Finding Her Way Home. Linda Goodnight

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      The teen shuddered. “No way. Poor baby.”

      Once Trace was finished, the teen gathered the dog into her arms and left. As he walked her down the hallway to the reception desk, Cheyenne Rhodes came striding through the entrance. As had happened last night, his heart jump-started. The bristly woman had a strange effect on his cardiac muscle.

      “Afternoon,” he said, suddenly not as busy as he thought he was. “Here to see the puppies?”

      “Not really.” She tossed her hair back in a self-conscious gesture. “I mean, I’d like to, but that’s not why I’m here.”

      “No?” Trace felt a bewildering zing of energy. “All right, then. Come on back. We’ll talk while you say hello to the pups. They’ll like that.”

      He led the way down the hall, past a room in which his bubbly red-haired assistant, Jilly Fairmont, was grooming a poodle, and made a left turn toward the kennel area. “I hope you don’t mind the smell of bleach. We disinfect the pens and floors a couple of times a day.”

      “Smells clean to me.”

      Her acceptance pleased him. Some women, specifically Margo, curled her nose and avoided the kennel as much as possible. He should have understood, but her reaction had always hurt his feelings.

      “Here they are. Frog and Toad. My daughter named them after her favorite book characters.” He squatted before the wire kennel and clicked up the latch. Zoey named all the animals, no matter how brief their stay. “Hey, little dudes. Look who came to see you.”

      His shoes scraped the concrete as he pivoted toward Cheyenne. She crouched down as well, bringing her lean, jean-clad form close to his. He was a Christian but he was also a man, and it was difficult not to notice how pretty she looked in snug jeans and fitted top.

      Handing her one of the pups, he kept the other, and watched as Cheyenne raised the animal to her cheek and closed her eyes. The pup rewarded her kindness with a few licks.

      Jilly poked her head into the kennel. Rust-colored freckles stood out against pale white skin. “Doctor, we’re ready in the surgery suite when you are.”

      “Be right there.” He glanced at his visitor. “Sorry, I have to get back to work. You can stay with the puppies as long as you like.”

      She rose with him, still cradling the small dog. “Before you go—about that job you offered last night…”

      He stopped in his tracks, surprised but hoping. “Are you asking if the offer still stands?”

      She bit down on her lip before saying a reluctant “Yes.”

      Trace studied the darkly pretty woman before him. She didn’t want to take the job, but she was going to. He probably should resent her attitude, but he was just glad she’d come back. He suspected that Cheyenne needed the job for more reasons than a paycheck. Maybe the Lord had sent her. Maybe she needed the warm, accepting love of cats and dogs.

      And he could use the help. Maybe he also wanted to know her better. For ministry purposes of course. And if he was a little too happy about the prospect of getting to know Cheyenne Rhodes, so be it.

      Chapter Four

      Within minutes, Cheyenne had shucked her leather jacket to follow Dr. Bowman around the clinic, observing and learning.

      “No time for formal training,” Trace said. “If you see something that needs doing, ask someone or just do it.”

      He handed her a five-by-seven index card, listing info for Bennie, a fat beagle with skin allergies. “We make notes on these. Rabies inoculation updates, worming, anything pertinent that will go into the permanent chart later. I’ll tell you as we work.”

      She hadn’t expected to start immediately and she certainly hadn’t expected to assist the man himself. But she took the card and read the entries already on it.

      “He’s been a patient since he was a pup,” she murmured, half to herself. “You must be a good doctor to inspire such loyalty.”

      “Not necessarily.” Trace flashed a sparkly grin. “I’m the only vet for fifty miles. It’s me or nothing.”

      Good-looking and self-effacing, too. Why couldn’t he be more of a jerk so she could dislike him for a reason other than his Y chromosome?

      “Are you?”

      “What?” With one hand resting on the dog’s back and the other rubbing the animal’s long ears, he glanced up. “A good vet?”

      She nodded, looking away from a gorgeous pair of light blue eyes. Yesterday, she’d been in such a state she’d barely noticed. Now she did, just as she noticed the slight indention in his left cheek and the faint lines of fatigue around his eyes and mouth. She also noticed that his left hand was ringless. Hadn’t he mentioned a daughter? She’d feel a lot more comfortable if he was married with a dozen kids. Although a wife was no real indicator of what a man was or wasn’t capable of.

      “I do what I can.”

      “Don’t let his modesty fool you. He’s the best,” offered the beagle’s owner, a thirtysomething woman in a blue nurse’s smock and sensible white shoes.

      “I could return the compliment.” To Cheyenne he said, “You probably haven’t met Annie Markham. Annie, this is Cheyenne Rhodes. She’s new in town.”

      The women exchanged pleasantries before Trace went on, “Annie is a home health care nurse. The older folks of Redemption have nominated her for sainthood.”

      Annie laughed. “Oh, right. Tell that to Ted Sikes. He threatened to shoot me off the porch if I drew another vial of blood.”

      Despite the fatigue around her green eyes, Annie Markham was an attractive woman. Honey-blond bangs and hair pulled back in a ponytail framed a face with clear, translucent skin. As far as Cheyenne could tell, she wore no makeup and yet her eyes were rimmed with dark lashes. With a strange twinge, she wondered if Trace was interested in Annie Markham.

      “Ted threatens everyone,” Trace said, eyes twinkling. “I heard he told the mailman not to deliver another piece of junk mail or he was toast.”

      “That sounds like Ted, the silly old goose.”

      Trace looked at Cheyenne and pointed toward the corner. “Hand me the big white bottle on the second shelf.”

      Bottles and boxes, glass-fronted cabinets and interesting tools lined the walls and cluttered the countertops. Cheyenne went to the cabinet he indicated.

      “This?” she asked, rattling pills as she lifted a bottle toward him.

      “That’s the one.” He took the medication and counted out thirty tablets, then scribbled something on a small blue packet before sliding the pills inside.

      “Is this Ted guy dangerous?” Cheyenne asked, her cop instinct kicking in.

      Trace pried open the beagle’s mouth, popped a pill inside and then gently rubbed the animal’s throat. “Old Ted likes to bluster, but СКАЧАТЬ