The Dashing Doc Next Door. Helen Myers R.

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СКАЧАТЬ often than you do, and I’ve been around animals all my life.”

      “No, it’s more than that. You have a gift. Aunt Marsha calls you a dog whisperer.”

      Gage uttered a dismissive sound. “There’s no magic. All the old guy—or any animal for that matter—wants is food, security and companionship.”

      “That sounds fairly universal for humans, as well. It’s the quantity and timing that seems to cause the problems.” Realizing that she could well be discussing her own life, she said abruptly, “So tell me, how was your day?”

      “You’ve heard enough. It doesn’t get better.”

      “How awful.”

      “Well, you’re saving me from dwelling too much over it.”

      That pleased her. “You really have a tough job for someone who’s so easygoing and good-natured,” she said. “I guess I’ve never thought about all that goes into being a veterinarian.”

      “I wasn’t fishing for sympathy...but I’ll take the compliments.” After Brooke’s soft laugh, he grew philosophical. “There’s a downside to every occupation. What would you be doing in Dallas on a gorgeous evening like this?”

      “Not enjoying it, that’s for sure. Before my department was shut down, I’d probably be taking a meeting or eating takeout while studying client portfolios.” That sounded as dry to her as the actual work could be.

      “If you have to work late, you should at least eat well.”

      “And I do. Did. I have to confess, I’m not much of a cook. Besides, it’s always seemed a waste of time to go through so much trouble for just myself.” That earned her a concerned frown from Gage, and she concluded that he thought her boring. With a twinge, she thought he hadn’t been the only one.

      “Marsha was concerned for you. She always felt you worked too hard.”

      “I liked being good at what I do.”

      “Same here. Only not if it starts to dictate almost every waking hour of my day.”

      Brooke couldn’t help but be dubious. “Really? Aunt Marsha has talked about you, too, and when she wasn’t calling you a dog whisperer, she was describing a twenty-first century Dr. Doolittle. Do you mean to tell me that there isn’t a house full of cats and birds, fish, turtles and maybe a monkey over in that house of yours?”

      He lived in a two-story colonial, but without the extra gingerbread-style ornamentation that adorned her aunt’s Texas Victorian home. Painted a country blue with white trim, it was well tended, and the metal storage building in back looked large enough to keep a vehicle, as well as any yard equipment he might own.

      “Want to come over and find out?” Gage teased, breaking into her thoughts.

      Charisma emanated from those blue-gray eyes as his gaze locked with hers. Whenever he looked at her, she felt as though he was analyzing every atom of her being. When he openly challenged her, as he now did, she became all but mesmerized.

      Tearing her gaze from his, she shook her head. “I’ll never sympathize again for that unwanted female attention you complained about. You’re a relentless flirt.”

      “With you.” He glanced at her hands. “I don’t see a ring, and your aunt said that there was no one serious in your life.”

      “Note to self,” Brooke muttered. “Remember to take duct tape to the hospital tomorrow to repair loose lips.”

      Chuckling, Gage lifted his glass to inspect the wine’s deep red coloring. “This is nothing like Marsha’s boxed wine. I should have looked at the label more closely. There are hints of currant and undertones of something spicy.”

      “Glad you like it.” Relieved to have something else to focus on, Brooke explained where it had come from. “It was a Christmas present from a client. He sent a case, and I brought two bottles with me.”

      “You have seriously generous clients. I tend to get homemade dog biscuits.”

      Bursting out laughing, Brooke sputtered, “You’re not serious?”

      “I wish. My clients tend to think I’m the animal world’s version of the Good Housekeeping’s seal of approval. They think if I like their concoctions, it’s not only okay to feed the stuff to their four-legged children, they should consider going into commercial production.”

      “How funny. I’m glad you like the wine, though,” she added, regaining her composure. “If I’d had to guess, I would have bet that you preferred beer.”

      Gage let his head drop back and groaned, “More aspersions on my character. Do I have to get a marine haircut and wear my clinic jacket 24/7 to get any respect?”

      “No, no, you’re absolutely right. In fact, you remind me of another client who came into my office several times dressed in worn jeans and dusty Western boots and an equally weathered hat. He cross-examined me relentlessly during his first two appointments. The third time he came, he gave me full control of his five-million-dollar portfolio.”

      Gage grunted. “If I had that kind of money, you can bet I’d be giving you the third degree, too.”

      “My point,” Brooke said, hoping a few sips of wine on a half-empty stomach wasn’t turning her into a complete ditz, “is that that I’m usually more sensitive and don’t make such perception errors.”

      Gage stretched his legs before him, crossed them at the ankles and beamed at her. “Take your time. I’m happy to be your refresher course.” When Brooke failed to play along, he relented. “Actually, it does take a while to really get to know a person. Rush things and you’re apt to regret it.”

      “This from the guy who announced he was going to ask me out the second time I said more than ten words to you.”

      “‘Announced’ being key. I was planting the seed of an idea.” When Brooke only sipped more wine, he amended, “So I let my eagerness at getting to spend some time with you get the better of me. Are you going to hold it against me?”

      “I can’t when you’re being so good-natured about my teasing you.”

      “Is that what’s going on? It sure feels like flirting to me.”

      “Teasing.” Brooke knew she sounded about as prim as an old-time schoolmarm. But she could feel herself softening toward him with every minute they spent together, and she had to be careful that she didn’t let things go further.

      Hoping to change the subject, she drew in a deep breath, only to inhale the subtle fragrances emanating from the yard where the sinking sun was triggering long shadows and her aunt’s pocket of four-o’clocks and moonflowers—both nocturnal bloomers—were beginning to open. “I loved summers here while growing up. I would sit for hours on this porch reading Anne of Green Gables, Little Women, The Three Musketeers.... When my mother got sick, she made me a list of what to be sure and read, knowing she wouldn’t be around to guide me.”

      “Did you get through it?”

      “No,” Brooke admitted. “The following summer, my father decided СКАЧАТЬ