Animal Magnetism

May 2020

Falling for the Vet Next Door

June 2020

Reclaiming Her Love

July 2020

A Forever Home

August 2020

Rescued by Love

About the Authors

HELEN R. MYERS is a Texan by choice, and when not writing, she’s spoiling her four rescued dogs. An avid follower of the news and student of astrology, she enjoys comparing planetary aspects with daily world events. To decompress, she experiments with all forms of gardening and cooking with the produce she raises. You can contact her through her website at helenr.myers.com

MARIE FERRARELLA is a USA TODAY bestselling and RITA® Award-winning author. She has written more than two hundred books for Mills & Boon and Silhouette Books, some under the name Marie Nicole. Her romances are beloved by fans worldwide. Visit her website at www.marieferrarella.com

MARION LENNOX is a country girl, born on an Australian dairy farm. She moved on, because the cows just weren’t interested in her stories! Married to a ‘very special doctor’, she has also written under the name Trisha David. She’s now stepped back from her ‘other’ career teaching statistics. Finally, she’s figured what’s important and discovered the joys of baths, romance and chocolate. Preferably all at the same time! Marion is an international award-winning author.

Animal Magnetism: Falling for the Vet Next Door

The Dashing Doc Next Door

Helen R. Myers

Diamond in the Ruff

Marie Ferrarella

Gold Coast Angels: A Doctor’s Redemption

Marion Lennox

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-0-008-90736-5

ANIMAL MAGNETISM: FALLING FOR THE VET NEXT DOOR

The Dashing Doc Next Door © 2014 Helen R. Myers Diamond in the Ruff © 2014 Marie Rydzynski-Ferrarella Gold Coast Angels: A Doctor’s Redemption © 2013 Harlequin Books S.A.

Published in Great Britain 2020

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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Table of Contents

Cover

About the Authors

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

The Dashing Doc Next Door

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Epilogue

Diamond in the Ruff

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Epilogue

Gold Coast Angels: A Doctor’s Redemption

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

About the Publisher

The Dashing Doc Next Door

Helen R. Myers

With special thanks to Dolores Dugger,

Leslie King, Gail Reed, Carolyn Bolin, Paula

Rogers and Norma Wilkinson for sharing

anecdotes, as well as your beloved pets with me.

And to animal lovers everywhere, especially

those of you, who give the abused and

abandoned new hope.

Chapter One

“Humphrey? Here, sweetie. Nice dog. Time to come in now.”

Brooke Bellamy felt like a fool. How the heck did you convince a dog to return to its home when what it wanted wasn’t back there?

Although it was almost midnight, and only the first Tuesday in June, it was plenty warm already. Most sane—and lucky—people were in their air-conditioned houses, probably in bed. Brooke, however, was spending her third night in Sweet Springs, Texas, trying to make metaphorical lemonade out of lemons.

“Oh, no,” she moaned, upon coming to a new hole dug under the chain-link fence. She’d just spotted the evidence she most feared: her aunt Marsha’s beloved basset hound had escaped again!

On Sunday morning, seventy-year-old Marsha Newman had fallen in the shower and fractured her right hip. As soon as Brooke had gotten the news, she had packed a suitcase and raced from her house in Turtle Creek in Dallas to her aunt in Central East Texas to offer what assistance that she could. Never would she have dreamed that her life could turn upside down in such short order; life-changing upheaval had occurred not once but twice in a month. Then again, she also hadn’t expected it likely that the daughter of business tycoon Damon Bellamy would find herself unemployed!

“Humphrey!” she called in an urgent whisper. “Where are you? C’mon, boy. You’d better get back here before you get yourself run over,” she added. Actually, at this hour there wasn’t any traffic that she could see or hear, and this Cherokee County town, south of Tyler, only had a population of fewer than four thousand people; but the way her luck was going, she wasn’t taking any chances.

How long had she left the not-so-little tubular test on her patience in the backyard in order to take a shower in peace? Not more than ten minutes. Yet for someone who tended to move at the pace of an armadillo, Humphrey must have recognized this as a prime opportunity and had kicked his short legs into gear. Now he was out, and who knew where? Wearing only her sleep shirt, she wasn’t exactly dressed to go prowling through the neighborhood in search of the critter. But she would because, heaven forbid that, come morning, she had to return to the hospital to confess to Aunt Marsha that she’d lost her beloved companion of ten years.

Aiming her LED flashlight toward the double gate, she hurried to open it and check the driveway in case she could see muddy prints to give her new clues as to Humphrey’s whereabouts. Why she expected prints when it hadn’t rained in days, and she hadn’t yet had a chance to water, was testament to her fatigue and growing anxiety.

“Humphrey, sleepy time. Let’s go in and have a cookie.”

That coercion had worked Sunday night, the first time he’d snuck off, and a variation of it had been successful last night. Not this time, though. Humphrey was a fast learner, even if in dog years he was her aunt’s age. Surely dogs didn’t get dementia…or could they?

“Humphrey…sit! Stay!” In the past, Aunt Marsha had bragged that a horn blast from a passing freight train couldn’t budge her obedient pet once those orders were given. “I guess it depends on who’s doing the ordering,” she muttered to herself. Then again, the dog would have to be within hearing distance to cooperate.

Increasingly worried, Brooke made her way around the outside of the fence to where the escapee had gained his freedom and focused her light on the grass hoping for some hint as to which way the dog had gone.

“At it again, I see.”

Gasping, Brooke spun around. Wholly preoccupied, she hadn’t heard that Doc had come outside and joined her. Dr. Gage Sullivan was the local veterinarian, who owned Sweet Springs Animal Clinic on the outskirts of town. He had come to her aid last night as well, and had been a great help. What a relief that he’d either seen or heard her out here. Correction, it would be if she’d thought to put on something over her nightie. Last night she’d only just returned from the hospital and had still been wearing her street clothes.

“Hey, Doc. My, you sure do stay up late for a guy who says he heads to the clinic at the crack of dawn.” Despite the limited lighting provided by their porch fixtures, she had the strongest urge to fold her arms across her chest, which might have something to do with the way he was smiling down at her. Not that it was anything remotely lecherous; his expression was more like someone seeing a line of sevens appear on a casino slot machine.

“Lucky for you, I’m behind on paperwork.” Gage directed his own flashlight at Humphrey’s latest escape hole. “Looks like he worked fast. At this rate, he won’t need a nail trim for a while. How long since you last saw him?”

“Ten minutes…. Well, fifteen now. I’ve been out here for at least five calling for him. I should never have given him his private time, but I was dying for a shower.”

“You think Humph needs private time?”

Brooke grimaced her agreement that the phrasing sounded ridiculous to her, too. But she had her reasons for putting it that way. “He gives me a look if I don’t turn away while he’s, you know, doing his business.”

Gage choked on a laugh. “He was just setting you up, rookie. That hound can play an innocent the way a pickpocket can work a mark.”

With pessimism fast becoming a knee-jerk reaction, Brooke asked doubtfully, “And what do you know about pickpockets?” It seemed an unusual analogy to use.

With a philosophical shrug, Gage replied, “We had a black sheep in the family tree.”

Brooke studied his appealing, all-American face capped by shaggy, medium-brown hair still wet from his own shower. “Seriously?”

“It was when my uncle was young. After a few run-ins with the law, he wisely tried magic instead, and had a pretty successful career.”

Brooke didn’t know whether to take him seriously or not. After only three brief conversations with Gage Sullivan, she’d come to the conclusion that he was very laid-back and just as amiable. Her aunt sang his praises every time she had a chance to bring him up in a conversation. But at the moment, there was no sign of the serious, disciplined person Marsha described. As a bemused expression played across his face, she thought of him as someone who liked to just throw ideas out into the cosmos to see what kind of reaction he would get from people. If he hadn’t chosen the profession he had, he could have been a popular college instructor. At least the female students would have enjoyed fantasizing over him.

“Is that something you should be telling a near stranger?” she asked, hoping he got the hint. She wasn’t in to gossip, and this was not the time to be practicing some stand-up comedy routine or whatever it was that he was doing.

“I figured it would be better to get the awkward stuff out of the way. Did you happen to look under that sweet BMW 650i of yours?”

It was sheer reflexes that had Brooke glancing toward the silver metallic convertible in the driveway before resuming her studious inspection of the man who was built like a sequoia compared to her own stretch-to-get-there five foot two. “Uh—yeah. Get the awkward stuff out of the way because…?”

“I’m going to ask you out. When Marsha is feeling better and you’re not so pressed for time.”

That startling bit of news left Brooke without a clue as to how to answer him. She couldn’t deny that he was an attractive man, solid and relaxed in his own skin, even though his white T-shirt and jeans were clinging to his body as though he hadn’t taken time to towel off from that shower. In comparison, she had to be reflecting sheer self-consciousness, as she gave in to the need to cross her arms over her purple satin-and-lace sleep shirt.

“You…work fast, Doc.”

“My parents would disagree with you, considering that I’m thirty-six and still single. But,” he added with almost boyish pleasure, “I’ve had the advantage of seeing a few photos of you at Marsha’s. Combined with her delightful gushing about what a thoughtful niece and smart woman you are has convinced me that I have to make an impression before everyone else realizes you’re back in town.”

“Oh, Aunt Marsha,” Brooke groaned softly. “Really, Doc, I may be Texas born and bred, and spent a good portion of my childhood here, but no one died of a broken heart when Dad relocated us to Houston after my mother died. What’s more, it’s been too long between my visits back for anyone to get their hopes up.” To get his attention off her, Brooke gestured toward the street. “About Humphrey… Do you think if you called him, he might respond? Aunt Marsha has told me plenty of times that he adores you.”

“Until I take his temperature and a blood sample,” Gage drawled. Nevertheless, he cupped his hands around his mouth and whistled sharply. Then he called, “Yo, Humph. Here, boy.”

Yesterday, the basset hound had yelped from two houses away and come waddling up Gage’s driveway, eager for familiar company and the promised treat from Brooke. When several seconds passed and only crickets and tree frogs broke the silence, Brooke sighed. “I’d better go change into street clothes and initiate a wider search.”

“I’ll get started on that while you do.”

Guilt forced Brooke to protest. Her conscience wouldn’t let her allow him to do that when she had been told repeatedly by Aunt Marsha what long hours he worked. “That’s good of you, Doc, but—”

“Gage.”

After a gently reproving look at his unabashed flirtation, Brooke continued. “All I was going to say is that I’m sensitive to the fact that you’re probably already dead on your feet. You need to get what rest you can.”

“Do you think that’s going to happen knowing you’re out here wandering about by yourself? A Saint Bernard could grab you by the scruff of the neck and carry you off like a pup. You’re certainly no match for anything larger.”

That gave her pause. There were still less than fifty thousand people in all of Cherokee County, and most of them lived around communities like Rusk, the county seat to their northeast. Had things changed around here so much? “My aunt says Sweet Springs is still the friendliest town, and that this remains the quietest of neighborhoods.”

“Okay, but then what if you come upon Humphrey having a face-off with a rabid skunk, or a mother raccoon protecting her young?”

Brooke’s stomach lurched, and she pressed a hand against her abdomen. She so did not want to have to deal with either scenario. While Marsha was a second mother to her, especially after the death of her mother when Brooke had been barely twelve, she just didn’t share her aunt’s love for indoor pets. As far as the wilder creatures were concerned, she would be content to know they’d been exiled farther out in the country or to a zoo!

“Too much information,” Gage said, upon noticing her distress. “Come, take my Windbreaker. I keep it by the back door. It’ll save you the time it would take to change, and we can search together.”

With long-legged strides, Gage backtracked across the yard until he could reach inside the door of the two-story, colonial-style dwelling; Brooke followed with less enthusiasm. Had he meant it about wanting to ask her out? She hoped not. He’d been nothing but kind and helpful since her arrival, and he really was a good-looking man. She would forever be grateful that he’d been outside on Sunday morning when he’d heard Aunt Marsha crying for help from inside her house. On the other hand, Brooke wasn’t here to date, especially since her plan was to return to Dallas to get her career back on track as soon as possible.

“Thanks,” she said, once he held the lightweight dark jacket up for her. Sliding into it, she tried to flip her still-damp blond hair from under the collar and found long sleeves thwarted her efforts. With a wry smile, she rolled them several times. “This reminds me of when I was a kid and up here for Halloween. I borrowed one of my uncle’s sweaters for Halloween to create my Robin Hood costume.”

“I would never have guessed. Not a princess? Not even Maid Marian?”

Brooke shook her head at his stereotyping. “You only think you have me figured out.”

“Interesting. You do tend to look and act as though you came out of the womb wearing high heels and a business suit. Extremely well tailored, but sexy,” Gage added, his blue-gray eyes sparkling with good humor in the glow of the overhead light.

