Once the exam was complete, Becca snapped off her plastic gloves. “I don’t see any signs of liver disease, but I’d like to get a blood sample and run some tests, if you’re okay with that.”
Olive covered Toby’s ears. “You know how he is with needles.”
Do I ever. “I can have Carson hold him if you want to wait in the front with Madison.”
Sighing, Olive agreed it was the best course of action. With Carson’s strength, they were able to make short work of the process and had Olive and Toby on their way in no time.
“I’ll run this and let you know.” Carson hurried to the lab with the vial that would hopefully clear Toby’s health.
“I need you to sign this order form.” Emily held out the paperwork while Becca washed and dried her hands. There were two more dogs and a cat waiting in reception already, the feline hissing up a storm. Thankfully, Becca’s stray had eaten the tuna and fallen into a peaceful sleep; she could only imagine the noise in the building if the alley cat was still awake. Becca took the offered pen and scratched her name on the line with the X.
“A bunch of us are going out tonight. Wanna come?” asked Emily. Her hopeful hazel eyes said this was more than just a random invite.
Becca gave her usual, “No thanks.”
Emily followed her down the hall. “Come on. Daniel has this friend, he’s super cute. I think you’d like him. And if you do, we can double date.”
Intrigued because Daniel was a great guy who had stolen Emily’s heart, Becca considered the offer. She had an awful dating history. Just awful. But, something in her heart wouldn’t let her give up. God made Adam for Eve, right? There had to be someone out there who didn’t make burping noises at the table, ask her for free pet advice, or expect her to pick up the tab. Emily had great taste in men, so Becca asked, “What does he do?”
“He’s a graphic designer.”
Becca sighed. “It’ll never work. I’m too practical for someone with an artistic side.”
Emily gave her shoulder a little push. “That’s not true.”
Becca shook her head. “Remember Ethan?”
“He was too young for a commitment. It had nothing to do with being artistic.”
Becca harrumphed. “Andrew?”
“He was just weird—what was with that Rasta hat he wore all the time, anyway?”
Becca grinned, having saved her ace in the hole for last. “And Nicholas?”
“Okay—that one was bad.” Emily tapped the pen against her clipboard. “But what if this time it’s different? You’re the one who’s always telling me to put good vibes out there in the universe and good vibes will come back.” She shook Becca’s shoulder. “Come on, where’s those good vibes?”
Becca laughed. She couldn’t argue with herself. “All right, I’ll go.”
“Eeee!” Emily hugged her. “You’re going to love having a boyfriend.”
Becca hugged her back. “I don’t need a boyfriend; I need a dog. But since I can’t have one of those, I’ll settle for the ones I see here. We’ll see about this guy.”
“Ha! You just wait, Becca Lee, one day a man’s going to sweep you off your feet, and you’ll forget all about your love for four-legged animals.”
Emily hurried away. Becca ducked into Exam Room 3, where she was greeted by a litter of dachshunds and Dixie, their overprotective, teeth-baring mother. The puppies had different colored ribbons around their necks. They’d no doubt had the same color since taking their first breath. Jessica kept track of birth order, so when buyers inspected the pups, they could always pick out their favorite by the color of ribbon.
Becca smiled at their owner, one of the top breeders in the city. “Hi, Jessica. How many?”
“Eight this time.” Jessica grinned. She patted Dixie’s head and the growling stopped momentarily. “Sorry, Becca. I know she’s a pain, but I couldn’t leave her home.”
Evaluating the once again growling mother, Becca grinned. “Piece of cake.” She held out a treat and began the process of getting Dixie to trust her enough to let her play with the puppies.
Since they had a history, a good one at that, Dixie came around pretty quickly. As Becca checked the last pup, Dixie nudged her wet nose into her cheek. Dogs, cats, even gerbils, were pretty easy to get along with.
Men, on the other hand, were a foreign species. Suddenly dreading the evening Emily had planned, Becca decided she’d rather face down twenty growling dachshunds than go on another blind date. But she’d given her word, and come what may, she’d be there for Emily no matter what happened with the guy.
