Autumn was finally arriving in Central East Texas, and the skies were growing cloudier by the hour, the winds stronger. Strong thunderstorms were in the forecast for the evening, when a front would bring plummeting temperatures. She took great care driving to the county seat, and had no problem finding the courthouse. Having ascertained by her laptop that the Department of Motor Vehicles would be within walking distance, she pulled into the first parking spot she could find in the busy heart of town.
Locking up her uncle’s truck, she crossed the road and then started down the street, only to hear, “What are you doing here?”
For a fraction of a second, she almost believed she’d conjured him; after all, this was his territory, and she had been thinking of him more and more as she approached the city. Even so, her heart pumped harder once she spun around to see Noah Prescott slamming the door of his BMW and taking loping strides to reach her. With only a wallet to clutch, since she rarely bothered with purses, she hugged herself despite the eighty-degree temperature.
As usual, he looked suave and confident in another tailored suit—this one navy blue. No athletic hunk, which was fine with her, he had this smooth-drink-of-water look that would make him perfect to play a highly educated, prodigal son of some organized-crime figure, most dangerous when he smiled, as he did now. In comparison, she felt like a member of the janitorial service at Guantanamo in her Day-Glo lime T-shirt and jeans.
“Hello, you,” she managed, hoping she sounded wryly amused. “How’s Bubbles?”
“Almost as good as new. Mother was most relieved—and grateful,” he added with a hint of a bow.
He was on his best behavior, which just made her feel all the more nervous. She offered a weak, “Small world.”
He shook his head, all confidence. “My territory this time. What’s your excuse?”
“Oh...I’m... I need to transfer my license.” After that confidence stumble, she shrugged to suggest the chore was no big deal. Unfortunately, the truth was that there were going to be complications. “You all—excuse me, y’all are more tolerant than in California, but I figured the sooner I did this the better.”
“They’re closed for lunch.”
Rylie told herself that this would be a good moment to check her watch if only to stop staring at him, but she didn’t wear jewelry. Working around upset and injured animals and every type of farm and clinical equipment was dangerous enough without inviting injury. That left her with only the option to grimace. At least he couldn’t know that her disappointment was more about their ill-timed meeting than his news. “I guess I’ll go grab something to eat and try to be first in line when they reopen.”
“You don’t have to rush back for an appointment?”
“My next one is at two o’clock, but I’ll definitely call and let them know what happened, in case Doc needed me sooner.”
Noah studied her for another few seconds and suddenly said, “Come with me. I know the lady who operates that facility, and she usually brings her lunch from home. I’ll ask her to make an exception for you and give her an IOU for lunch.”
The latter part of his solution had her feeling almost sick. She could just picture an Angelina Jolie–type being offered lunch with Noah Prescott, an image that helped her uncharacteristically floundering ego nosedive to Dismalville. As it was, anyone looking at Noah, then her, would not see much reason for him going out of his way to gain her favor. In the vast international range of beauty, she thought herself as cute on a good day when life wasn’t coming at her at a hundred miles per hour. This was not one of those days. At least she wasn’t wearing her maroon clinic smock that hid any sign that she had breasts and hips, such as they were.
With an adamant shake of her head, she replied, “No, really, I appreciate the thought, but I don’t want any special treatment.”
Behind his sharklike smile and brown-eyed gaze was a speculative glint. “It’s the least I can do for Mother’s favorite dog groomer.”
I must be projecting. Stop projecting.
She knew from her years of work with animals that words were often unnecessary to communicate and that he was sensing her discomfort, and it was making him all the more intrigued. What was going on with the man? Usually he couldn’t wait to get away from her.
“You know what?” she said, glancing toward her uncle’s truck with longing. “I’ll just come back another day.”
As she started her escape, Noah followed her up the sidewalk. “After coming all this distance? That’s a wasted trip, not to mention gas.”