Her tendency to fixate on looking professional had started later, after her father had taken over directing more and more aspects of her life. Until then, she’d enjoyed playing games, watching Saturday-matinee movies and indulging in a healthy fantasy life—all of which her mother and aunt had supported. It relieved Brooke to realize that Aunt Marsha hadn’t gotten around to sharing that bit of information with him. Yet. It was challenging enough when Gage Sullivan looked at her with those kind but knowing eyes that seemed to see way beyond flesh and bone.

Averting her gaze, she dealt with his comment by changing the subject. “Where do you think we should start? Even though your jacket is lightweight, I’m already about to melt.”

“Well…the hospital is that way,” Gage said, nodding toward the west, the direction both their front doors faced.

Disconcerted, Brooke asked, “Do you think Humphrey would actually try to go there? I’d about convinced myself that he was simply running away from me. Can he actually pick up her scent from that distance?”

Gage shrugged. “It’s not two miles, and something is compelling him to ignore his obedience training. Since I don’t think you’d be cruel to a pet your aunt loved so much, it has to be pure heartache for his mistress that’s compelling him to escape. Let’s take a left out of the driveway and see if we can hear or spot something. Considering his age, and with legs as short as his, speed and endurance are on our side.”

As she followed, Brooke glanced from her size-six designer flip-flops sparkling with rhinestones in the artificial light to his size twelve or better athletic shoes. “Speak for yourself.”

Looking over his shoulder and following the direction of her gaze, Gage chuckled. “I’ll try to remember to cut my strides in half. I’m sure he hasn’t gotten too far, and he’s bound to trigger someone else’s family pet to bark sooner or later.” As he reassured her, Gage directed the beam of his flashlight across the street to scan each yard for any sign of movement.

Following his lead, Brooke used her flashlight to check houses on their side. Although most dwellings were dark, suggesting their inhabitants were already in bed for the night, she uttered, “I feel terrible about abusing people’s privacy. What do you want to bet some insomniac spots us and calls the police thinking we’re prowlers?”

“Relax, I know everyone in the department,” Gage assured her. “Plus, their drug dog is a patient of mine.” After only a few more steps, he paused. “Aha! Hear that?”

Brooke was about to ask him how long he’d been in Sweet Springs, when she, too, heard an excited sound ahead—part bark and part yodel-howl. “Oh, dear. I hope he’s not standing under someone’s bedroom window.”

They hurried the rest of the way, crossing the street, into the next block, where they came upon Humphrey running around someone’s koi pond. Illuminated in the center by accent lights was a fat, indignant-looking bullfrog.

“Whoa, Humph.” As the winded but excited dog tried to circle the pond again, Gage scooped him up into his arms. “Some dog on a mission, you are. One chubby amphibian and your whole master plan to get to your lady flies out of your mind. And look how you upset Brooke.” In the soft pinkish glow of the streetlights, his eyes twinkled with humor as he turned the dog to face her.

What with Gage being almost a foot taller, Brooke found herself practically eye to eye with the panting hound. She primly clasped her hands behind her back and said, “I’m just glad you’re okay. But this is the last time I let you outside unchaperoned.”

“Aw, don’t be too hard on him. No damage was done,” Gage told her.

As they started back, Brooke couldn’t help but feel a need to defend herself. “I know I’m not my aunt, but am I really that bad? The more I think about it, the more I believe he pulled this to get back at me.”

“For what?”

“He’s not getting to go to the shop with me the way he does with Aunt Marsha.”

“Whoa. That would do it.”

“I did come home twice to let him outside. And I petted him extra this evening when I got home from the hospital. Oh—and he’d had the canned food that she says is his favorite, that she only gives him on special occasions.”

“Ah, the truth emerges,” Gage said, lowering his head to speak into the basset hound’s ear. “A pat on the rump and canned meat byproducts, and she thinks she’s got you under control.”

With a choking sound, Brooke stopped in her tracks. “Then you do think I’m not being good enough to him?”

“I think he’s lonely. Why can’t he be at the shop with you?” Gage asked, sounding more curious than judgmental. “It’s his second home. Customers would give him the extra attention he’s used to getting.”

Brooke understood that Humphrey was a replacement for her in many ways, now that she was an adult and unable to visit Aunt Marsha as often as she would like. She also grasped that animal care was Gage’s calling, but that didn’t mean he or anyone else had a right to put a guilt trip on her. She did that well enough without any help. “Not everyone and everything should or can revolve around Humphrey, Doctor.”

“Gage.”

Ignoring his mischievous reply, she continued, “You probably don’t think there’s much to running a florist—”

“I didn’t say that.”

His tone was quiet, even gentle, which made Brooke press her lips together as she accepted that she’d jumped to conclusions again. “What I mean is that it’s taken every bit of my attention and ability to get arrangement orders filled, what with the store being busier than ever, now that one of the other two florists in town has retired and closed down her business. Don’t get me wrong, Naomi has been good to come out of retirement to help in emergencies, and Kiki is managing the front just fine on her own, but—”

“I thought you worked at the shop when you visited?”

“When I was a child. I could put a single rosebud in a vase with a sprig of baby’s breath or a fern. In time I learned a few more things, but I’ve forgotten most of that, and styles change. The point I’m trying to make is, first and foremost, I’m here for my aunt, not to entertain a dog. Then there’s the matter of the doors opening every few minutes. I’d be a wreck if I’m constantly checking to make sure someone didn’t inadvertently let Humphrey out into the street.”

Gage nodded, then began walking again. “You should have called me and told me you were struggling. I would have told you to drop him off at the clinic. He’d fit right in with Roy and the boys.”

It was that simple? “I’m afraid I don’t know who they are.” Boys? Her aunt hadn’t said anything about children, and he’d just said he was single.

“Roy Quinn is my manager,” Gage said, amusement entering his voice again. “Anywhere else, he’d be called a receptionist, but he tends to get all puffy and glares if he’s called that—and he has the Neanderthal eyebrows to do it. Besides, he does too much other stuff for such a restrictive title. He could be a full-fledged technician, but he balks at fulfilling the necessary requirements to get certified.”

“Stubborn. I see why you think Humphrey would fit in.”

After a soft chuckle, Gage admitted, “There’s no denying he can be. But behind all of that gruff exterior, he’s mostly a teddy bear. He’s sure been a welcome change from the young ladies who thought the receptionist job was step one to becoming Mrs. Sullivan.”

“Awkward,” Brooke said with a nod, able to finally speak from experience and sympathy. She’d witnessed enough behavior like that in her professional world, where some girls only went to college to find the wealthiest husband possible. “Then again, I don’t know what options girls have out here where the pickings are undoubtedly slimmer. A big-hearted, patient doctor must seem like a fairy tale come true.”

“You left out cute.”

His charm was potent, and Brooke had to work at keeping her expression benign. “Definitely cute.” But not willing to venture any farther down Flirtation Lane with him, she asked, “So is it Roy who has the sons? They help out at the clinic, too?”

“Say what?” After a brief, confused look, Gage uttered a low, “Ah! The boys I was referring to are his military veteran pals. Roy’s single, too, and his one request in taking the job was for me to allow a table and chairs in the corner of the reception room. He has some VFW buddies who like to congregate daily. The male version of the female coffee klatch of old. They’d already been run out of the local donut shop, and the grocery’s deli department, and they’d worn out their welcome in the bank’s lobby.”

“Are they all single, too?”

“Not quite. One has a wife in a nursing home, but her Alzheimer’s is so advanced that he can’t bear to spend more than a few minutes a day with her. Another is divorced—and that’s not a bad thing, as far as he’s concerned. The rest are widowers.”

“Well, it’s another testament to your generosity and goodwill that you’re so accommodating,” Brooke said.

“They’re not in the way,” Gage replied with a dismissive shrug. “Interestingly, after their military service, they were all farmers or businessmen in the area, so they pretty much know everyone who comes in and can supply me with a wealth of background information on clients and their livestock if I’m not familiar with someone.”

Brooke could see both the pros and cons of their arrangement. “Were you, by chance, in the military, too?” she asked as they turned into her aunt’s driveway. “I sense respect as much as affection when you speak about them.”

“I spent eight years in the U.S. Army Reserves.”

His almost apologetic reply won a quick glance from her. “What? That’s noble, too.”

Gage took several seconds to answer. “The guys ribbed me about it at first. It was the usual taunting about trying to avoid active duty, which I wasn’t. I took that route to get through school and get my practice established. It was only after they learned what a trial it had been not to lose my business that they really rallied behind me. We’re pretty much one big mutual-admiration society now.”

Sensing that he’d been modest and had struggled greatly, Brooke felt humbled. “Here I’ve been feeling sorry for myself because I’ve lost my job, thanks to government regulations, and can’t interview for a new one because I’m here helping Aunt Marsha, and all the while you’ve endured much heavier and dangerous burdens.” With new respect and concern, she asked, “Is there a chance you’ll have to go away again?”

“Nah, I finished up a couple years ago. As much as I gained from the experience, it was tough on my clients, as well as the friends who donated their time to keep the clinic running. I’m relieved, too. You know how hot it gets in Texas, but that’s nothing compared to the Middle Eastern deserts. It’s not an endurance test I ever want to go through again, especially at my age.”

“Right, all that gray hair is practically glowing like neon in the moonlight,” Brooke said, matching his easygoing tone. If he did have any gray hair, she had yet to notice it, even in daylight, amid the various shades of brown and gold.

“Hey, I have all of the scars and aches that come with this profession.”

Brooke paused at the gate. “Still very young for having experienced as much as you have. Thank you for sharing that. Also for your time. It helps me better understand why Aunt Marsha speaks of you with such affection—and not just because you saved her countless hours of suffering after her fall.”

“I’m partial to her, too.” Gage stroked Humphrey soothingly as he waited for her to open the gate. “She’s helped me every bit as much as I may have her. She keeps an eye on things when I’m not around. Did she tell you about how she called me one morning on my cell phone? I’d already left to get an early start at the clinic and she’d spotted a squirrel gnawing its way into my attic. By the time I could return home, the critter was inside and had almost chewed through wires in two spots. That could easily have resulted in a costly fire if left untended.”

While cute enough in cartoons and on greeting cards, the creatures were rats with couture tails, to Brooke’s thinking. “Doesn’t that make you want to cut down all of the nut-bearing trees around here to force them to move?”

As Gage threw back his head, his laugh filled the humid night air. “Are you sure you were born in Texas? Nature may not be perfect, but we civilized folks aren’t, either.”

“At least we don’t carry fleas and diseases.”

“You mean you’ve never had the flu? Chicken pox? Measles?”

Brooke should have known better than to criticize creatures in front of such a devoted animal lover. “Okay, okay, I get your point.” She began reaching for the basset hound, only to see Gage step out of her reach and nod toward the house.

“How about I set this old boy inside for you? I have a feeling that if you put him down after we close this gate, he’ll just waddle straight for the hole and crawl under the fence again.”

“Good thought.” Brooke made a mental note to get the key to her aunt’s storage shed first thing in the morning and get a shovel to close that latest exit spot.

Once she unlocked the back door, Gage set the placid hound on the hardwood floor. By the time he’d shut it behind Humphrey, Brooke had removed his jacket and handed it over to him.

“Thank you,” she said sincerely, as she discreetly crossed her arms over her chest again. “You’re as much a gentleman as you are a lifesaver.”

“I meant what I said about bringing Humph to the clinic. His species may have been bred for work, but in the end he’s quite the social animal. I can guarantee you that he’ll be coddled and get plenty of exercise. By the time you finish at the shop daily, he’ll be as grateful as you are to get home and crash on his doggy bed.”

“Let me run the idea by Aunt Marsha,” Brooke said, to buy herself a little more time. Gage’s idea did sound like a gift to her sanity, but would Aunt Marsha approve? “Remember, it could be some weeks before she gets to come home. This isn’t your usual broken hip. There was extra repair work to do. It might be several days before she’s even ready to relocate to the rehab facility.”

Gage shook his head in sympathy. “For such an active lady, that will exasperate her. When I first bought my place, she was about your size, which I still think is Tinker Bell tiny, and in the past year, I know she’s lost a good ten pounds that she can’t afford.”

His visual perceptions served him as well as his instincts obviously did. “This is probably no surprise, but she does have osteoporosis issues.”

“I worried it was something like that.”

Sensitive to his increasingly searching gaze, Brooke reached for the doorknob, hoping he would take the hint. “Thank you again, and for so much, Doc. Gage,” she amended at his gently reproachful look.

“You are more than welcome. It was good to spend a little while with my favorite neighbor’s favorite niece instead of settling for a wave as we dash for our vehicles in the morning.”

They had been leaving earlier than everyone else in the neighborhood. “Yes, it was. But it’s only niece. I was the sole yield from my parents’ short but loving marriage.”

