by Tawny Weber
End? It shouldn’t have started. God, what was he thinking? He was supposed to be telling her about the loan his father was calling in. He should be helping her fix the mess her mother had left, one she didn’t even know was about to crash down on her.
Instead, he’d gone down on her in a public park.
Wasn’t he a prince.
“That’s how it should end,” he said. Then he realized how callous that sounded and almost groaned aloud. This was why he never did good girls—especially not here, in his hometown. He always stuck with ones who knew the game plan well before the panties were torn off.
But it was too late. Eden’s panties were who knew where, and she was looking at him like she wasn’t sure if he was the greatest thing since milk chocolate or a big mean ogre who was about to ruin her dreams.
He knew he should take the ogre route. He should be a hard-ass, tell her the way things were, and apologize for not filling her in before he’d stuck his tongue inside her body.
He should let his mistake be the perfect excuse to end things quickly and cleanly, before they got complicated. Or ugly.
Except this was Eden.
So things were already complicated. And he never, ever wanted to make her life ugly.
So instead of explaining, even nicely, why this had been a mistake, he did the most stupid thing ever.
He pulled her into his arms. Still staring at the ocean beyond, he sighed.
“I’ve got to get back to the hospital,” he lied. “So I guess only one of us gets to win tonight.”
Unable to resist, he brushed a kiss over her soft hair and added, “Sorry, babe. It was incredible.”
7
THE NEXT DAY Eden sat at her desk, staring out at the green fields beyond the barn that served as her veterinary clinic and swore she could still feel tiny little aftershock orgasms. And she had to assume, given that it’d essentially been a solo party, that on the sexual Richter scale that’d been an average quake. She couldn’t wait to find out what a full-blown, totally naked, penetration-rocks explosion was going to feel like.
“The question is,” she murmured to the dog weaving between her feet and the chair legs, “will I get to find out? Cade wasn’t exactly beating the drum for a do-over last night.”
It was more like he was doing his damnedest to hurry her along before she got ideas. Either sticky ones that would require him to make excuses, or dramatic girly ones that would inspire him to run like hell.
But she hadn’t done either. After he’d practically carried her back to the car, since she was even less sturdy on her high heels after he’d rocked her world, they’d kept up small talk. Friendly, meaningless social chitchat, as they’d both been raised to excel in. Then he’d walked her to the door, brushed a kiss over her lips and hurried off to see his father in ICU.
She’d wanted to ask if that was just an excuse, since everyone knew Cade wasn’t a big fan of his father. And she wasn’t sure if ICU was open at ten at night. But for a Sullivan, usual rules never applied. The insecure part of her, the one she tried to pretend didn’t exist, had immediately wondered if Cade regretted their little love-fest.
The rest of her, the part that liked to dive headfirst into life and deal with the fallout later, shrugged off the worry. What good would it do to obsess? If he’d hated it, she’d deal with that when she saw him.
Or she’d sit here and freak out.
Sighing, Eden chewed on her thumbnail, wishing the knotted nerves in her stomach would unravel enough so she could eat something more nutritious for lunch.
A late lunch at that, since her clinic had had people in and out all day. Other than the three scheduled appointments, she’d had seven visitors, all casually moseying through to see how her day was coming along.
The first three had amused her. They’d all been schoolmates from town who’d wanted to congratulate her on trading up. Trading from what, she wasn’t sure. The next two visitors were harmless irritations, both social-climbing hangers-on who were clearly looking for something juicy to make them popular with the Oceanfront ladies. But the last two, who Eden actually didn’t know, had apparently learned their interviewing skills from the paparazzi. Or the inquisition.
Since none of them had pets, or the brains to pretend they might be checking into her services as well as her personal life, she didn’t feel bad about sending them away without a speck of fuel for their gossip.
Now she was hiding with the stack of files sent to her by local animal shelters and groups. The Shady Acres Retirement Home had five new residents this month and Eden wanted to visit in the morning with a list of possible pets for them to adopt.
“Eden...?”
Trying not to growl, Eden laid down her pen and eyed the dog.