3
A light breeze shuffled across the upper deck of Lucas’s California-based houseboat. He’d owned the thing for years, using weekends in Santa Barbara as an incentive or bonus for his team members when they’d pushed too hard for too long. Even though he’d always pushed the hardest, this was the first time he’d set foot on deck.
The houseboat was the one and only in Santa Barbara having been grandfathered in before city ordinances banning them were passed. Situated on a short finger directly off the main dock, the two-story house boat was easy to access. A small patio with a couple of chairs and a heavy table greeted visitors, not that he’d have any. A circular staircase lead to the upper deck where the view encompassed the marina and mountains.
Moored on his forty-foot wide-tie, port of the houseboat, was his unused fishing boat. In a couple days, he might actually try it out.
Inside, the lower level had an open floor plan where a seating area, table, and galley appeared spacious, though in reality they were quite compact. Through the galley there was a utility room, and on the other side of that was a glass-ceilinged hot tub space. Upstairs was also open; the entire space was used as a master bedroom. Surrounding the room was a four-foot-wide deck that afforded stunning views of the sunrise, the sunset, and the entire harbor . . . or so he’d been told.
Intent on finding out if the view was as good as he’d heard, Lucas ventured out of the bedroom to take in the breakwater protecting the marina and a side view of Sterns Wharf. He scanned the skies. No clouds—just blue as far as the eye could see. He liked the openness. the airiness brought a sense of security.
With the iron-gated, keyed entrance to the harbor, he felt sheltered from the paparazzi that had hounded him since the press conference last month. They’d besieged his homes in DC, Phoenix, and then Beverly Hills as Lucas moved from one to the other trying to find a moment to grieve for his sister. Unlike his homes in the city, where the press could hide behind his neighbor’s lilacs, the houseboat was a haven.
Dissolving his team was the hottest scandal since ENRON or OJ. In a moment of clarity, or perhaps stupidity, he’d stowed away in his maid’s car and paid cash for a bus ticket to Santa Barbara, hoping to throw the barracuda and the rest of the flesh-eating reporters off his trail. After twenty-four hours of silence, he was finally starting to relax.
Settling into a deck chair, he closed his eyes and leaned his head back to let the sunshine warm his face. His boat had been well maintained over the years, a feat he’d have to thank Juanita for, because he had no idea what it took to keep this thing afloat. She’d given him a run-through over the phone and emailed several documents, which he’d scoured. They’d given his mind something to focus on which was good. Even in his fog of grief, his brain wouldn’t shut down.
For a moment, he thought about checking in with Juanita, and then he banished the thought. Juanita could run his life without him there—that’s why he’d hired her. If she had an emergency, she would call.
He allowed his thoughts to wander and found himself pondering the Butterfly Formula written across the whiteboard in his head. The numbers and letters organized themselves like soldiers on a battlefield. His hand itched to hold a dry-erase marker. The pull of the puzzle never quite left. You could take a microbiologist out of the lab . . .
He ran through the list of possible additives. If they moved the coefficient—
“Exc
use me? A little help here?”
Mentally jarred by the intensity in the female voice, Lucas swiped the board clean and jumped to his feet. He scanned the dock and found it empty.
“Down here!” A woman treaded water on the port side, next to the side-tie. She was pulling a red-headed person behind her and trying to lift him on board his boat.
He hurried down the spiral staircase, across the patio, and got on his knees to offer a hand.
“Here.” She shoved a head of wet hair into his palm. He scrambled for a handhold. There was nowhere without hair. It wasn’t a person! Finally, Lucas grabbed the beast around the chest, and realizing that it was a dog with long legs, bony ribs, and huge paws, he heaved it aboard. Overwhelmed, he landed on his back with the dog on top of him.
The woman, soaking wet and weighing less than the behemoth lying across his chest and breathing foul air into his face, smiled, and Lucas felt like the whole world lit up. He stared into her almond-colored eyes, mesmerized by the light and innocence he found there.