“Well, with the weather about to change, I’m glad to have been outside for a bit. Thanks for the offer, though. Tell your mother that I said—” As she pivoted on her right heel, she clipped her shoulder hard on the stop sign’s post. “Ow!”
“Are you all right?”
Idiotic question. Gritting her teeth and gripping her shoulder, Rylie rode out the worst wave of pain. She knew never to turn right without more care, but being right-handed, it was still her instinctive choice.
“You know, they tend to put these signs at every cross section of roads.”
If he hadn’t had the decency to look at least a tad concerned, she would have gladly replied with something totally unladylike. At the least, he deserved a dry-cleaning bill for that insult-upon-injury remark. Instead, she reached for her usual self-deprecating humor. After all, this area was not just her new home, it was Uncle Roy’s and Gage’s, and she needed to set a good example for them, as well.
“Glutton for punishment that I am,” she quipped, “I was trying to add to my collection of scar tissue.”
“Take my arm,” he said, all Southern charm. “Before you forget there’s traffic, too.”
Being thought of as an amusing klutz hurt worse than being disliked, she realized, even if she’d more or less invited the perspective. Feeling her eyes begin to burn from tears, she muttered, “Hilarious. Now would you please go away and—and persecute someone who deserves it!”
* * *
What the hell...?
Rylie’s words startled Noah, and as he watched her drive away in the red pickup truck, they began to gnaw at him like a haunting wound. Nothing was as it seemed with her. The embarrassment he understood well enough; she really was an awkward little thing, but why on earth the tears and accusation that he was persecuting her?
She must have hurt herself worse than he thought, or maybe it was a second blow to an old injury? He thought again about the cheerleading. That could be it.
No, she was upset from the moment she saw you, and it got worse when you offered to get her into the DMV office.
As he returned to the office, Noah saw that Judy was busy on the phone, so when he settled at his desk, it was all but inevitable that the first thing he did was start typing California Department of Motor Vehicles into the search box. But just after the site came up and he began to type in Rylie’s name, he caught a motion across the room.
Judy was waving at him. “It’s Vance. He wants to talk to you about the Condon case. I’m off to get these affidavits logged with the county clerk and then help Ann in the file room.”
Resigned that his detective work would have to wait yet again, Noah exited the page he’d been on and picked up his phone. “Yes, sir? How are you feeling today?”
* * *
“As the saying goes, ‘Better than the other guy.’”
Gage’s words replayed in Rylie’s mind as she jumped out of bed. Friday was also starting too early, although not as much as Thursday had. At minutes before five o’clock, her cell phone started playing the theme from The Lion King, and she automatically knew it was Gage. Grabbing for it, her response had been, “Are you okay?”
It turned out that he was asking her to be ready when he arrived within the next ten minutes. There was a dog that had been hit by a car at the southern
perimeter of the county. Dairy farm she suspected, considering the hour.
She grabbed for clothes. Fortunately, she was learning to keep a clean set handy for this kind of situation. As for her usual morning shower, that would have to wait. She knew Gage lived close and would move fast, giving her enough time only to brush her teeth and throw water at her face to finish waking up.
When she emerged from the RV, she was greeted with fog. Perfect autumn conditions for stagnant air masses. The front hadn’t pushed through all the way. If there had been storms, she’d slept through them. No wonder there had been an accident. As thick as this stuff was, the driver probably had never seen the dog until he—or she—was right upon it.
Restricting MG to only a quick potty break for now, she locked her back in the RV. “I’ll come get you as soon as the emergency is over,” she assured the good-natured dog.
Just as she came around to the side door, Gage turned into the parking lot. Even though they’d come from different directions, not far behind him was a white pickup truck. As they drew nearer, Rylie saw a young teenage boy in the bed of the truck. When the driver stopped behind Gage’s vehicle, she went to look at the dog lying between the boy’s legs on a blanket. There was no blood, thank goodness, but the canine was alternately licking its leg and the owner’s hand, then whimpering, clearly in pain and trying to communicate the injury and desire for help.