“Think we can pretend we’re not here?” she asked the small gray mutt. “Because you know, they’re only after gossip.”
“Eden?” the voice called, louder and more insistent.
“Back here,” she admitted, rising resignedly to meet the eighth interruption of the morning. “In the office.”
Some—mostly the Oceanfront set—would say that calling a small room in a barn an office was a little on the ambitious side. But, hey, it had a desk, a phone and internet access. A few framed certificates, her veterinary license and a huge orange filing cabinet completed the office requirement checklist.
“Oh, there you are, dear,” the older woman said breathlessly, reaching the doorway before Eden had even crossed the small room. Eden eyed the stubby legs beneath that vivid floral dress. Had she run?
“Hi, Mrs. Carmichael,” she greeted cautiously.
“I brought Paisley in,” the heavyset woman said, stating the obvious since the cat was draped over her shoulders. She, not the cat, glowered at Mooch, who was cowering behind Eden’s feet. “I don’t want her scared, though.”
“She got to know Mooch the other day when she was here visiting,” Eden said cheerfully, holding out her fingers for the cat to sniff. With a jaw-snapping yawn, the feline arched her back, then stood on her owner’s shoulder to leap into Eden’s arms.
“Whoa, well, hello,” Eden said with a laugh, falling back a step under the sudden weight of the cat. “Aren’t you the sweetheart? And a take-charge sweetheart, at that.”
Impressed that the older woman could cart the twenty-pound feline around like she did, Eden decided comfort was more important than trying to prove she was as strong as a sixty-year-old. Hooking her foot around the wheel of her chair, she pulled it over next to the visitors’ chair. Just in case Mrs. Carmichael was the stay-close-to-her-pet type.
As soon as they settled—Eden with the cat in her lap—Mooch came over and stood, front paws on Eden’s legs, to say hi.
“Watch that,” Mrs. Carmichael cautioned, half rising as if to throw herself between the dog and cat.
Eden’s heart, always a sucker for anyone who loved animals, went soft.
“She’ll be okay,” she promised. But she put a cautioning hand on the dog’s collar, just in case.
It only took two sniffs before the cat was purring and rubbing her white-spotted face against the dog’s ear.
“Well, will you look at that?” Mrs. Carmichael gave the pair a baffled glance before turning, wide-eyed to Eden. “She never gets along with other animals. Or people, for that matter.”
“Savannahs are known for being cautious,” Eden agreed, rubbing her knuckle under the feline’s chin. The cat was not only purring like a motorboat now, but doing the comfy circle dance in Eden’s lap. “But once they make a bond, it’s a pretty tight one.”
“Hmm.”
“What’s wrong?” Eden asked, smiling at the grumpy-faced older woman.
“I didn’t realize you were quite so well-read on rare cats. Or that you had such a way with animals.”
“It is my job,” Eden added, figuring it was easier to smile than to grind her teeth. Even though that would have felt a hell of a lot better. What was up with people? They thought they had her so
easily pegged? Nice-enough misfit, a little klutzy, always good for a laugh.
“Well, yes, but I suppose I thought you mostly tended animals like this one.” The older woman gestured to Mooch, who was sniffing around her shoes like they were made of bacon.
“I try not to discriminate,” Eden said gently, offering the raggedy looking mutt an indulgent look, even as she continued to rub her fingers under the chin of a cat that cost more than her car. “Mooch was abandoned when his owner died. He’d been with her for twelve years, and in the end, he was her only companion. Her only company. When she had a stroke, he shredded a window screen to escape, ran back and forth in front of the house, barking until he got someone’s attention.”
Mrs. Carmichael’s polished lips rounded as she looked—actually looked—at the dog.
“All the owner’s family wanted when she was gone was her money, anything they could sell for profit. They were going to have the dog put down.”
“No!”
As if Eden had just taken a gun and aimed it at the canine, the older woman snatched him up and cuddled his wriggling body close in her arms.
“It happens a lot,” Eden said sadly. She hated that. Hated that she couldn’t do more to stop it. Her estimation of the other woman had sure taken a high leap, though. “The shelters, rescue groups and other vets know I take in special cases and try to find them homes. One of them called me about Mooch and I convinced the new owners to let me keep him.”
