by Angie Wilder
What else hadn’t she noticed? What else was she too preoccupied to see? Ben had hugged her at the airport and called her his estranged Facebook friend. He was teasing, right?
Emma found what she was searching for, wrapped her fingers around the material, and rose to face Evan.
He had stepped to her side of the desk and waited with a hip leaned on its edge. “You want to talk about it?”
What? She inhaled a slow, restorative breath. The warmth of his hand soaked through her sleeve.
“Em, what’s wrong?”
She angled her body to sit next to him, to fix her gross oversight. “I missed your graduation.”
“Please tell me you are not wearing that sad expression over my party.”
She felt ill. Evan had been there for her significant milestones. “I’ve been distracted. I’ll do better. I’m sorry.”
He nodded over her apology and said, “You missed a good time.”
“An important time.”
“Don’t beat yourself up over this, Em.”
“Not even a little?”
Evan grinned. “You’re one of my favorite people in the world.” He bumped a friendly shoulder to hers. “And you’re here now when it counts.”
“I’ll make it up to you.”
“Excellent.” A warm smile played over his face, and he smoothed his palms together. “I’d like dibs on all the cutest critters.”
Emma grinned over his terms. “A perfectly reasonable request.”
“Great.” He clapped his hands. “Let’s get to work so I can impress you with my excellent doctoring skills.”
“You’re worried about impressing me?” That would be a first. She’d spent her entire adolescence working to catch his eye.
He gestured to his baby blue outfit and did a full turn. “Am I dressed for success or what?”
She wished she could tease him about his drawstring pants giving him a saggy rear end, but that was not the case. Not even close. Heaven had blessed Evan with one fine booty. “Nice scrubs, but check this out.” Emma shook out the lab coat she’d discovered in her daddy’s desk, pulled it on, and pointed to her chest. Emma was embroidered in flamboyant hot-pink script. “Now that’s professional.” She grinned over her childish drawer-wrinkled coat. The sleeves were a slight bit short. The ones she wore in Beverly Hills read E. Gains, were stiff with starch, and precision ironed. She did a curtsy.
“That’s a beaut. The shiny metallic type is badass. Goes well with the dress.” He brought up a finger, giving her the universal “turn around and show yourself off” signal.
She did a leisurely turn and smiled like an idiot. She’d need to guard her heart against his platonic flirting, but friendship required she play along. “Scrubs in surgery. Otherwise…” She shrugged. “One can never predict when a hot celebrity will walk in the door.” The clients in the Hills expected posh doctors for their pampered pets.
A jingle came from the lobby. They were open for business.
“Em, I am the hot celebrity.” He winked, backed up a step toward the door, and said, “You look knock-out pretty.”
“You don’t count!” She pressed her hand to her heart, irritated with the flutter, and rushed to join him for work.
Evan stopped outside her office and angled his attention from the incoming set of patients back to her. “Are you good to go?”
She gave him a nod.
“We have two cats. One cute and fuzzy, the other…not. Ten bucks there’s silver holiday tinsel hanging out a butt?”
“Are you trying to make me laugh?”
“I like to be thorough with my cheering-up responsibilities. My money is on the naked one being the tinsel dangler. You up for examining the skinny dipper?”
“You’re taking the cute kitty?” The other cat wasn’t naked, it was a hairless variety.
“Always.” He smirked and nudged her with his elbow. “The cutest critters, remember?”
“Beauty is subjective.” The sleek pinkish-white feline lifted his head and turned his jade green gaze on her. “The sphynx is sweet-tempered with velvety skin. And regal. It’ll be my pleasure, you Kitty Hogger.”
“Pet Princess,” he shot back, playing dirty, using the nickname she’d called herself when she was eight years old.
“That’s right, hockey-hottie.” Hottie! Had that slipped out of her mouth? She stole a nervous peek at Evan. Had he noticed her crush-revealing words?
Evan gave her a wickedly, handsome smile and said, “That’s Doctor Hottie to you.”