“Nicely put and poetic for a math head.” At her grimace, he added, “Did you think that if your aunt has been bragging about you that she’d leave out how smart you are?”

“I guess not. It’s a wonder that she hasn’t set me up with an account on some online-dating site.”

Gage shook his head. “She wouldn’t do that. She’s too protective of you. Do you miss not having any siblings?”

“Sometimes. But it was nice having all of the attention, too. You?”

“Two sisters and three brothers. Privacy was the challenge in our house, since I was number five out of six kids. Fortunately, I lack most ingredients required to be a type A personality.”

“I can’t imagine… I mean, having that many siblings.” Along with being an only child, she’d spent the second half of her childhood with little time for fun or friendships, what with her father directing her extracurricular activities as much as her school focus. Faced with the reality that he would have only one child, he had been a veritable Tiger Mom, as hands-on as though he’d been managing a lab project, determined to make her the best at what he directed her toward. Only since having her job liquidated when proprietary trading won the government’s evil eye did it strike her that focusing so determinedly on networking might have served a purpose, but it had left her emotionally vacant compared to what family and friendship provided. Experience had also taught her sobering lessons on the difference between friends and acquaintances.

“Are you okay?”

Pulled back to the present, Brooke saw that Gage was studying her with unusual intensity, despite the hint of a smile curving his inviting lips. That smile was a ruse, she realized. It was meant to hide how serious he’d suddenly become. Well, she didn’t need all that magnetism directed at her.

“Fine,” she assured him, flashing him an equally deceptive but brighter smile. “You just made me realize that I’d promised to report on Aunt Marsha’s condition to my father, which is going to be a challenge since I’m not even sure what time zone he’s in.”

“He sounds like one of the original wheeler-dealers.”

How much of that side of their lives had Aunt Marsha shared? “He’s an unapologetic workaholic.” It was on the tip of her tongue to add with no small self-deprecation, “And I’m afraid this acorn didn’t fall far from the tree.” It was only the cold chill that ran through her—a chill that belied the sultry night’s warmth—that had her editing herself in the last second. Instead, she whispered in entreaty, “I really need to get inside.”

Gage took a halfhearted step backward. “Don’t hesitate to holler if you need my Sherlock services again.”

With a wave, Brooke hurried inside and, upon closing the door, she quickly twisted the wand to shut the miniblinds. Only then did she exhale her relief. What on earth was she doing almost making such admissions to a near stranger? Had she been subjected to some version of dog psychiatry, hypnotism or what? She glanced over her shoulder, taking in Humphrey’s resigned look.

“Please don’t put me in this position again. I don’t have the time, understand? Not for you or him. You’re both sweethearts—I get it—but I’m not in the market for anything like that, so behave!”

By seven forty-five Wednesday morning, Gage was up front at Sweet Springs Animal Clinic enjoying a rare extra cup of coffee with the old-timers and Roy before the early-bird clients arrived to drop off a beloved pet for some procedure, or were overeager to pick one up after an overnight stay. However, the first person to pull in was Brooke Bellamy.

As the others began noticing her flashy, metallic-silver BMW convertible that shouted her previous professional success, a rush of pleasure swept through him. So, he thought, she’d not only approached Marsha about his suggestion, his sweetheart of a neighbor had given her blessing. He would have to send Marsha a bouquet in gratitude for assisting him in gaining more access to her lovely niece.

“Be still, my heart…” drawled sixty-six-year-old Jerry Platt, who sat closest to the window. Retired from the air force and divorced, he was considered the “kid” in the group and frequently taunted the others with tales of his romantic escapades—true or not. “Say, isn’t that Marsha Newman’s niece? Wow…. She grew up to be a pretty little thing.”

“Looks a lot like her aunt,” Stan Walsh replied. Stan was sixty-nine and an old navy man turned sheet-metal fabricator. He’d passed his business over to his son earlier in the year following the death of his wife. “Every bit the lady, too, from what I hear, so behave, Platt.”

“Did she ever marry?” Pete Ogilvie asked, craning his head to watch as Brooke went around to the passenger door to let Humphrey out. The eighty-two-year-old ex-marine and widower was the oldest in the group and still looked the part of the rancher he’d been. “What is she now? Twenty-nine? Thirty? Back in my day, a girl would be afraid to be called an old maid if she hadn’t hooked a guy by then. Good for her, I say. You have to be pretty successful to afford wheels like that. What’s to want in today’s crop of guys anyway? Present company excluded, Doc,” he quickly added.

“No offense taken,” Gage replied, although he did plan to keep a close eye on that wily fox Jerry Platt.

Having waited patiently for his turn to speak, Warren Atwood said, “Back in your day, telephone operators sat in front of circuit boards, you old dinosaur.” The intellectual seventy-year-old had gone on from the U.S. Army to being the D.A. of Cherokee County. His wife was at the community’s nursing home in the advanced stages of Alzheimer’s. It was only his closest friends who knew what a toll that was taking on him.

“All right, you guys,” Roy Quinn said, as Gage put down his mug to go welcome Brooke. “Behave yourselves for a minute. She’s not going to be as used to your nonsense as we are.”

Gage barely heard him as he pushed through the two sets of doors. Reaching the fresh air, he saw Brooke look up and give him a ready-or-not shrug and smile. She looked as fresh as the posies she worked with in her three-quarter-sleeve teal silk top and matching slacks. The gold earrings and necklace added another layer of elegance. With her blond hair deftly swept up into an artful knot, he knew that, inside, jaws were slack with admiration. She did powerful things to him, too.

“Good to see you.” The words felt slow and heavy to his ears, but then his tongue felt as if someone had poured concrete in his mouth.

“You, too,” Brooke replied with visible relief. “I was half afraid last night’s offer was sheer politeness on your part. As it happened, I had to drop off some papers at the hospital this morning, and when I peeked in on my aunt she was wide-awake, and we had a quick chat.” As Gage held the door for her, she led Humphrey inside the green steel building.

“So she gave her blessing?” It fascinated Gage that as her nerves grew more visible, his eased. He even touched the small of her back, unable to resist stealing some tiny physical contact for private savoring later.

“Blessing?” Stan asked from across the room, his hand to his ear. His years on an aircraft carrier and in a sheet metal shop had all but destroyed his hearing. “Did they get engaged? I thought she just got back in town?”

“Shut up, you fool,” Pete replied, swatting at his arm with the editorial section of the Tyler Morning News. “What kind of eavesdropper are you?”

“My hearing-aid battery must be giving out.”

Brooke sent the men a bemused glance, then said to Gage, “She did—and said to tell you that she’ll make you her renowned apple crumble as soon as she gets back on her feet.”

Gage uttered a throaty groan of pleasure, then crouched to pet the basset hound, who was wagging his tail cautiously, not sure if this was an official visit or what. “Relax, Humph. You’re about to be spoiled rotten, just like when you’re at the flower shop.”

He unclipped the lead from the dog’s collar, after which Humphrey shook his whole body, clearly relishing the freedom in this, of all places. Brooke, on the other hand, looked anything but reassured.

“You’re certain it’s going to be okay for him to run free like that?” She looked unconvinced as she rolled up the blue nylon leash around her hand.

Gage rose, knowing they had precious few minutes left—and not even private ones—before the parking lot started to fill. He wanted to tell her that he liked her hair up. It showed off her slender neck so much that his fingers itched to caress the baby-fine hair there and her even finer skin. She was exceedingly fair for this time of year, but on her the look worked. However, the sum of all of her delicate parts didn’t fool him: inside that petite body was a backbone of pure steel and a strong will to match it. The irony was that just made her all the more irresistible.

“We’ll make sure he doesn’t get into anything he shouldn’t—nor goes outside without supervision.” Gage then addressed the others. “Everybody, this is Brooke, my neighbor—although you probably already know that.”

“We do,” Jerry said, as the others waved and called greetings. “How’s Marsha, darlin’?”

“Still in a lot of pain from the surgery. Thank you for asking. But she’s determined not to depend long on that walker they’re forcing her to use.”

“She’s a fighter. Give her our best.”

“I will.” Brooke turned back to Gage, worry creasing the smooth skin between her finely arching tawny eyebrows. “As I drove here, it hit me. We close at the same time, but occasionally I’ll have to wait on Charles—our delivery man—to return the store’s van. Or you may have to leave on a call. How do we work this?”

Acutely aware of all eyes on him, Gage shrugged to show as little concern as possible. “If you’re running late, give me a call, and if I have to leave for an emergency, Roy can wait for you, can’t you?” he asked him.

“Sure, boss.” Roy expanded on his answer directly to Brooke. “We tend to hang around after hours with whomever stops by. Not to worry, Ms. Bellamy. From here on, Humph will be treated as family.”

Although looking far more confident about the arrangement, Brooke remained poised and formal as she stepped to the counter and offered her hand. “That’s very kind, since I feel as though I’m taking advantage. You’re Roy? Please call me Brooke.”

When Roy’s brown eyes all but glazed over under the full effect of her warm smile, Gage took hold of Brooke’s elbow. “I’ll walk you out.”

He ignored the feeling of daggers pricking at his back as they exited the building, but he didn’t care. A familiar truck was coming down the service road and he knew it was heading here. Another hectic day was about to commence, and he wanted these last precious seconds with her to be his alone.

“I saw that you beat me to filling the hole Humphrey dug last night,” Brooke said, pausing at the driver’s door. “You’re being too good to me.”

“It didn’t take more than a minute. I was concerned that you might forget and he would take advantage.”

“Is that really black pepper you spread over the area?”

“It is. I often tell people to spread it over their pets’ graves to repel varmints from trying to dig them up. It should work to thwart Humph from another escape, too.” As the sunshine lit flecks of gold in her brown eyes, Gage felt something akin to hunger pangs grip his stomach. “At the risk of embarrassing you… You look particularly beautiful this morning.”

After another of those cautious pauses that Gage was starting to recognize, Brooke’s shimmering lips curved into a private smile. “A woman who can’t accept a compliment is out of her mind. Thank you.” She reached for the door handle. “I do have to hurry, though. Kiki has a dental appointment in an hour.”

“Then I guess I’ll see you later. What are you doing for dinner?” It was foolish to ask, since he could easily be dealing with emergency farm calls by then, but he couldn’t resist.

“I’ll grab some takeout and go keep Aunt Marsha company as she has her supper.”

The look she gave him from under her long eyelashes added a warning not to pursue what he was intent on achieving. Nevertheless, he needed for her to know that he was determined, too. “What about a glass of wine afterward?”

“By then I’ll be totally drained and my feet will be killing me. The only thing I’ll want to do is kick off these shoes, have a soothing shower and collapse in bed.”

Gage glanced down at the cork-and-leather platform sandals that added a good three inches or so to her height. “Very pretty, but why on earth don’t you wear something—?”

“More sensible?” Brooke offered when he abruptly edited himself.

“I would have tried for ‘less dangerous.’”

“Very diplomatic. But I’ve worn heels since I was in junior high. Couldn’t wait for my first pair. When you’re practically the runt in the entire school, you don’t mind taking a few risks to fit in better.”

Gage suspected that she would always stand out regardless, and guessed that any grief she took was more about jealousy than her petite size. “I guess in your male-dominated profession, you liked being taller because the guys tried to make you feel insecure even without the height disadvantage?” When she offered a one-shouldered shrug that suggested it was a moot point, he added, “Well, with or without the extra inches, I think you’re—”

“I really have to go.”

“Adorable.” Gage grinned as she cast a self-conscious look at the pickup truck now turning into the parking lot as though the driver could read lips. “Sue me. I’ve seen you smile. You have dimples that should be seen—” and kissed frequently “—and when you’re not stressing over your aunt, the shop or Humphrey, those brown eyes make me feel like a kid facing his first fudge-caramel sundae.”

“Oh, Lord.” Pressing her lips together to repress a smile, Brooke quickly climbed into her BMW. “Have a good day, Doc.”

“Gage. Give me that at least. You know I’m going to go back inside to deal with all kinds of abuse from those guys.” He nodded his head toward the windows where everyone was unabashedly watching.

She keyed the ignition, and, once the engine sprang to life, Brooke put the sports car into Reverse. Just after she shifted into Forward, she wiggled her fingers at him and drove away.

Waving to Carter Spears as Spears drove around to the back where he would be picking up the family pet—a potbellied pig—that had survived eating one of Carter’s leather work gloves, Gage returned inside. After pausing at the surreal silence that greeted him, he suddenly faced five sets of wiggling fingers waving at him.

Knowing it would be worse if he said anything, he just nodded his acceptance of their ribbing. In his opinion, he’d made progress—minimal, but in the right direction. Brooke liked him. More than she wanted to. He could feed off that all day.