“Hey,” Rylie murmured to the sleepy-eyed, anxious boy. “How’s he holding up?”
“Not too good. I think the leg is broken.” Nodding to the blond-haired youth, who looked no more than thirteen, she thought if that was the case, and there were no major organ problems, there was no place better equipped to help the poor animal—if the father okayed the expense. “I’m Rylie. Who are you?”
“Bryce. This is Jackson.”
“Jackson is one of the most beautiful chocolate Labs I’ve ever seen. He looks...maybe two?”
“Next month. Hopefully.”
Hearing the worry in the boy’s voice, Rylie knew it was time to get him to thinking more positively. “Celebrating his birthday early, huh? Is that why he was in the road at this hour?”
Bryce almost smiled. “We were working our dairy cows and usually Jackson listens to me, but he spotted a red fox. He’d never seen one before and he just couldn’t resist going after it. The newspaper-delivery guy tried to miss him but didn’t quite make it.” He gave her a sheepish look. “He did annihilate our mailbox, though.”
“Ah.” Rylie nodded with sympathy. She glanced up to see Gage had the clinic door unlocked. “Just a second while we get the lights on and we’ll be out to help get Jackson inside.”
She nodded to the father as she went to help Gage get things set up. “Morning,” she said to her boss.
“Sorry again for another early call,” he said.
Since he sounded as if he was barely awake himself, she decided to help him with a little humor. “You should be. You ruined my best dream in months. Brad Pitt had just walked away from Angelina Jolie to ask me to dinner.”
Gage snorted. “Only dinner? Woman, the guy can afford to buy you your own restaurant. We need to have a talk about wasting good sleep.”
After grinning, she offered what she’d gauged so far. “The Lab’s name is Jackson. Beautiful chocolate Lab. On first, minimal glance, it looks like a clean fracture. He was lured away from the boy by a red fox.”
Gage’s gaze shifted briefly to her own red hair. “It’s the only color that will grab attention in fog like this.”
“Jackson’s a good-size two-year-old. Maybe we should put him on a cart?” Rylie asked.
“Nah, that’ll only stress the poor guy even more. I know big babies like that. I’ll go carry him in. Just get the X-ray machine ready—and if you get a second after that, putting the coffee machine to work would be great, too,” Gage said.
“Consider it done.”
* * *
Less than an hour later, Rylie helped Gage put the dog into an enclosure with a half wall and cushioned bed to finish sleeping off the anesthesia. Jackson’s leg was wrapped securely and protected by a splint that would ease the pressure on the limb when he was ready to stand.
Bryce looked unsure about this so-called “help” for his dog. “How’s he going to get around?”
“At first, he’s not supposed to, but he’ll learn to hobble on three legs,” Gage told him. “That’s seventy-five percent of his usual power compared with your fifty percent if you were the one hurt.”
Bryce grunted. “I guess so.”
“We’ll keep him in this enclosure instead of the kennel as he wears off the sedation, so he’ll stay calm,” Rylie added. She knew that was the next question coming from the boy. “If we put him in the kennel, the other dogs’ barking would be a bit much for a guy with a hangover.”
“Can I stay with him, Dad?” Bryce asked his father. “There’s nothing going on at school today.”
Daniel Black glanced at Gage and Rylie with a wry expression. “It’s only the first full month of school and there’s nothing happening.” To his son, he added, “You’re going to classes, and maybe by the time you get home, Jackson will be ready for us to visit for a minute.”
“Not to worry,” Rylie assured the crestfallen boy. “We take good care of our friends in recovery. And my dog, MG, will happily lay in there with him to keep him company if he’s feeling lonely. She’s a therapy dog.”
The boy brightened. “She is? Wow! I heard about them. Can I meet her?”
“When you come see Jackson.”