“Does he have a home, then?”
Hmm. Quickly shielding her considering look, Eden shook her head slowly, letting her chin droop just a little. “He doesn’t. I’m trying to find him one, though. I can’t keep too many dogs here myself—it’s just not fair to them.”
Mooch, the consummate player, chose that moment to lick the older woman’s chin and give a friendly yip. Mrs. Carmichael laughed, hugging him close.
“Well, that’s a shame. I can’t bring a dog home myself because Mr. Carmichael is allergic. But I have friends...”
Eden grinned.
Mooch was as good as placed. Mrs. Carmichael had a reputation for never saying anything she didn’t mean—and quite a bit she did but should keep to herself. And given the tax bracket of her friends, Eden figured Mooch stood a really good chance of finishing out his golden years in prime style.
Five minutes later, Mooch on her lap, Mrs. Carmichael finally wound her way around to the real purpose of her visit.
“I heard that sweet boy, Cade Sullivan, helped you rescue my Paisley.”
Sweet boy? Eden’s lips twitched.
“Actually I’d already rescued Paisley. Bev was in the car giving her water when Cade showed up,” she corrected meticulously. Then she laughed and leaned forward to admit, “It was me Cade was rescuing.”
Mrs. Carmichael’s eyes rounded, right along with her mouth.
“I figure you’re here to get the really good inside dirt, right? And only Bev, Cade and I know that part. So there you go, I’ve just provided you with lunch fodder for an entire week.” Too amused to be offended, Eden grinned.
The older woman tried for a look of righteous indignation, but couldn’t hold it for more than a few seconds. Smiling back, she reached over to pat Eden’s hand. “Sweetie, you’re the best gossip this year. You didn’t think I was going to waste my advantage, did you? Especially not when I’ve got the inside track.”
“Is Paisley your inside track, then? I should charge you for an office visit for this,” Eden teased, her fingers combing through the cat’s soft fur. The Savannah purred her approval. Surprisingly, so did Mrs. Carmichael in the form of a harrumphing hum.
“Good point.” The older woman looked around the office, noting the various animal photos, inspecting the certificates and then giving Eden a considering look. “Why don’t you go ahead and give my baby a checkup. Make sure she’s faring well after her little adventure. We’ll see how that goes.”
For a solid heartbeat, Eden just stared. What? A real appointment? From one of the Oceanfront matrons? Warning herself not to get too excited, Eden scooped the cat up into her arms and tilted her head to one side to ask, “Adding legitimacy to your pending story?”
The older woman laughed, rising too and waiting for Eden to lead the way to an exam room. “I’m meeting the Spring Fling planning committee in the morning. And you have to admit, your rescue and subsequent examination of my baby gives me an exciting co-star status in gossip central’s latest favorite topic.”
“Well...” Eden set the still purring cat on a stainless table and, one hand still rubbing her ears, reached for the stethoscope, “I think Paisley’s the actual co-star.”
“I’m her agent,” Mrs. Carmichael deadpanned.
“She’s a lucky cat,” Eden decided ten minutes later after giving the cat a thorough and surprisingly easy exam. Savannahs weren’t known for being agreeable, but the feline, who weighed more than Mooch, had purred through the entire checkup. “And in excellent health. You might want to supplement her with some fish oil. Omega-3s are good for the immune system and will make her coat even shinier. From the scent of her fur, you’re taking her to the salon Dr. Turner recommends. They’re lovely and do a fabulous job of pampering the pets. But after a month on the fish oil, you won’t need those conditioning baths. Also, Savannahs often have a taurine deficiency, so if you aren’t already, you might want to begin supplementing.”
“I suppose you sell this taurine?”
Eden looked up from her inspection of the feline’s nails to shake her head. “No, but I can recommend a few brands, though.”
Mrs. Carmichael gave another humming humph, then nodded.
“You’re very good at that,” she decided with a considering look. “Paisley doesn’t take to most people, let alone veterinarians. She hates the techs at Dr. Turner’s. They’ve started asking me to sedate her before visits.”