Pete Ogilvie started the Greek chorus of commentary. “So that’s the way of things, eh? You’d better work fast because you’ve got your sights on a city girl, my friend. She’s not going to hang around these parts a day longer than she has to.”

“My back hurts just thinking about all the bending you’ll have to do to kiss the little thing,” Stan Walsh groused.

Jerry and Warren hooted and laughed, and Jerry said, “Listen to him. The guy on the most medications is having sympathy pains over your love life, Doc.”

“My money is on you, son,” Warren said, only to scowl at Jerry. “What are you trying to do, get us thrown out of here, too?”

“What do you think, Humph?” Gage asked, crouching to give the basset hound another affectionate rubbing. The dog was visibly curious as to what was going on. “You’re one of the guys now. We have to support each other.”

As though understanding, the dog rolled on to his back and offered his belly for scratching.

“That’s exactly what I think.” Chuckling, Gage obliged the dog. “Everybody has his—or her—soft spot. It’ll be your job to help me find hers.”

Chapter Two

“Give him a few more days. He’ll win you over.”

Brooke did a double take when her aunt said those words. Yes, she had just been complaining about Humphrey trying to block her from leaving him when she’d dropped him off at the house a little while ago, but then her thoughts had inevitably veered to Gage. As luck would have it, he had been called out on an emergency this evening when she’d gone to pick up Humphrey from the clinic, and she’d been surprised at how disappointed she’d felt that he wasn’t around.

“What? Oh.” Embarrassed, Brooke self-consciously fussed with a strand of hair that had worked free during the day and now tickled her neck. “It’s not that I don’t think he’s a good dog,” she assured her aunt. “It’s just that he’s confused by what’s going on, and, at his age, he probably doesn’t like his routine being upset. Sometimes I suspect that he thinks I’m the cause of it all.”

“Nonsense,” Marsha replied with a genteel wave of her hand. “It is what it is—he’s old. Wait until you’re our age. You’ll have your share of confused and cranky moments, too.”

Brooke shook her head. “You’re never cranky.”

That won her a wry laugh from her aunt. “Bless you for that, but you’re wrong. Just ask the nurses who were on duty today. As for Humphrey, I know this is a terrible inconvenience for you, sweetheart—”

“Don’t even think that. I’m relieved to be able to be here for you. I just wish—” As she filled the water pitcher to refresh the low reservoir in one of the flower arrangements filling the room, Brooke tried to think of something that her aunt would like to hear. “—I wish I’d interacted more with Humphrey during my other visits, so I wouldn’t feel like such a stranger to him, and an incompetent one at that.”

“Silly, you could never be that, and it’s not your fault that you have your own interests that don’t include pets.” Marsha glanced out the window, her expression slightly pensive. “It’s just as well—your father would never have allowed you to have a dog or kitten in the house, and I wouldn’t have been able to bear it if you’d ached for one.” Forcing a bright smile, she changed the subject. “Listen to this. Today I managed to sit up and swing my legs over the side of the bed without help from the nurse. I wasn’t sure I would make it—it hurt like blazes—and I was utterly exhausted afterward, but proud of myself.”

“That’s terrific!” However, Brooke couldn’t help but worry, too. She thought her aunt looked quite drained—dear as ever, even with her short, permed, silver hair a bit mussed, and wearing her old-fashioned bed jacket over her hospital gown—but if trying too much too soon was the reason, how could that be a good idea? Grateful that they had the room to themselves, she spoke frankly. “Is that what your therapist wanted, Aunt Marsha?”

The older woman patted the bed opposite from the table that bore her food tray. “You spoke with the surgeon. This was an extremely invasive procedure, and my muscles and tendons are as sore as everything else. Stop fretting and come sit down. You’re making me dizzy with all of your puttering and fussing. Have a bit to eat. I noticed that you didn’t bring anything tonight, and there’s way too much here for one person.”

Although she had little appetite herself, Brooke did sit down. All that was on the dinner plate was a broiled chicken leg and thigh, a dab of sautéed spinach, a scoop of wild rice and a green salad. Even the bran muffin on the side was small, and the bowl of strawberry Jell-O wouldn’t keep a toddler happy for more than a minute or two. Hardly the excess Marsha suggested.

Her aunt was still a pretty woman, despite the dark shadows that remained under her eyes. Her slender face showed few wrinkles for a woman who loved spending her free time away working in her yard. They shared the same large, doe-shaped brown eyes and petite build—as had Brooke’s mother. Brooke often wondered if this was what her mother would be starting to look like if she’d lived. Unfortunately, Marsha had long been taking her health for granted, and her doctor had cited concern over her low blood pressure and anemia, as much as the osteoporosis.

“Don’t worry about me. You’re supposed to build up your blood as well as your strength,” Brooke said, and set to work opening the silverware packet, then pulled off the foil lid on the juice cup. “Take a sip of this apple juice. I’ll bet you haven’t taken enough liquids today to help dissolve all of those vitamins and medications they’re giving you.”

“Please. The other half of my exercise is reaching for the call button to get a nurse in to empty my bag,” her aunt muttered. “At any rate, I don’t like juice, you know that. Too icky sweet. If I promise to drink some water, will you pour this down the sink?”

“Fair enough.” Once Brooke returned, she said, “I was so eager to tell you about how good business was at the shop today that I forgot to tell you that I met the older gentlemen who spend the day at Gage’s clinic. They all asked about you and sent their best.”

“How sweet. They can be such a bunch of characters.” Marsha halfheartedly broke off a bit of muffin and nibbled on it. “Isn’t it kind of Gage to let them roost there? That’s how I think of them—a motley group of roosters trying to still strut their stuff.”

“Having come from a rather large family, I guess Gage misses having more people around,” Brooke replied without thinking. Belatedly intercepting her aunt’s look of amusement and unabashed satisfaction, she quickly regretted the comment.

“You two have been visiting more,” Marsha said with a satisfied nod.

“Not really. There’s been no time.”

Looking unconvinced, her aunt pointed out, “You’ve been sharing details about family.”

Brooke took great pains in cutting chicken off the bone. “I felt I had to make polite conversation while walking through the neighborhood with him to find Humphrey. It would have been rude not to, what with him donating his time and showing so much interest in how we’re doing.”

“Yes, it would, and I’m proud of you,” Marsha replied. “Because, although I adore you, you can be a bit—”

Brooke’s breath all but locked in her throat. “A bit what?” Her aunt was never anything but complimentary and supportive. Was she about to get criticized?

“Insular.”

“That’s an awful thing to say.”

“I’m not being judgmental. It’s the place you’ve found yourself at this point in time. The sad thing will be if you stay like that.”

Her aunt’s opinion stung because Brooke wasn’t stuck in any mode of behavior; she was unemployed, and that had happened because of decisions out of her control. She hated feeling like just another piece of flotsam as a result of “government regulation”—and her helplessness and the injustice of it made her all the less eager to talk about it. How did she explain this to her aunt when Marsha could barely balance a checkbook, let alone do quarterly reports for Newman’s Florist and Gifts? She was that clueless about how the financial world operated; never mind what it meant to be a young, single woman holding her own in such a male-dominated cutthroat world. Why, if Brooke wasn’t handling the accounting side of her aunt’s business, Marsha wouldn’t still be open today! What seemed “insular” to her was savvy and self-protective to Brooke.

“Anyway,” Brooke said, forcing herself to put her aunt’s need for calm first, “Gage told me that he left Montana because he didn’t like freezing for that much of the year.”

Marsha looked a bit dazed for a moment and then caught up with their conversation. “That’s what I remember, too. Having emergency calls in blizzards can’t be any fun.”

As her aunt reached for the muffin again, Brooke sighed, scooped a bit of rice and chicken up with the fork, and held it up to Marsha’s mouth. “Try this.”

“Oh, Brooke, I’m not totally incapacitated. You don’t need to feed me.”

“Well, you don’t seem to want to do more than pluck at crumbs like a finch. Cooperate—and then I’ll let you hold the fork.” After her aunt obliged, Brooke set the fork on her side of the plate. “Now that I have your attention, there’s something else we really should discuss.”

“That doesn’t sound fun at all.”

Able to smile at her aunt’s childlike tone, Brooke launched into news she was sure her relative would like. “It’s about the store’s windows. Kiki offered to spruce them up and put in some Fourth of July decorations.” What Kiki had actually said was that it was embarrassing to still have the spring/Easter decorations up, and that even customers were asking when they were going to catch up with the calendar—and the rest of the shops on Main Street.

“It’s still spring,” Marsha protested. She suddenly looked smaller and weaker as she sank deeper into the pile of pillows behind her. “This whole acceleration of holidays is getting out of hand. You watch, in August, they’ll have Halloween decorations on the same aisle as school supplies. Tell her to wait until after the fifteenth. By then I should be able to help her.”

Incredulous, Brooke said gently, “Aunt Marsha…dear…you’ll be lucky if you’re moved to the rehab facility by then. Now, Kiki is more than capable of doing this. You taught her well, and she’s had good schooling in marketing and design. At least let her draft an idea for you about what she’d like to do.”

“That sounds expensive. For once I’m taking your advice, Ms. Financial Expert. There shouldn’t be any spending on new things. There are plenty of decorations up in the loft.”

Years ago, Newman’s Florist and Gifts was the site of Sweet Springs Farm Supply, and the upstairs—still accessible by the back steps—was still a good second-story storage place for inventory, decorations and supplies. But after talking to Kiki and jointly taking a look up there, Brooke had agreed with the younger woman’s perspective.

“Most of what’s up there is showing its age and should be thrown out, Aunt Marsha,” Brooke reported, combining both her and Kiki’s conclusions. “Why not let us do a real renovation and scrap what isn’t up to the store’s standards?”

“But people always look forward to the displays I do.”

“And next year, they’ll enjoy it again. But in the meantime, there’s another good reason to do some purging. If—Heaven forbid—there was a fire, there’s enough clutter up there to burn down the whole block.”

Marsha suddenly moaned. Seconds later, she pressed one hand to her hip, then the other to her chest.

“What is it?” Immediately concerned, Brooke was on her feet. “Is the pain worse?” She knew her aunt’s chart as well as the nurses and remembered Aunt Marsha wasn’t due another pain pill until ten o’clock. “I’ll get a nurse.”

“Just give me a minute.” Marsha’s voice was all tight, the words clipped, as though she was enduring a cramp or spasm of some kind.

Finally sighing with relief, her aunt shifted her gaze out at the pretty landscaping. Amid decades-old pines, there were beds of azalea and rosebushes providing blossoms three seasons of the year.

“Whew. It’s moments like this that you realize you’re getting old.” She slid an apologetic glance at Brooke. “It’s not that I’ve intentionally neglected taking care of things upstairs. There just never seems to be enough time to do the serious cleaning out that it deserves.”

“Oh, Aunt Marsha, we know,” Brooke declared. “Look, I’m here. There’s no reason not to make good use of that. What’s more, Kiki has a strong affection and devotion to you, too. We can do a little work upstairs every day, and before you know it, we’ll have things refreshed and the inventory in good shape.” “Kiki,” as Kimberly Katherine Webb was known around town, had just graduated from the community college nearby and had worked at the shop since high school.

“She’s been a good girl,” Marsha admitted.

“She’s twenty-one,” Brooke reminded her patiently. “A young woman, and if the economy wasn’t so challenging, she would probably already be gone trying to make better use of that business and marketing expertise. You have to let me give her more responsibility or she might yet take the gamble and fly off on her own. I promise you, Aunt Marsha, gifts like Kiki don’t come every day.”

As Marsha opened her mouth to reply, Brooke’s phone buzzed. She rose to take it out of her pocket and saw the caller was Gage. He’d given her his cell phone number upon her arrival in town last Sunday.

“Is something wrong?” she asked, certain that he wouldn’t have intruded on her time with her aunt if something hadn’t happened.

“Humph is howling. It’s not a complaining type of cry. This sounds serious. Could he have gotten into something that could hurt him?”

That dog, Brooke thought. “I can’t see how. Hold on.” To her aunt, Brooke said, “Humphrey seems to be in distress.”

“Is he choking? Could there be smoke coming from the air conditioner? Did you leave the oven on?” Marsha asked with growing concern. “I don’t remember when I last gave it a good cleaning. Oh, go, Brooke. I won’t be able to live with myself if my little boy gets hurt.”

Was her aunt tearing up? Disconcerted by the idea, as well as the thought that she might have done something she couldn’t remember that was endangering Humph, Brooke said into the phone, “I’m on my way.”

Minutes later Brooke pulled into the driveway at her aunt’s house. Gage stood at the gate using the time to do some texting. What’s more, he’d been home long enough to shower—his wet hair was a clear giveaway—and to change into a clean white T-shirt, khaki shorts and flip-flops. Although she couldn’t ignore the little flutter inside from noticing how good he looked—wide shoulders, flat stomach and strong legs—she wondered why he wasn’t at the door or windows peering into Aunt Marsha’s house to see if the fire department or sheriff’s office needed to be called, too.