By mid-morning, they’d become an excellent team. In his office, Evan updated the last patient’s record. His space was a newly furnished version of Ted’s, with a large desk and chair combination, a couch along one wall, and windows on the other. Evan felt blessed to call it his. Apart from the rough start, he and Emma had smoothed out the crazy and worked together well. Which was perfect, since they had all of December ahead of them. Good riddance to that fluke off-balance feeling. Through the door, he heard the tinkle of her laughter and couldn’t help but grin.
Lured by the pleasant sound and the novelty of having Emma near, Evan entered the reception area. When he’d first joined the practice, his fame had drawn in new clients curious to meet the ex-NHL player. Today, Emma’s city-girl beauty and friendly smiles were winning the room. Half their clients only had eyes for her—the male half.
Evan took in the scene. Emma was getting hit on—again. His grin slipped, and he cleared his throat. This time, the guy chatting her up didn’t so much as glance Evan’s direction—but Emma did.
Mr. Chatty touched Em’s hand, stealing back her focus, and puffed out his chest, compensating for his scrawny-ass build.
Evan couldn’t blame the guy. Emma was the whole gorgeous package. The errant thought had him shaking his head. He filed paperwork, shuffled manila folders, and tried not to eavesdrop. The conversation proved itself too irresistible to ignore. Mr. Chatty segued a remark about the dog food bag tucked under his arm into a dinner invitation.
What a knob. Emma wouldn’t bother with the likes of him. Would she?
“Rover loves his lamb and rice meal. Do you like lamb, Dr. Gains? Emma…is it all right if I call you Emma?”
Say no.
She touched her hair.
Damn. Not that Em’s love life was any of Evan’s business.
She straightened her spine and glanced over her shoulder to where he stood, rattling the stubborn file drawer.
Progress.
A flash of her pink tongue slipped over her lower lip. She turned back to Mr. Chatty and smiled over the weird lamb dinner pitch. “Sure—”
Red alert! Evan had to cut her reply short. “Dr. Gains, can I speak with you?” Hell, now he had to think of something to say. He was drawing a blank, figuring the truth—that he had taken it upon himself to police her love life— would get him in a world of trouble.
In no time, Emma stood there wrapping him in her sugary floral scent, expecting him to say something. “Are you upset?” Emma’s brow crinkled and scrunched with worry.
That blank he drew turned black hole. Upset? The question surprised him, and he sucked in a breath. Damn, she smelled nice.
Emma put her hand on his arm and said, “I didn’t see it coming. The guy just took off.”
Heat tingled under her touch. “Well…” Evan paused, not sure how to respond, then went with, “That guy was skinny and that lamb pickup line…” He shook his head.
“What? Not him.” Emma straightened, pointed down, and said, “Him, or rather his owner.”
Evan turned to the animal rubbing up against Emma’s leg and contemplated what upsetting possibilities could stem from one green-eyed cat. “What’s this little guy about?”
“I’ve been waiting to explain.” The sphynx pressed his cheek to her calf, then arched up for some full-body-to-leg contact. By the boisterous purring, the cat was smitten with Emma. “The owner received a disappointing diagnosis and left.” Emma bent and scooped up the
hairless cat, the one who had been her first patient of the day, and kissed his forehead, to the creature’s ultimate delight.
“What’s wrong with him?” Evan ran his fingers over the feline. His body was warm and soft as peach fuzz.
“It’s worse than the tinsel-butt. Harry is bald.”
Evan choked out a chuckle. Bald was not a pressing medical condition. “The sphynx’s name is Harry?”
“Wishful thinking on the owner’s behalf. When I informed the guy that the cat is a hairless breed and confirmed that there isn’t a hair growth pill…or tonic…or lotion, he bolted.”
“Bolted?”
“It’s possible he just forgot Harry after paying his bill.” She shrugged.
“He bought a bald cat and didn’t know it?” The question sounded like lyrics to a bad country song. “How is that possible?”
“It was his live-in girlfriend’s. Now ex-girlfriend. What should we do? He hasn’t answered his phone.”