“Oh, that’s a shame,” Eden said, giving the huge cat a sympathetic hug. “I know Savannahs can be considered persnickety, but you’d think a veterinary clinic would understand that about the breed.”
“You’d think,” the other woman murmured before asking about the charges.
Eden gave the cat one last scratch, then leaving her with her owner, stepped over to the computer to print out a bill.
“So, where did you and the sweet Sullivan boy go after drinks last night?” Mrs. Carmichael asked, making a show of pulling her checkbook out of her Hermès bag. “A walk on the cliffs, perhaps?”
“Oh, my God,” Eden breathed, the bill hanging limp in her fingers. Horrified images of YouTube videos, Instagrams and mocking humiliation for not moaning correctly during an orgasm all filled her head. “Did someone follow us?”
The older woman laughed so hard she snorted. Then, after wiping a tear from one eye, she took the paper and patted Eden’s hand.
“Sweetie, you are such a rookie at this.”
Eyes huge, Eden shook her head in denial. “That was a setup? But how’d you guess?”
“Process of elimination. Cade’s BMW headed west when he left the Wayfarers. That meant you either went to the cliffs or up the coast. Since word is that his car was in his driveway two hours later, the cliffs were the best bet.”
“We could have circled around, made a turn somewhere.”
“Cade’s too practical for that, sweetie. Please, if you don’t know him better than that, how are you going to keep people guessing about what happened?”
Before Eden could process that, or even wonder if she’d totally underestimated the depth and reach of the Ocean Point gossip chain, the other woman handed her a check.
Eden glanced at the amount, then forcibly yanked her jaw off the floor.
“Um, I think this is a mistake.” She tried to hand the slip of paper, with its overabundance of zeros, back.
“That’s for the rescue, and the reward I’d have had to offer. For today’s visit, which I’m assuming since it’s a Sunday and your posted hours don’t include weekends, means t
his is considered emergency time, and a retainer for monthly checkups for the next three months. At that point, we’ll reevaluate.”
With a grunt, she lifted the twenty pound feline, draped her over her shoulder like a purring stole, and gave Eden a nod.
“I’ll be in touch during regular business hours to set up Paisley’s schedule. I’ll expect you to have those supplements you recommended for me then, too. And don’t forget to have Mooch ready for visitors. I’ll send a few people out to meet him.”
Between the buzzing in her ears and the feeling of standing on a very unstable cloud, Eden was sure she said something. Hopefully it included the words “thank you” and maybe “goodbye.” But she couldn’t be sure.
Still standing there in shock, Eden stared after the departing floral steamship.
Then she looked at the check again.
She’d done it.
Oh, she hadn’t saved her home yet. But she’d gotten a new client. One who was married to the bank owner’s brother, and had just handed her enough to pay off one-thirtieth of the loan.
Hips swinging, Eden happy-danced her way back to her office.
She’d told Bev that dating Cade should bring in some gossip gawkers who’d use their pets as an excuse to troll for dirt. But she’d just said that to throw Bev off Eden’s true dating intentions. She hadn’t really believed it.
But now?
“Mooch, we just might make this work after all,” she said, tossing the dog a treat. Then, figuring if anything deserved celebrating, this did, she dug into her emergency chocolate stash and had one herself.
A screaming orgasm, a possible home for Mooch and a wealthy new client. This weekend was working out pretty darned good.
8
CADE WASN’T SURE what it’d take to make the weekend much worse. A plague, maybe. A natural disaster or two.
Or another visit to the hospital.
“Your father is out of ICU now. He’s all settled in a private room and getting a little testy with the doctors’ order that he not have a computer or work-related paperwork. After this morning’s incident, they even restricted his access to the newspaper,” Catherine said with a worried frown. Moving with the ease of someone much younger than her eighty years, she bustled around the brightly lit kitchen. Pouring coffee into a large custom mug with a picture of a fluffy baby harp seal and the caption My Grandson, she handed it, and a plate of cookies, to Cade. Then she gestured that he take them to the sitting room.