“I’m so sorry for the noise,” she said, as she got out of her BMW and used her remote to lock up. Almost immediately she heard Humphrey’s wails coming from inside. That stopped her from asking the countless questions that had flooded her mind between the hospital and here. Humphrey was so loud it was a miracle the neighbors across the street hadn’t yet complained. Then again, they were much older than Aunt Marsha and liked to watch TV in their sunroom in the back of their house. No doubt the volume was set high, too. “I didn’t realize you would make it home this early,” she added as Gage opened the back gate for her.

With a grimace, he said, “The owner had waited too long before calling me. The only humane thing to do was to put down the cow.”

The jarring news sent Brooke stumbling over a concrete step stone. She would have fallen if he hadn’t caught her by the waist and steadied her. She cast him an apologetic look over her shoulder. “And now I’m making you listen to this. I’m so sorry.”

“No need. But I’ll come with you if you don’t mind, in case Humph needs medical attention.”

Brooke had already sent up a quick prayer that wouldn’t be the case. She didn’t want to think about having to bring bad news to her aunt.

Her hands weren’t quite steady as she unlocked and opened the door. Then she saw Humphrey sitting a few yards away. When he gave her a toothy grin and wagged his tail in welcome, she thought, What on earth?

After glancing around to see that nothing seemed amiss, she muttered, “Devious dog.” Both she and Gage had been played for fools. “I should have known you were a born con artist.”

As Humphrey hung his head and eyed her sheepishly, Gage tried but failed at subduing his laughter. That had the basset hound trotting to him and woofing as though in total agreement that what he’d pulled was great fun.

“Stop that!” Brooke protested as Gage stooped to rub the dog’s extra rolls of skin. “You know this is all because of your bright idea about him being lonely and in need of companionship. Now you’ve made things worse with all of that dog-sitting psychology.”

She set her purse and keys on the kitchen counter and returned, hands on hips, to confront the four-legged conniver. As Humphrey raised his paw toward her, she muttered, “Don’t even pretend that you’re experiencing separation anxiety from me. I left Aunt Marsha near tears. She thinks that you were somehow injured or in danger.”

With one more reassuring pat for Humphrey, Gage rose. “What you need is a glass of wine. Do you mind?”

Before Brooke could respond, he headed for the refrigerator, which quickly had her narrowing her eyes with growing speculation. Sure enough, he brought out an open bottle and then took two glasses from the china hutch in the breakfast nook.

“Why didn’t you tell me that you know your way around here?”

“I was waiting for the right moment. Would this be the time to tell you that I know where the spare key is hidden?” Gage’s look held no less appeal than Humph’s had.

Meaning that he could have come inside and checked on Humphrey himself if there had really been an emergency. The stinker…and so was her aunt! Marsha had to have surmised quickly that there had been no crisis. She’d just wanted to escape finishing a conversation she didn’t want to have and, too, eating a dinner she had no interest in.

“So much for thinking Humphrey’s the only conniving one,” she began.

“I had hoped that Marsha would have told you by now.” As he poured the red wine, Gage did manage to look uncomfortable at finding himself in this position.

Able to appreciate he’d been caught in an unenviable position, Brooke wearily rubbed at her brow. “There’s been too many other things going on.”

Nodding, Gage said, “If it will reassure you, move the key until she’s out of the hospital. The last thing I want is for you to have doubts about me.”

He was as sensitive as he was a gentleman, and she’d been around him enough to gauge he was sincere. “What I should do is go back and make Aunt Marsha eat every bite of her dinner. I just know she feigned angst to force us to spend more time together, too.”

“Don’t be too hard on her.” Gage handed her a glass, his smile coaxing. “She means well. She probably could see that you’re burning the proverbial candle on all sides and could use an early night. Beautiful as ever,” he assured her, as she self-consciously rubbed at nonexistent mascara under her eyes, “but in need of a break from being a perfectionist.”

Was she that? Disciplined and devoted, maybe; however, accepting that to argue would only prove Gage right, Brooke gestured to the back porch. “Would you like to sit outside?”

“Don’t you want to call your aunt just in case?”

“She showed you where the extra key was hidden,” was all Brooke replied. It struck her that was how Gage had gained entrance on Sunday to help Marsha after her fall. In all that had been happening since Sunday, she’d overlooked that critical detail. “If we turn on the ceiling fan, it should be pleasant,” she added, trying to suppress her annoyance with her relative. “And the breeze will help keep the mosquitoes away.”

“Perfect.” Gage whistled to Humphrey. “Come on, old man. You get a reprieve. Go roll in the grass and maybe a dragonfly or two will come by to entertain you.”

Humphrey waddled outside and eased himself down the three stairs. Then, with a deep sigh of relief—or contentment—he plopped himself on to the grass and gazed at his domain with satisfaction.

Brooke and Gage settled on the glider and tasted their wine. The flavor was lush and fruity with a teasing peppery finish—exactly what the end of a hot summer day called for. Brooke couldn’t remember when she’d last given herself an evening to just…unwind.

“I wish I could understand him half as well as you do,” Brooke said, nodding toward the hound.

“I have an added edge—I see him more 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 it was time for me to read ‘serious books’—biographies about successful businesspeople, world history, that sort of thing. He wanted me to recognize trends and warning signs of manufactured or sociopolitical conflict.”

“Wow,” Gage drawled, “you weren’t just smart, you must have been a little Einstein.”

Feeling undeserving of such praise, Brooke replied, “It was more about wanting to please my father. He’s the brilliant one.”

“Where does he live? You said he’s out of the country? I can’t help noticing that he hasn’t come up to see your aunt yet.”

It struck Brooke that he misunderstood which of her parents Aunt Marsha was biologically related to. “She’s my mother’s older sister. By fifteen years,” she added, knowing that he would be confused, considering her own age. “Marsha never did warm to my father. And I have to admit that went both ways, so my father tends to keep his distance. But a lovely arrangement of flowers arrived from him the evening I arrived.” Or from his secretary, Brooke thought with some cynicism. She also wouldn’t tell Gage that as other gestures arrived from dear friends, Marsha had donated her father’s arrangement to the nursing home in town. All she offered was, “My father runs his own investment business, which is based out of Houston, but he travels the world over.”

Looking neither impressed nor intimidated, Gage said, “Obviously, you admire him. I hope he’s equally proud of you?”

“Sometimes,” Brooke demurred, ignoring personal hurt to reach for diplomacy. “He thinks I’m being foolish in how I’ve chosen to handle things here.”

That sent Gage’s eyebrows rising. “What would he have you do? Leave your aunt alone in the hospital and let her business flounder?”

“My aunt would never be totally alone,” Brooke replied, her loyalties torn. “As you’re aware, she knows virtually everyone in town, and then there’s that broad network of friends in church. She’ll never want for company. As for the shop… I could have asked Naomi to handle things—at least temporarily. She retired, but she’s helping me with the more involved orders or a big event. Only, Naomi doesn’t need or want to work full-time again. Despite being two years younger than Aunt Marsha, her own health isn’t that great.”

“The other younger woman there—Kiki, you called her this morning?”

“Yes. Kimberly Katherine is her real name, only her talents lie in the front of the store. She never trained to do arrangements, and my aunt isn’t close to giving her full management authority—Kiki has only just graduated from the community college. In Aunt Marsha’s viewpoint, she’s still a child, so my coming seemed the least disruptive for everyone.”

“Except for you,” Gage said quietly.

“Please,” Brooke entreated, “forget I complained about having to leave Dallas.”

“Okay… If you’ll tell me why there’s no one back home miserable that you’re here?”

It wasn’t a matter she let herself dwell on too often. “Let’s just say that I’ve been luckier in business than I have in love.” Hearing that phrasing had her immediately covering her eyes with her free hand. “Considering that I’m unemployed, that’s not saying much, is it?

“The problem is that the men who show interest in me either don’t react well if I’m more successful than they are, or—if they don’t mind, or find value in that—they still want me to be available at a moment’s notice like some trophy wife. I’m not someone who can spend half a day in a spa and the rest shopping while waiting for a guy to text me that he’s ready for my company.”

Gage just sat there watching her, but Brooke could read his mind as though he’d spoken. “You’re wondering how often that’s happened,” she said, with more than a little chagrin. “Enough times to be content to focus on my career at this stage of my life.”

“What I think,” Gage replied, slowly amending her opinion, “is that it sounds like someone hurt you pretty badly.”

Having had a few months to think over the matter, Brooke didn’t hesitate in her response. “No. He made me angry. His lack of respect disappointed me.”

“Does he have a name?” At her arched look, Gage offered amiably, “Just in case he happens to show up acting like he owns the place and you need some backup.”

“Parker. Parker Minot. But he won’t do that. When I close doors, they stay shut.”

Nodding slowly as he digested that, Gage said, “Strong woman. I’m relieved.”

Glad to have that done with, Brooke thought it only fair to see how he acted when the tables were turned. “What about you?”

“Pretty much the same story.”

“What, you couldn’t handle half a day in a spa, either?”

Grinning, Gage rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know—there are days when a good massage would be heaven. But no, I was referring to the unlucky part. On principle, I’m just a guy who likes to do the chasing, not be wearing a target on my back—or on my checkbook. If you ask my mother, though, she’ll tell you that I’m more fickle than my sisters ever were.” He struggled for and failed at a scowl of indignation. “I thought only women could be fickle.”

“Ho-ho,” Brooke replied. “Men are perfectly capable of being changeable and less than faithful.” Curiosity got the best of her. “So even after resolving the office situation by hiring Roy, you’re being chased, huh? Do the ladies bring their poodles and Pekinese into the clinic under false pretenses?”

“It’s calmed down some, but it happens. I have more work than I can handle, and it’s not fair for clients with animals in crisis to have to wait because of something clearly superficial. Then there’s the perfume they douse themselves and their pooches with. I confess there are times we can’t get them out of the building fast enough.”

“The things some women will stoop to,” Brooke lamented in mock protest of her sex.

As Gage leaned over to gently nudge her with his shoulder, Humphrey uttered a soft “woof.” Mounting the stairs far more slowly than he’d descended, he waddled to Gage. With a baleful look, he put one paw on his almost bare foot.

“What’s that all about?” Brooke asked. “Is he wanting me to get off his side of the glider?”

“Nah, this probably just reminded him of the good old days. My dog, Joey, used to come over with me to visit with him and Marsha, and even though Joey was a big chocolate Lab, he was really gentle with Humph. Joe made it to the ripe old age of sixteen, but he passed away right after Christmas.”

“How sad…but what a wonderful friendship you must have shared—and Humphrey, too.” Brooke leaned over to scratch the hound under his chin. Could it be that this was another reason for the poor dog to be having such strong separation anxiety from her aunt? “I guess, then, that he’s asking when things are going to get better?”

“Pretty much. I know he’s ready for me to bring him a new playmate, but I just haven’t been ready yet. That’s another reason it’s good for him to come to the clinic. We have dogs being boarded all the time if the family is on vacation. There’ll usually be someone for Humph to play with if he tires of human company.”

Knowing she had yet to fully appreciate what people like her aunt and Gage felt toward their pets, Brooke shifted to face him. “Was Joey one of those dogs that went everywhere with you?”

“You bet. He knew when he could jump out of the truck and when to stay put. He liked everybody—well, almost everybody,” he amended with a secret smile. “He instinctively gave wide berth to people with short fuses, even when they were behaving.”

When he took a deeper swallow of wine, Brooke recognized that he was ready to change the subject. “You still haven’t told me what made you settle in Sweet Springs?”

“An aversion to being cold.”

“Where did you go to school?”

“Texas A&M. I finished my training here at the clinic.”

“No kidding? I guess Aunt Marsha may have mentioned that, but I must’ve been just getting out of high school and was totally fixated on college at the time. How long have you lived next door?”

“Just over two years.”

That explained why they hadn’t met sooner. “I haven’t been getting over here as much.”

“And prior to that, there was college and grad school.”

That again confirmed that her aunt had confided plenty in him. “Well, Dad expected a 4.0 average daughter.”

Gage’s expression turned pained. “I don’t mean to offend, but your father sounds more like a field marshal or a paid personal trainer than a dad.”

He was partly correct, and Brooke could only admit ruefully, “He’s definitely one of a kind.” Not liking this subject any better, she nodded to Gage’s glass. “Are you ready for a refill? Now that the wine temperature has had a chance to warm to perfection, you should really like the bouquet.”

“I shouldn’t drink all of your present.”

Knowing by the halfhearted protest that he wanted her to coax him, she reached for his glass. “Wine is always better when shared.”

He outmaneuvered her and took her glass instead. “In that case, at least let me do the legwork. You enjoy the rest of this sunset.”