Evan watched Em press her lips to the cat’s head. She had a tender heart. The last call she would want to make was to an overcrowded animal shelter. “Keep trying.”
“I’ll have my momma bring Harry a sweater so he doesn’t get cold,” she said, turning toward the front door.
A man carrying an unhappy pug rushed inside. The pooch’s black muzzle looked like a pincushion. Harry’s homeless situation could wait. The pug had met up with a porcupine, and they had an emergency.
Evan crossed to an examination room and held the door open. It was an odd time of year for a run-in with a hibernating critter, but a dog’s natural curiosity never failed to find the unexpected.
“Buzz was sniffing around the barn,” the guy explained.
The dog let out a shriek as if explaining his side of the hair-raising tale. The dog’s large eyes bulged like globe-sized hurry-and-help-me exclamation points.
“I’m free to assist.” Emma set Harry down and asked, “Where can I find the diffuser?”
“The what?”
“The cold mist diffuser for essential oils. I sent one to Daddy for the office. A little lavender in the air will help calm Buzz.”
Right. Where did he and Ted stick that thing? He should have known she’d ask. “I think it’s in the bathroom.” He winced, knowing that wasn’t an answer that would go down in his favor.
“It’s not a toilet freshener.” She grimaced and strode down the hall.
Buzz whimpered, and his toenails danced against the metal exam table as his owner placed the roly-poly dog down.
“I hear you, buddy,” Evan told the pup and introduced himself to the owner, a guy about the same age as Evan. They stood on opposite sides of the miserable pug and looked up when Emma returned with her light flowery oils and soft voice. Evan frowned. The owner, Luke, should focus more on his dog than his pretty veterinarian in her adorable blinged-out lab coat and tiny skirt.
As they got started, Evan had Luke hold Buzz steady and place a calming hand over the pug’s eyes.
Emma joined Evan, and they ran their fingers over the dog’s chest and paws, looking for broken quills or lumps. Their hands touched, and the side of her body brushed up against his as they worked shoulder to shoulder.
“Just the face,” Emma said and flattened her palms over the dog’s chest and shoulders, holding him steady. Even though the room swirled with a gentle lavender mist, Evan detected Emma’s delicious cherry-vanilla scent.
Luke was telling a tale about his bumbling beloved pet, then said, “It smells good in here.”
“Essential oils are more delicate in fragrance than the perfumy synthetic fragrances in most products. Just like how cherry-flavored candies don’t taste like the fresh fruit,” Emma explained.
“Nice,” Luke said and took a deep whiff.
Suddenly, Evan felt possessive over the cherry scent wafting from Emma. He ignored the insane thought and positioned the hemostats. With a quick tug, he used the pliers to pluck out a quill.
The dog whined, his thin black lips moving as if cursing Evan out.
“He can say, ‘No-go,’” Luke said and then mimicked the dog’s best efforts. “He doesn’t like being left behind. The statement grew to encompass whatever Buzzy doesn’t like.”
Emma smiled. “It does sound like Buzz is talking.”
“I’m Luke, by the way.” The guy was grinning hard at Emma.
Evan focused on taking the quills out. The dog screamed, “No-go. No-go.”
“Luke, is it okay if I use acupressure on Buzz while Dr. Heartley removes his quills?” Emma asked.
Luke hesitated but looked like a man that wanted to say yes to anything Emma had to offer. “You mean more needles? He’s already full of quills.”
“No needles. The same concept only using pressure. The Ht 7 meridian is located on the outside of the foreleg.” Emma shifted her hand down the dog’s leg. “See this deep crease? I’ll apply pressure with my fingers, and it may help reduce Buzz’s anxiety.”
Sure enough, the pug offered her one of those breed-famous clown-sized smiles.
Evan plucked out another quill, and the dog returned to cursing. They continued the pattern. Emma cooed, “Good boy” while she maintained pressure on the leg and used her other hand to hold and stroke the dog’s chest. Each time the pug cursed less.
