shut behind Andi. Only then did she say quietly to Gage, “She’s a wonderful person, but she recently broke up with her live-in boyfriend. It’s made her a bit more sardonic than usual. They’d been together for years, and she’d believed that they were together for life, wedding or no wedding. On her birthday, instead of a gift, he told her that he wasn’t having any fun anymore and was ready to move out and move on.”

  “Sorry to hear that,” Gage replied, as he tried to play catch-up. Something was clearly going on. “She’s an attractive woman.”

  “She’s stunning! She’s like an exotic bird.”

  Brooke’s almost hurt expression had him wanting to take her in his arms. For a sophisticated businesswoman herself, she was something of an innocent when it came to personal relationships. It seemed that when she finally embraced someone, she did so with a child’s wholeheartedness and acceptance. Gage had yet to be convinced that Andi deserved such trust. After all, she was sure giving him strong hints that she would like to do more than get to know him better. On the other hand, he was beginning to think part of that was due to Brooke encouraging that.