As he disappeared into the house, Humphrey looked perplexedly from her to the door. “Oh, don’t worry,” she assured the pooch. “He’ll be right back. You won’t have to suffer my company for too long.”

The soulful-eyed dog let his front paws slide, and he settled on his tummy, then rolled halfway over to press his back against her feet. After a second of surprise, Brooke leaned over again to stroke his sleek, short fur.

“Well, thank you, Mr. Charming. So if he likes me, you’re going to give me the benefit of the doubt? How magnanimous of you.”

Gage returned with the wine and a beefy treat from the pantry for Humphrey. The dog sprang up to a sitting position, grinning in pleasure. As soon as Gage gave him the snack, he lay down and started to chew enthusiastically.

“I thought treats after dinner were frowned upon?” she asked, accepting her glass.

“When I saw him scooting over to you, I thought he should get some reward.” After resuming his seat, Gage touched his glass to hers. “Here’s to things continuing to work out to everyone’s satisfaction.”

The openly inviting look in his eyes told Brooke that he was also talking about matters that had nothing to do with Humph behaving and bonding with her, or Aunt Marsha. But they soon fell into easy conversation again, and before Brooke knew it, their glasses were almost empty once more. They had covered several other topics—local politics, who was closing their business, who was opening one and finding a reliable lawn-care person. That last subject had Gage reacting right away.

“Don’t worry about it—I’ve been doing Marsha’s yard at the same time I’ve been doing mine. With my big zero-turn machine, it takes no time at all.”

“You’re sure? I already feel as though I’m taking advantage.”

“Positive. If the guilt gets too bad, just invite me over for another glass of wine.” When Gage noticed her slapping at mosquitoes for the third time, he reluctantly rose to his feet. “We’d better call it a night before the bats join the mosquitoes and try to carry you away.”

“Was that a diplomatically phrased short joke?” She narrowed her eyes with playful speculation.

“Only stating the obvious—you’re the one with the most tempting skin.”

Cocooned in the amber glow of the porch light that had just come on automatically, Brooke felt more than relaxed; she felt part of a special moment that she honestly wished wasn’t ending. What a surprise, considering her previous intent to keep him at arm’s distance.

“Thank you…and for the visit. I can’t remember when time passed so quickly or pleasantly,” she admitted, rising herself.

“That’s good to hear. That means if I suggest it again, you’ll say yes.”

Before she knew what was happening, Gage leaned over and tenderly kissed her cheek. The caress sent such a unique warmth through her body that Brooke tried to quickly blame it on the wine.

“That would be nice, but you’re the one who said you have more work than you can handle,” she reminded him, before any additional romantic thoughts—and ghostly yearnings—tripped her up. “And I have to get back to my schedule of spending evenings with Aunt Marsha.” Then doing the bookkeeping when she got home. That wasn’t going to happen tonight. Right now all she felt capable of doing was to shower and slide into her comfy bed.

Giving her a patient look, Gage handed her his empty glass. “One thing I’m going to insist on is for me to take Humph on my way in tomorrow morning. There’s no reason for you to make a special trip out to the clinic. Besides, he can’t be wild about the view from your BMW’s floorboard.”

“I know,” she sighed, “but those claws—trimmed though they are—are not going to test my leather seats.”

Nodding his understanding, Gage drawled, “Just say, ‘Thank you for being sweet, Gage.’”

“I do appreciate your thoughtfulness,” Brooke replied instead. “There are several things that I need to get to at the store, and the extra time will be welcome.”

“My pleasure—now, isn’t that worthy of a kiss on my cheek?”

Trying not to laugh at the rascal, Brooke said, “Dr. Sullivan, any trouble you have with unwanted female attention, you invite!”

However, when he gave her a crestfallen look, she couldn’t resist. Rising on tiptoe, she aimed for his cheek. However, Gage proved what a scoundrel he could be when in the last second, he turned his head, and her kiss landed directly on his warm, welcoming lips.

Chapter Three

“Are you blushing?”

Jerked out of her daydreaming, Brooke glanced over to find that Kiki Webb had quietly entered through the back door of the shop. It was unlocked because their deliveryman, Charles Rollins, was outside checking under the hood of the florist’s van, as he always did before heading off on his first run of the day—and today was Thursday, usually one of their busiest.

The heat in her cheeks told Brooke that Kiki was probably correct in her estimation, and that flustered her, too. “Is it warm in here to you, too?” she asked, hoping to fool Kiki. “Do me a favor and ask Charles to check the air conditioner before he leaves? Hopefully, only the filter needs cleaning.”

“Ms. Brooke, the thing is blasting enough cold air to turn Mount Kilauea into an iceberg,” Kiki replied, her expression a mix of amusement and concern. “You could shut off power to those storage coolers and the flowers wouldn’t notice. So what’s up that has you gazing off into another dimension? Oh! Excuse me—is it your guy in Dallas? Is he coming to visit for the weekend?”

Since she’d arrived at the store, Brooke had encouraged Kiki to work as she always did. But the young woman was shy and deferential, calling her “Ms. Brooke” at every turn. Hoping to find some happy middle ground, Brooke replied, “There is no guy and no visit happening, and considering what our schedule has been and is about to be, that’s good news!”

The energetic blond cutie with the impish smile clasped her hands in excitement as she instantly made mental lemonade out of lemons. “That sounds promising. What’s up?”

“I talked Aunt Marsha into letting you get after those window displays.”

As expected, Kiki was enthused. She pumped the air with her fisted hands and filled the room with the music of jangling bracelets. Her colorful jewelry matched the rest of her artsy outfit—a gauzy pink blouse over an orange tank top, over a deep purple sports bra. Her jeans were enhanced with her own beadwork, and her purple flip-flops sparkled just as much as her metallic-orange toenail polish did.

“Oh, Ms. Brooke—”

“Please…just Brooke.”

“Thank you! I was afraid to hope when you said you’d do your best to get me permission.” With a new enthusiasm, the perky young woman shoved her bag—another of her own designs fabricated out of old blue jeans—under the workstation where Brooke kept hers and did pirouettes to the front of the store.

Catching a flirty fragrance, Brooke demanded, “Hold it! What’s that scent you’re wearing?”

Kiki shoved her hands under her shoulder-blade-length hair and flipped it to send more scent through the room. “You like? I’ve been working on this recipe for weeks.”

Nodding as it played through her senses, Brooke replied, “Adore it. Put me down as a guaranteed customer. That’s pure romance.”

Kiki snapped her fingers. “I couldn’t think of the right description, but it is, isn’t it? I feel so girly wearing this.”

“Defined notes without being heavy or too sweet.”

“Unfortunately, Ralph Lauren already trademarked the name Romance.”

“He would rethink his recipe if he got a whiff of yours.”

Retracing her steps to the worktable, Kiki reached for Brooke. “This is the best news I’ve been given in months.”

Although startled by the hug, Brooke found the impulse endearing. “You know what? When you get that and your perfume packaging finalized, we should put it in the store. I think it should be right on the front counter so you can do samples. I mean, if that was something you were interested in?”

“Are you kidding?” Kiki did another little dance of joy. “I can’t wait to tell my folks.”

The young woman had shared that, while her mother loved having her—the only girl born between two brothers—still living at home, her father was ready to see his offspring spread their wings and leave the nest. Brooke thought giving her creativity such a boost might help her reach that goal soon.

“I’m sure they’ll be even prouder of you than they already are. Aunt Marsha realizes that you need to put more of your training and talent to work. I think her delay in doing that is partly due to her having lost almost all of her family—my mother, then their parents—so early in life. Then, when my Uncle Sam died, I think she developed a certain fear of change.” She nodded to the front of the store. “After you get the window displays finished, we’ll talk about some improvements we might tackle in the rest of the place.”

Kiki looked like a kid on Christmas morning. She pressed her right hand to her heart. “I don’t know what to say, Brooke. I won’t let either of you down.”

“I’m fully confident that you won’t.” Brooke glanced around the store. There was no denying that things were looking a bit dingy and uninspiring. No doubt Aunt Marsha’s customers and friends loved her too much to have told her the truth. “It’s about time the place gets an update—including a brighter paint job. You were right when you told me that Aunt Marsha has faithful clientele, but that she’s not getting the younger crowd’s attention.”

“I’ll be happy to go online and get some paint color samples for you to show her.”

Setting the arrangement she’d just finished by the other four waiting for delivery, Brooke nodded, although she thought she might just want to keep this bit of information to herself to surprise her aunt with the new and improved store. “In the meantime, let me go up to the loft and take a look around while you watch things in here. Once I’m back, you can go up and start purging what’s showing its age and bring down anything you think will work for the display. Then we can figure out what else we need.”

“Sounds like a deal.”

Outside, Charles Rollins was just slamming the hood on the delivery van. A gangly senior with silver hair and a neatly trimmed mustache, he wiped his hands on a paper towel and beamed at her. Handling deliveries was exactly the amount of work the retired math teacher wanted to keep himself active between afternoons gardening with Chloe, his wife of forty years.

“All set when you are, Brooke,” he said.

“Everything is ready for you.” She gestured back to the store. “You have four deliveries and the tickets are under each vase. But do me a favor and grab an extra cup of coffee and keep Kiki company while I’m up in the loft for a quick check. With both the front and back doors unlocked, I don’t want her being in there alone.”

“Understood. Be happy to,” he said, only to look up the two levels of stairs. “You sure you don’t need me to help up there? Are you planning to carry down something heavy or complicated?”

“More likely I’ll be yelling, ‘Look out below!’ and tossing things into the Dumpster,” she replied, indicating the big unit beneath the stairs. “We need to catch up with the rest of the community and prepare for the summer traffic by redoing the front windows, but from what I remember being up there, the pickings are slim.”

Charles nodded, his look sympathetic. “Marsha has just been too busy to give the place the attention it deserves. After I make these deliveries, why don’t I come back to help?”

Brooke had always liked Charles and appreciated his gentlemanly manner. He was a low-key throwback to another age. “If Chloe can spare you, I will definitely take you up on that offer, Charles. Thank you. That will allow Kiki to get to work in the windows all the sooner.”

As she went up to do a quick inventory, Brooke’s thoughts inevitably drifted back to last night and the kiss. In truth, that was what she’d been doing when Kiki had arrived. She was amazed that she’d gotten the good rest that she had, considering how her mind had been churning.

For such a brief incident, Gage had really left her thrown off balance. She’d had two serious relationships in her thirty years—the last being when she’d thought things might progress to marriage—until Parker had received a great job promotion/transfer that would relocate him to California. Before they’d had a chance to talk, he’d accepted, convinced that Brooke would give notice and come with him. Stunned, she had only voiced one question.

Why?

Because you love me.

She’d thought she did; however, she’d never said the words because he didn’t. He’d said he’d loved a gift, loved some impressive function they’d attended that her father had invited her to, loved the parties she’d arranged for their friends…until it struck her that there were degrees of love, or maybe she’d confused contentment and caring for that deeper feeling?

Upon realizing that she didn’t feel enough to walk away from everything she’d accomplished career-wise, she’d said goodbye to Parker. How ironic that only weeks later, her so-called career was snatched from her.

Now there was Gage, the unexpected one, as she was coming to think of him. She had no time for frivolousness, let alone romance, and yet he was making her feel all fuzzy and fluttery at just the thought of him, the way she hadn’t felt since Bobby Stafford had kissed her outside of their high school gym back in the ninth grade. The problem was that she was thirty, not fourteen, something she’d felt compelled to warn Gage of last night.

“Cat got your tongue? You should see your face.”

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

“Because there’s no sense in starting something that has no future,” he’d recited. “You’ve more or less already said that.”

“I wish you’d take me seriously.”

“I don’t want to. I’d thought after two glasses of wine and an hour more of my irresistible presence, I’d have started to wear down that argument. How many thousands of relationships have started with seemingly no chance at a future? What about the soldiers heading for war who met a girl at a dance or airport? What about the soldiers who met girls overseas and instantly felt something special? Were war brides a bad idea because of inevitable challenges?”

He’d enjoyed picking apart her logic, while she’d countered by suggesting that he was way too romantic to have managed to stay single for this long, and she suspected he just liked the chase—as he’d admitted—and saw her as safe entertainment.

“Try me,” he’d challenged, a gleam in his sexy blue-gray eyes.

She had demurred, of course, and sent him home. However, once in her room, Brooke had stopped before a full-length mirror and touched her lips. Letting her eyes drift shut, she’d relived the moment of his brief but sensual assault. What would it feel like to lay breast to thigh with him and feel those strong arms drawing her closer yet? To be kissed deeply as he entered her?

“Be honest,” she said to her reflection, “you want to find out.”

“Pardon?” Gage asked, looking up.