When they were done, the dog almost seemed disappointed to lose Emma’s attention.
Evan stepped away from the table, cleaning up the mess. He had to admit, he missed the closeness himself.
He’d been wrong about his off-balance feeling from the morning. It hadn’t smoothed away—it was getting worse.
5
At the cheerful sound of her momma humming Christmas tunes in the lobby, Emma wrapped up her call with the Beverly Hills clinic and rose from her desk. So far the day had flowed well. Their teamwork had gone smoothly, and there were no further surprises. Only once had Emma’s heart betrayed her with flutters. It was during the case of the cursing pug. Though the amusing little dog had help distract Emma from the warmth that tickled over her skin when she’d brushed too close to Evan, her body had wanted to butt up tight, as if magnetized to his. Those dangerous symptoms of attraction she chalked up to a lingering side effect of the embarrassing morning. Emma would deal with it. She’d shift her focus to spending quality time with family and friends. Headed to help, Emma looked forward to the holiday decorating. As long as Momma had left her mistletoe behind.
The waiting room was empty aside from hairless Harry and Momma. In full holiday cheer, Momma wore a length of ruby red metallic garland like a feather boa around her neck as she opened the boxed-up decor.
On the reception desk, next to the complimentary dog biscuits, sat a recent addition, a small gold-framed snapshot. Emma stopped short. “Momma, what is this picture doing here?”
“It’s adorable.” She positioned herself in a manner that blocked Emma’s reach.
Emma suspected her momma found the picture appealing in the same way that parents embrace naked baby photos. “It has to go.” It was a terrible shot starring her and Evan as kids.
“It’s Gains and Heartley.” Momma plucked her purse from the counter and fished out a small brown knit item. Its shape resembled a tiny robe. She wasn’t above using the cat sweater to distract Emma from the picture protest. “Here you go, dear.”
They glanced at the abandoned cat. Harry had made himself at home. He was curled up for a power nap on the cushioned desk chair. The sweater could wait.
Evan came in carrying a Christmas tree as if it were as light as balloons. He paused at Emma’s side, close enough that she could feel the chilly December air he carried with him. “Nice photo.” He chuckled, balanced the pine’s trunk against the floor, and leaned in for a better view.
It wasn’t. They were skinny as string beans dressed up in red long johns. She was smiling at Evan, posed fancy on one tippy-toe with her knee bent as ladies did when they kissed their bodice-ripping Harlequin heroes. At least he was grinning right b
ack at her, his micro-biceps flexing. “Underwear is not a suitable choice for the foyer.”
“You’re cute without front teeth.”
She turned back to her momma, since Evan seemed immune to embarrassment. “It’s not professional to have pictures of friends and family at the front desk. There isn’t one of Daddy and Evan.”
“Em.” Evan nudged her with his elbow, and she followed the direction of his gaze. On the counter, obstructed by the tissues, stood a five-by-seven photo. The two men were smiling. Evan had a gold cord draped around his collar. It was his graduation party. She glanced over her shoulder, back at Evan. He had crossed to the corner of the lobby, where he had maneuvered the tree into its base. Crouched down on one knee, he worked to secure the trunk in the stand.
Emma focused on him, still hurting over the missed graduation party, though she couldn’t help notice his shapely shoulders and rear end.
“Look good?” he asked.
Emma blinked.
He stood. “I think it might lean left?”
She slammed her eyes shut and twisted back to the counter.
“The tree is perfect,” Momma said. She pushed a second, much larger picture at Emma. “This one you will like. You and Evan look lovely together, and Kaley gave it to me this morning, so it’s pre-approved.”
Emma made plans to kill Kaley. It wasn’t the cute shot of her and Evan as teenagers so much as the reminder of that day. Emma had been celebrating being braces-free with big plans for mistletoe. Her smooching target was the man currently behind her worrying over the angle of his tree. Back then, Emma figured she was finally mature enough to catch Evan’s eye. She had straight teeth and an A-cup underwire bra to prove it.