Daniel Black nudged his son toward the door. “Thanks, Doc. Rylie. I appreciate all that you did—especially considering the hour.”
Once they left, Rylie breathed a sigh of relief. “I was afraid Mr. Black wouldn’t okay the expense of treating Jackson.”
“I should have told you that they have three other pets that are older,” Gage replied. “But there wasn’t the discreet opportunity. Their long-term commitment to their animals is a given.”
Pleased, Rylie said, “Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m ready for another dose of caffeine. What a week it’s been.”
They were still on daylight saving time, and daybreak was more than a promise. There was no chance for either of them to return to bed, although Gage would have to go get Humphrey.
“I’m ready,” Gage said. “You’ll find me logging this procedure into the computer.”
“As soon as I get you yours, I’ll go take MG out. Would you like me to get you something to eat from my freezer? I can offer you a nuked sausage and biscuit or a day-old bran muffin.”
Gage shook his head. “So it’s true, you and Brooke are the two least useful women in a kitchen?” he teased.
“If I could look as elegant as she always does, I’d call that a compliment.” Rylie gestured helplessly. “I can give Uncle Roy a call and have him pick up something more than the usual doughnuts on his way in.”
Gage shook his head. “I’ll take care of breakfast for us when I collect Humphrey. It’s the least I can do when you’re not getting much more sleep than I am.”
By the time they regrouped, the old-timers were camped out at their corner table and a third pot of coffee was being brewed. MG kept nudging Rylie’s leg, wanting to repeatedly check on Jackson.
“What a good girl you are, MG,” Gage said, following them to the enclosure to check on Jackson’s progress himself. “Yeah, we have a different kind of patient, don’t we?”
MG sniffed, then licked Jackson’s bandage once and then quietly lay down beside him. Except for the “patient” being canine, it was typical behavior for MG, but Gage was impressed.
“If she wants to stay in here with him,” he told Rylie, “I wouldn’t mind. Let me know if her attitude changes to where you think she’s troubled or concerned
for him.”
“Are you worried something isn’t right?”
“Not at all. I’m just wanting her to use her obvious talents.” His stomach growled and he rubbed it sympathetically. “There’s something that doesn’t need interpretation. I’m off to get Humph and breakfast.”
* * *
By the afternoon, everyone was doubly grateful that it was Friday, although they would be open half of the day tomorrow. There was no chance to bother trying to run to Rusk in the hope of getting her license transferred; besides, she’d learned through some online research that she could go to any of the other DMV offices in the area, and she had about convinced herself that was what she should do to avoid another run-in with Noah. It was also a good thing that they’d had an opportunity for a big breakfast because there was barely time to take a bite of their sandwiches at lunchtime.
Rylie was chewing fast when Roy passed her with boxes the UPS man had delivered. He pressed his lips together trying not to laugh.
“Go ahead,” Rylie said, holding her hand in front of her mouth. “Call me Chipmunk Cheeks.”
“If you promise not to throw the rest of that sandwich at me, I was wondering if MG and Humphrey tripped you and tried to lick you to death, or is that hairstyle an homage to the punk look?”
Although Rylie often styled her hair into a spikier look, she knew what he was referring to—earlier, she’d had to wrestle one of the kenneled dogs into his pen after his outside time, and the goofy Great Dane—every bit as tall as she was—had shown his affection by licking her head repeatedly. Because they’d been nonstop busy, she’d forgotten about the incident, until now.
With a sigh, Rylie put down her sandwich and crossed to the bathroom, where she opened the door to look in the mirror. “Oh, jeez.” She combed her fingers through her short, stiff hair with no results. Nothing short of sticking her head under the sink was going to help the situation, which she didn’t have time to do. To resolve the situation and keep from being teased by the old-timers when they spotted her, she grabbed one of the white-and-maroon baseball caps that Gage kept for staff by the coat rack at the back door and slipped it on, tugging it low over her forehead.
Groomed for Love Page 6