He had hoped to lock the front doors at the stroke of five and get the rest of his obligations here done so he could get Humphrey home. It probably wasn’t likely that Brooke was of the same mind, but a man could hope. Instead, Liz Hooper had swept into the clinic with her obnoxious Chihuahua, Banderas, named after Liz’s favorite Latino-heartthrob film star. This afternoon, “Bandy” had been stung in the face a few times when he’d stuck his curious nose down into an underground bee nest.

“I said, ‘Come over and find out.’”

Gage blinked at Liz, although the image of Brooke after he’d kissed her good-night lingered before him.

“Earth to Gage—you wondered what kind of bee it was.” As Liz explained herself, her wrist full of bracelets jingled when she gestured in the direction of town. “I certainly can’t bring one to you without getting stung myself.”

“It was just a— Never mind,” Gage replied, mentally berating himself for the slip in concentration. Liz was a handful under normal circumstances. He didn’t need to let his guard down and give her any ideas.

“There’s some swelling,” he said, gently feeling around the wounded dog’s neck, “but there doesn’t seem to be any signs of anaphylactic shock. I’ll go ahead and give him some Benadryl to reduce his discomfort. Let’s go with half of a child’s dosage, considering his size.” He did so, using an eye dropper to get the liquid into the Chihuahua’s mouth. As the small animal licked and swallowed, he handed Liz the box. “Follow the schedule on the box. Unless something gets worse, you should be able to stop tomorrow.”

Liz looked disappointed. “You’re sure you don’t need to keep him under observation for a few hours? I would rather wait than put him through the stress of another trip here, not to mention having to call you back.”

Gage didn’t believe the shapely brunette. She wasn’t the most subtle woman on the planet and had made it clear since their first meeting that he would be welcome in her bed anytime. That was why he’d left both doors in the examination room open, so Roy could hear what was happening at all times. The last thing he needed—especially after last night with Brooke—was for Liz to start unfounded rumors about them being an item.

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” he told her. “Besides, you look like you’re on your way somewhere.”

Liz immediately ran her hand over her white figure-hugging dress. “Why, thank you for noticing, Gage. Aren’t you the gentleman? But no, I’m just not one of those women who can allow herself to be seen in public looking anything less than her best.”

Even if her dog was gasping for breath? Gage wondered.

“It would just seem disrespectful to Darryl’s memory.”

The late Darryl Hooper had been mayor of Sweet Springs for two terms before dying prematurely of a heart attack last year. The tongue-in-cheek gossip around town was that second wife, Liz, had, one way or another, worn out the poor guy.

“Well, I’m sure he believes you’re doing him proud,” Gage drawled, handing the dog back to her. “Just make sure to keep Bandy calm and out of the sun. If he continues to rub at his face, you might cool him off with a cold compress. That’ll also help the swelling recede faster.” Hopefully, that would also keep her off the phone, calling him to give him updates he wasn’t asking for.

“All right, I’ll do my best.” Liz gave him a beseeching look that included a fluttering of her expensive false eyelashes. “Do I need to bring him in for a follow-up?”

The sound of Roy clearing his throat saved Gage from having to reply to that. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Roy poke his head in the doorway.

“Sorry, Doc, but we have a dog that got into antifreeze.”

Gage winced. “Damn. Will people ever learn?” Dogs found the taste of antifreeze appealing, and humans were warned relentlessly to keep such things in closed containers out of reach of animals, but he had to deal with at least a few cases a year of an animal that had imbibed some. In all but two cases, the liver damage was such that the animal had died.

He gave Liz an apologetic look. “Sorry. Time means everything in this case. Ah—no follow-up is needed. Roy, please get Mrs. Hooper checked out.”

Gage dashed out of the room, leaving Liz in Roy’s care. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t have charged for this service, minimal as it was. But he’d been more than generous to Liz in the past and suspected she was seeing that as encouragement. At this stage, she came here as often as high school kids showed up at the local Dairy Queen’s drive-through window.

In the main examination/operating room, Gage was surprised to see there was no one waiting for him, which wasn’t exactly a surprise, since he was belatedly realizing that he hadn’t heard anyone enter the building. He then went to the other three examination rooms, but they, too, were empty. What the heck was going on? he wondered.

“Thank you, Mrs. Hooper! Hope Banderas feels better soon.”

Roy never spoke in such a booming voice, unless he shouting a warning to Gage that he was about to get stepped on by a half ton of beef. That seemed a strong hint to Gage to wait for the sound of the front door buzzer indicating that Liz had left. Only then did he venture out front.

Coming to stand beside Roy, they watched Liz spin her metallic cashmere-colored Jaguar into a sharp U-turn and speed out of the lot. If Bandy wasn’t safely in his carrier kennel, he was definitely worrying about more than bee stings.

“What did you say to her?” Gage asked.

“I asked her to swipe her credit card. She’s been here four times in seven weeks, Doc, and hasn’t paid for any of the visits.”

“I felt guilty charging her when I didn’t do anything. Was it really four times? I thought it was two, maybe three. Well, thank you, Roy.”

“You’re welcome.”

It didn’t slip by Gage that Roy was issuing a message, something akin to “Let’s end this before it becomes town news.” That was fair. It was one of the many reasons he relied on him so much.

“I take it there’s no dog with a ruined liver?”

“Nope. Sorry for the momentary distress, but I knew anything less might not be enough to get her out of here.”

From the corner, Pete Ogilvie asked, “Do y’all think that tight dress is cutting off her circulation?”

“First, you need blood in your veins for that to happen,” Jerry Platt told the oldest member of their group. The so-called “kid” of their group had been seen in the company of Liz several times, the latest only a few weeks ago. This was the first time since then that he’d made any comment about her.

The other two men laughed, and Humphrey raised his head where he’d been laying contented between the old-timers. He wagged his tail as though amused, too.

“Let’s get the front door locked, and then we can neuter the two Delaney Labs.”

“The— Right. Let’s get it done.” Gage wasn’t about to tell Roy that he’d completely forgotten about the pups. That was a testament to how badly he wanted to get home and see Brooke again.

He’d tricked her into kissing him…and she hadn’t gotten angry. After a moment’s surprise and what had seemed a halfhearted protest, she’d looked at him differently—and in a good way. Before that changed, he wanted to kiss her again. Sadly, that wasn’t going to happen as soon as he would like.

For the first time since he could remember, he wasn’t grateful for being up to his neck in clients. Until now, he’d liked staying so busy that he had no time to think about what was missing in his life. But Brooke’s arrival was changing that fast.

“Remind me to do more than just talk about adding to our staff,” he told Roy.

The dark-haired man did a double take. “Be happy to, boss. You feeling okay?”

“Never better.”

When Brooke pulled into the driveway that night, she shut off the BMW’s engine but then just sat there in the dark, slumped against the seat, her eyes closed. What had begun as a successful and rewarding day had unraveled by the time she’d reached the hospital in the evening. Eager to share the day’s progress with her aunt, she’d found the room vacated. To her astonishment, Marsha had been transferred back to ICU!

Almost too weary to move, she forced herself. Humphrey would have heard or seen her pull in and would start barking and wailing at any moment. Gage’s pickup was in his driveway, and she didn’t want to disturb him. To be honest, she also wasn’t prepared to face him yet.

Exiting the car and locking up, she let herself inside the back gate and immediately saw more lights shining inside than she had left on. What on earth was going on?

As she started up the porch steps, the back door opened, and she came face-to-face with the man who had possessed more of her thoughts in the past twenty-four hours than was wise. Ignoring the jolt in her chest, she focused on something rational—the reason for him to be here. Kiss or no kiss, he wouldn’t take such liberties to just come over without an invitation. That must mean only one thing.

“Don’t tell me,” she groaned. “He acted up again?” She looked beyond him to where Humph was sitting, watching them and wagging his tail. “What is wrong with you? I intentionally left it darker in the house so you’d nap.”

Stepping back to let her enter, Gage explained, “I only got home a few minutes ago myself, and he must have seen my lights. That’s when he started a ruckus worse than last night. Maybe it’s only because you’re later, too. I hope you don’t mind me coming over, but he was getting tangled in the front drapes, then scratching at the door.”

“No, of course not, but I hate that you’re inconvenienced.”

“I’m not. Don’t give it a thought.”

But his news sent Brooke’s heart sinking as she set her purse on the counter. What else did they have to do to keep this animal behaving? Couldn’t she have at least an hour of pure silence to adjust to what was happening? What if the curtains were torn or the paint peeled? She had no time to deal with repairs. Feeling the avalanche of bad news threaten to overwhelm her, she covered her face with her hands.

“Hey.” Gage came up behind her and gently grasped her upper arms. “It’s really okay. He stopped as soon as he heard me, so there’s no real damage done. I checked. He helped.” His brief chuckle at his own humor ended quickly when he realized she wasn’t joining in. “Brooke?”

“I’m sorry, I can’t do this!”

“Aw, come on.” Gently turning her, Gage tilted his head to better see her face. “He’s just a dog, hon. Not even a very big one. A bit spoiled, agreed, and somewhat set in his ways—”

“A bit?” she cried. “It’s too much—and unfair. And added to everything else—”

The desperation, followed by a telltale hitch in her voice, had Gage frowning. “What’s happened that has you this shaken? Talk to me.”

She didn’t want to. She wasn’t ready to talk to anyone, particularly a man she didn’t want thinking the worst of her; but it was apparent that he wasn’t going anywhere, so she dropped her hands and said simply, “Aunt Marsha collapsed this afternoon.”

Gage’s expression mirrored what she thought hers had been when she had been told the news—shock and then dread. However, faster to recover, he drew her against his solid, broad chest. “Ah, jeez. I’m almost afraid to ask…. How is she?”

“Weak, but stable. They’re keeping her in ICU for the night.”

Kissing her on her forehead, Gage said, “You look ready to collapse yourself. Come, sit.” He urged her to a chair in the breakfast nook, then tugged out the one beside it and sat down before her, his long legs boxing her in. Resting his elbows on his knees, he enfolded her hands in his. “Start from the beginning,” he coaxed. “Did she reinjure her hip?”

“No, thank goodness. She was standing, but her therapist was with her at the time, and he managed to catch her. Only… Gage, it’s her heart.”

He bowed his head to her hands, resting his forehead against them before kissing them. “Sweetheart.” Then, raising his head, he looked deeply into her eyes. “They’re sure?”

“They’d done some tests before I got there—”

His expression reflected confusion. “When on earth did they call you?”

“They didn’t.”

“What?”

Brooke appreciated his guttural sound of indignation in her defense. Initially, she’d been offended, too; however, she’d soon learned enough to be more understanding. As concisely as possible, she told him about arriving just after dropping Humphrey at home and finding her aunt’s room vacated. Naturally, she’d thought the worst.

“Dear God. What a scare you had.”

“I think the shift change, along with their urgency to make sure she wasn’t having a heart attack or stroke, created the inevitable glitch in contacting me.” Brooke closed her eyes, trying to remember everything said and done. She was still dazed and felt terrible for her newly distressed aunt, who was now more exhausted than ever, after all she’d been put through to get data for the doctors to peruse. “They’ll repeat a few tests tomorrow, but they’re increasingly certain that it’s a heart-valve problem.”

“Damn,” Gage murmured, stroking the soft skin on the backs of her hands with his thumbs. “How’s she taking the news?”

“Oh, she’s trying to put up a good front…until I finally kissed her good night so she could try to get some sleep. She dropped her guard then, and I could see her fear and need for reassurance, yet at the same time her concern for me and for what this would do to my schedule.”

“Of course she would,” Gage replied. “I understand a valve replacement is a more dangerous and invasive procedure than a pacemaker, and that’s likely to lengthen her recuperation time.”

“Exactly,” Brooke said, only to add with determination, “but I can’t let her go back into surgery feeling guilty for needing more of my time.”

“Nevertheless, it’s a tough blow for you.” Gage gave her hands a gentle squeeze. “What can I do to help?”

The man was entirely too appealing for his own good. Wanting nothing more than to dump everything in his lap and curl there herself, she straightened her spine and said firmly, “You’re already doing plenty.” Then she added wryly, “Well, you could will me some of your patience with that one.”

As she nodded toward Humphrey, Gage scoffed at her self-deprecation. “You’re doing great with him. What you need is something to relax you so you can sleep. Mind if we open that other bottle of wine?”

Brooke gave him a droll smile. “I was planning to, so by all means.”

While he got busy, she used the time to slip out of her heels and the butter-yellow jacket she’d worn over an ivory silk blouse and matching slacks. Hanging the expensive jacket over the back of the chair, she thought she really had to find time to check out the boutique across from her aunt’s shop for some more casual clothes. Everything in her wardrobe made her look as though she was taking a Wall Street meeting. Granted, the jacket had been helpful in the cold hospital, but otherwise, it had felt pretentious and stuffy.