She dropped to her knees and lifted the animal’s eyelid, then his lips. Her medium-length hair dripped cold water onto his arm. “He seems fine; you can let him up.”
Lucas squirmed. “I think it’s the other way around.”
Her laughter sparkled like the sunlight across the water. “Come on, boy!”
The dog slimed Lucas’s cheek with his tongue, managed to dig an elbow and a paw into Lucas’s stomach before getting to his feet.
“What’s his name?” she asked.
Lucas swiped his face clean. “I don’t know.” He stared at his hand wondering where to wipe the dog spit.
She examined the shaggy mutt, and then him. “What do you mean? Isn’t he yours?”
Lucas shook his head. “No.” He swiped his hand against his pants.
“Of course he’s yours. I saw him fall off this boat.” She scratched behind the dog’s ears. “The harbor master is pretty strict about animal regulations.”
“I know. I read the contract.” The last thing Lucas needed was to get harbor patrol involved in anything relating to his life. Wasn’t all that stuff public record? He couldn’t afford a citation; the press would eat it up. He grunted as he got to his feet and found his six-foot-one frame towering over his uninvited guests. How tall was she? “Swimming in the harbor is off limits, too.”
Holding up both hands, she said, “Heaven knows I’m the last person to report anyone for a pet violation, but you should leash or kennel him until he gets used to his new home. He was swimming in circles and had gone under a couple times before I reached him.”
“He’s not my dog,” Lucas insisted.
“Sure he is. You’re the new guy, this is the new dog.” Her eyes flashed with triumph.
“Sorry,” he growled.
Her brow furrowed, and Lucas noticed a tiny vertical line appear above her nose. Most of the women he worked with would have had that Botoxed. He liked that she hadn’t, that she didn’t seem to mind her wet, shoulder-length hair or her soggy clothes hugging her in all the right places. She was, in the oddest ways, at peace with herself. He found that it was darn-right attractive in a woman.
“Then whose dog is he?” she asked. They both regarded the retriever, who barked.
Lucas shrugged.
“There goes my date,” she muttered before motioning to the parking lot above them. “I can take him back to my clinic, but I’ll have to dry him off first. Do you have towels?”
Lucas thought about his towel situation. His whole collection consisted of a body towel that he’d used to clean up the Moo Shoo Pork incident last night and a hand towel he’d used to dry off after an incredibly short shower this morning. “Not that I want to use on that filthy thing.”
“Okaaaaay.” Her hand went to her forehead as if he were the issue here, not the homeless animal. “I have some. Keep him here. I’ll run to my place and grab them.”
As she moved to leave, he hooked her elbow, the contact causing a sense of awareness under his skin. He pushed it away and said, “Take him with you.” Lucas had no experience with dogs—well, no pleasant experiences with them. He didn’t think getting chased by an angry mutt when he was seven counted for anything. Now that he was out from under the beast, he didn’t like the look in its eye. What if it turned on him when she wasn’t around?
“I can’t.”
“You hauled him aboard, you can take him.”
“No, I mean I can’t be seen with a dog.”
“What?”
“It’s a long story that involves a labradoodle, a greyhound, and a paddleboard. There’s not really time to explain; he’s shivering and the patrol comes by at six.”
“No. No. And no.” He released her and folded his arms.
Her eyes narrowed. “Sit,” she commanded. The traitor plopped his backside on the wood and barked. She smirked. “I guess he’s staying.”
Lucas pointed to the dock. “Go home!”
The dog lay down and crossed his paws.
“I’ll be right back.” She took off at a light jog, turning right on the main spur, where he lost sight of her.
Lucas considered the dog, who was crawling on his belly, inching closer. “Don’t get any ideas.”
The dog stood up and shook, sending water flying in every direction. When he was done, he settled back down as if he had all day to wait for that little sprite to return.
The dog might have been fine waiting, but Lucas had other things to do. He shook off his arms—who knew what microbes were in this water. He stormed inside to find his pathetic hand towel, being sure to shut the sliding glass door behind him so the dog would know he wasn’t invited in. He came out on the patio at the same time the dog-saving pixie hurdled the space between the dock and his boat.
She did a visual sweep of the area. “Where is he?”
Lucas stared at the spot where the dog had been just seconds before. A large puddle was slowly evaporating. “You don’t think . . . ?” He couldn’t finish the statement. They both ran to the side where he’d first found them, but the water was clear.
“He would have had to run past you on the dock to get out, wouldn’t he?” Lucas rubbed the towel through his shaggy brown hair, suddenly realizing how long it had been since he’d had it cut. Or shaved, he thought as he dried off his beard. He wasn’t exactly dressed to impress a woman—although, while impressing a lady should have been the last thing on his priority list, he suddenly wished he’d worn something better than the faded khaki shorts and T-shirt.
“Not if he went that way.” She pointed to the walkway that led up the stairs to the locked gate and out to the parking lot. “I guess someone could have let him out.” She hugged the towels close. “I hope he’s okay.”
Lucas grunted. “I’m sure he’ll be fine.” The sooner he got this woman off his boat, the better. She had him thinking and feeling and interested in all sorts of ways he wanted to avoid. Besides, she sounded like trouble, what with the labradoodle and the paddleboard thing . . . wasn’t there a horse or something in there too? He shook his head—didn’t matter.
She checked a watch the size of an orange on her tiny wrist. “Snickerdoodles! I’m going to be late.” Without so much as a goodbye, she cleared the patio and ran toward the showers, still holding the towels to her chest.
Lucas watched her go, her ebony hair bouncing with every step and her feet making a hollow sound as they hit the dock. A part of him—the part that used to enjoy life, living, eating, laughing—wanted to chase after her and hear that story. But that part was overruled by the cautious, grieving soul in desperate need of quiet time full of contemplation. Heading back up the staircase, he settled into the deck chair. He needed food. Picking up a container of last night’s noodles and giving it a sniff, he decided to live on the wild side. Well, the wild side for a microbiologist. Using yesterday’s fork, Lucas took a big bite. Who cared if he got sick? The cold food slid down his throat with more effort than it was worth, and he set the bo
x on the floor at his feet.
Being away from the office was like being the odd item in an empty warehouse. Nothing held his interest. Without restrictions, family, or a job, he could drink himself under the tiny table downstairs or get food poisoning and hurl chow mien over the side of his boat. He was free to ruin his life. Who would stop him?
The answer bred anger like yeast on sugar. No one. No one out there really cared about him.
Forget finding a cure. Forget trying to help. People were mean and demanding and ungrateful. You could give them the world, and they’d turn around and ask you why it wasn’t gift-wrapped.
Lucas had created a memory palace inside his head. The structure housed the many projects he worked on. The technique of assigning each project a room allowed him to store vast amounts of information. He closed his eyes and walked through the front doors, up the broad staircase, and to the second floor, where the east wing was dedicated to his research on the butterfly flu. He shut the doors, turned the key, and locked the door. There would be no more puzzling over formulas or testing subjects.
When he walked down the stairs, he mentally tripped as he was met by a dark-haired sprite with almond-colored eyes full of disappointment.
Wrenching himself from the chair, Lucas tromped down his actual staircase, banning the sprite from his memory palace. Despite his efforts to distract himself by ordering pizza, Lucas couldn’t quite get his mind to leave her behind, and he found himself pondering a set of high cheekbones and full lips. Curse his eidetic memory.
4
“For the last time, Emily, it wasn’t your fault.” Becca switched her cell phone to her other ear to relieve the cramp in her neck and moved her shopping bags into her left hand. Emily had apologized last night, this morning, at lunch, and then once before she left the office for the day. And now she’d called. This had to stop. “You didn’t know.”
“I should have screened him better, though.” Emily’s voice cracked.
The Reclusive Billionaire (Destination Billionaire Romance) Page 2