By the time she’d taken the clasp out of her hair and shaken it free, she was feeling the stranglehold of panic ease its grip on her throat, and she was breathing normally. “Thank you, you’re a lifesaver,” she told Gage as he brought the two glasses of wine to the table.

“Hey, if there’s any way my handing you your own wine makes you feel indebted to me, who am I to argue?” he teased, his gaze warm, although still concerned.

“It’s about more than that, and you know it.” Brooke took a grateful sip. “I will make this up to you, if only to prove I’m more competent and less selfish than I’ve been sounding this week.”

Resuming his seat, Gage looked completely perplexed. “What are you talking about? You’ve stepped up to the plate better than anyone could ask or would expect. You’re simply drained and dealing with this new blow just as Marsha is, and in your case, you have the added responsibility to keep a stiff upper lip for her sake.”

“You’re generous to look at it that way.” Encouraged by his logical thinking, she decided to share something she’d been pondering since learning her aunt’s latest health challenge. “There’s something I’ve decided to do that should help a little stress-wise. I have to get back to Dallas and let a real estate friend sell my place.”

Gage didn’t respond as fast as she had expected. He, too, looked caught between opposing emotions.

“Leaving my personal feelings out of this,” he finally replied, “I have to ask—aren’t you being a bit premature? You’re still reeling, and, as a financial expert, you know it’s never wise to make such a big and lasting decision so soon.”

“I know,” she replied, “but I also know that sometimes you don’t have the luxury of putting things off, and this is one of those times. They’ll undoubtedly do surgery at the most opportune moment when she’s stabilized and they’re certain about what they need to do. Thereafter, Aunt Marsha will need me more than ever. Better to get things rolling in the small window of opportunity that’s available.”

“There’s always the possibility that the doctors will alter their prognosis after tomorrow’s added testing.”

Brooke gave him a mournful look as she shook her head. “They’re not wrong. I’ve noticed her fatigue even before today, and made myself believe that she was naturally slowing down a bit.” Her tone grew wry. “What are you doing? You and Aunt Marsha have both been conniving to get me back here, and now you’re trying to talk me out of it?”

“It’s the circumstances. It will break Marsha’s heart to learn that you’re giving up your pride and joy—don’t tell me that your house is merely an investment. She talked about how much work you’ve put into it, and understood your need for independence.” As she raised her eyebrows at that latest admission, he shrugged. “Yeah, she used me as a sounding board at times and asked me for advice now and again—one of those times being when you stopped renting and chose to buy your own home.

“I understand how family can weigh in on major decisions,” he continued. “When I came down here for school and then stayed, my family wasn’t overjoyed, either, regardless of my feelings about the weather. My father thought I should set up practice up in Montana, so I could handle his stock in between dealing with my other clients. There were some stiff-necked attitudes for a while.”

“I’m sorry about that,” Brooke replied. “But this is different. You have a larger family. My aunt has no one but me—and as I think I told you, I’m the daughter she never had. If I can walk away from her in this moment of dire need, what does that say of my feelings for her?”

“Nobody has the right to judge you, even her, and she wouldn’t want you to give up your life for her, let alone your dreams, especially if she realized you were feeling trapped.”

Brooke uttered a sound of sheer misery. “Please, forget I ever admitted my feet of clay. The real truth is that no matter whether I had a job or not, I would be here.”

“That’s the bottom line, isn’t it?” Gage asked. “You had to work through some issues, but in the end your love and devotion for her came first.”

With no small admiration, Brooke replied, “You should have been a psychiatrist. I just hope Aunt Marsha doesn’t end up regretting me taking the liberties I have at the shop.”

Gage swirled the remaining wine in his glass. “I passed the store on my way to the bank this evening and saw the window-display changes. I’d say you’re doing great.”

“That’s all Kiki’s doing,” Brooke assured him. “She’ll appreciate the positive feedback.”

Taking another sip of his wine, Gage rose. “Well, if you’re wanting better feedback, I need nourishment, and considering how long you’ve been at the hospital, you do, too. How are you about omelets? I know Marsha always has some eggs and cheese in the place.”

Rising herself, Brooke protested. “I love them, but I wouldn’t feed you anything I make…except to maybe open a can of chicken soup and toast some bread. I think I can almost pull off a facsimile of bruschetta.”

“Which you could probably use to sustain yourself for two days,” Gage drawled. “I need more. Allow me.”

He set to work getting the essentials from the refrigerator, and within minutes the smell of frying bacon and onions was filling the kitchen. Brooke couldn’t stand not helping somehow and washed her hands in order to set the table.

“After the long day you’ve put in yourself, I can’t believe you have the energy for this,” she told him as she worked. “Weren’t you out on a call this evening?”

“Late surgeries,” he said over his shoulder.

When he left things at that, Brooke decided to not question how that had gone; in all honesty, she didn’t think she was ready to hear any more bad news. Instead, she noted as he grated the cheese and then whisked the eggs, “Aunt Marsha often made herself scrambled eggs, toast and jelly for dinner. You’re doing all that so efficiently, I can see you two are probably like kindred spirits in the kitchen when you get together.”

“Ah…no. I tend to make her sit down. I’m afraid of stepping on her small feet or poking her in the ribs with my elbows—and, by the way, I do see you’re barefoot. If you don’t want to see sweat turn this shirt into a floor mop, kindly remove those dainty things from my reach.”

His good humor and protectiveness with her made his description about time spent with her aunt all the more heartwarming. In fact, she barely caught herself in time as she started to reach out to rub his back with appreciation and affection.

What’s this? Not even Parker incited the touchy-feely impulse in you, unless he initiated it first.

“Do you think the bruschetta would be overkill or should I stick to making toast?” she asked, aware that she was sounding a bit breathless. She could easily stay out of his way by using the far side of the counter and the toaster oven, and she needed to do something to keep her imagination from getting out of control.

“Heck, no, get after it. Those tomatoes on the island look perfect. Besides, food tastes better if you had a hand in preparing it.”

She was grateful for his casual manner, and took the remaining half of a loaf of French bread from the refrigerator. “I thought the saying was that food tasted better when cooked outside over an open fire?”

“If I thought you owned a pair of jeans, I might prove that to you at the first opportunity.”

“I own jeans.”

“The designer kind, of course.”

He had her there. “There aren’t many hoedowns in my neighborhood.”

“Believe me, I fully appreciate the way you look. You’re elegant and at the same time quietly grab-your-larynx sexy. Nothing in-your-face about it.”

Something about his tone had Brooke wondering. “That sounds like you were describing someone in particular.”

Gage made a guttural sound. “There’s this client…”

“A lady.”

“You’re being overgenerous.”

Already convinced that Gage strove to be a gentleman at any cost, Brooke was totally intrigued. “It’s not just about too much perfume? She comes dressed for seduction? To the clinic? In front of your senior audience?”

“That about sums it up.”

“Other men might call you a lucky man,” she mused.

“None that know me. I told you—I like to do the chasing.”

She remembered, in this case, though, it was fun to play devil’s advocate. “On the other hand, for casual sex, do old-fashioned rules need to apply?”

With the spatula hovering over the sizzling pan, Gage intoned, “Liz isn’t the kind of woman one should risk casual anything with. Particularly sex.”

“Liz… I’m not sure I remember—”

“Hooper. Her husband—”

“Was once the mayor. Didn’t he pass away?”

“Almost a year ago, yeah.” With a soft snort, Gage added, “The guys at the clinic were enjoying a few laughs at Liz’s expense as to why and how.”

“Sweet Springs’ own Greek chorus,” Brooke mused. “No dull moments at your place. I may never have the courage to walk in there again.”

“Then you’d be making a mistake,” Gage said, suddenly and completely serious. “You’re as respected and admired as you would be anywhere.”

He wants to kiss you.

The realization hit Brooke the instant he turned so their gazes met and held. The fact that she wanted that—to experience the feeling of his lips on hers again, his taste, being held against that rock-solid body—left her almost weak-kneed, so much that she jumped when the toaster popped behind her.

Laughing in embarrassment, then sniffing at the telltale smell, she groaned. “Some help I am. I’ve burned the bread!”

Once they sat down to plates laden with steaming, aromatic food, Gage refilled their glasses. All the while he kept Brooke entertained with anecdotes from the clinic. In between, he slipped in a casual question or two—mostly harmless, nonsensical stuff—in order to relax her again. It eventually worked, but not totally. After that sexually charged moment, she’d withdrawn a bit into the comfort of her cool executive persona again.

It’s because she’s still committed to eventually leaving.

Not if he could help it. Gage felt terrible for Marsha’s latest crisis, but he damned well wasn’t going to let this opportunity for more time with Brooke go to waste.

“Better?” he asked after they’d spent a few minutes quietly and appreciatively feasting.

“Mmm…” Brooke closed her eyes as she finished chewing a bite of omelet. “It’s sublime. Why do my omelets taste like I’m eating a page torn from a magazine, while this is so moist, yet the vegetables have a crunch?”

“You have to stay close. I think the general rule is to cook scrambled eggs slowly, but omelets go in a hotter pan, therefore it’s done faster.”

“I’ll try to remember that. I guess the downside of growing up with a housekeeper is that I didn’t spend much time in the kitchen learning.” Brooke gave him a bemused look. “It seems my tab with you keeps rising.”

“We’re friends. There’s no counting.”

“I only meant—”

“I know.” Gage decided he’d been too sensitive and said with a sly grin, “Wait until you taste my tortilla soup.” The day would come, he thought with determination. “Whenever your aunt gets the sniffles, I make it for her.”

“Taking the cures with Gage,” Brooke quipped. “That sounds like it should be the title of a tiramisu-rich indie film to enjoy on a lazy Sunday afternoon.”

His insides twisted with hunger and did it again when she glanced at him from under her long lashes. Those peeks were more shy than flirtatious; such a contrast to the character she strove for outside of this safe place. He found that beguiling, as tantalizing as the sleek body she framed in professional suits, silk though they were.

Feeling himself getting aroused, he shifted in his seat. “Ah…when were you planning to return to Dallas?”

“As soon as possible. I’ll know more tomorrow after the doctors finish their tests, but I’m thinking that I should be able to get over there on Sunday and at least pack my clothes and talk to my friend Andi—Andrea Demarco, the agent I mentioned. We can do the detail work later, and fax forms back and forth to formally get the house listed.”

“I’ll come with you.” Gage knew he would have to clear a few things off his own calendar and arrange for someone to cover for him, but he would IOU himself to his neck to manage that. “We’ll use my truck. Don’t argue,” he said, as he saw protest in her eyes. “You can’t carry anything in that bracelet charm of a car you drive.”

That had Brooke choking and needing a sip of wine to recover. “That’s funny,” she finally managed. “And you’re right—practical it isn’t. But…you’re serious? There’s no denying what a help you would be. On the other hand, you have such responsibilities here. You’re on call 24/7.”

“In emergencies, we arrange for another vet willing to cover for us. I can even free Monday if need be. If you could arrange something similar for the store, I think we could get you fairly squared away.”

“Undoubtedly.” Brooke stared at him as though he was someone a fairy godmother had conjured for her. “Gage, seriously? I’m no pack rat, so it shouldn’t take that long. Maybe half of Monday at the worst. Only…you have such little time for yourself as it is.”

Until now, he’d had as much as he needed. Now he was aiming for what he wanted. Ignoring her latest protest, he playfully held up his hands to frame her like a photographer, and said, “The truck’s backseat will probably hold the entire contents of your clothes closet—even if you’re more of a fashionista than you look.”

“Ho-ho, mister,” she said, pointing her fork at him. “May I remind you that I’m into quality, not quantity.”

He knew that, without needing to see that closet. She wore the same diamond-and-gold knot earrings every day, and the same gold chain. She wore no rings or bracelets, only occasionally a gold watch.

“Any furniture that you can’t live without until the sale?” he asked. “We’ll have an empty truck bed. We’ll just need to bring blankets and rope to keep things from getting scratched.”

After only a slight hesitation, she shook her head. Her expression almost sad, she said, “I don’t think so. Just personal belongings. The house will show better with furniture anyway. Besides, you’ve undoubtedly noticed what a collector Aunt Marsha is. It doesn’t need one more thing added to it.”

The admission had her quickly dropping her gaze to her plate. It was obvious that she regretted even that much criticism.

“Are you okay?” Gage asked gruffly.

“Not really. It’s just that…this is actually going to happen. All of it, and it feels so déjà vu.”

Understanding that she was being reminded of the upheaval she’d lived through when losing her mother, Gage muttered, “Hell, Brooke, please don’t cry.”

“Easy for you to say,” she said, dabbing under her eyes with her napkin.

“Well, think about this—if you do, I’ll feel obliged to carry you upstairs, and if that happens, angel, all deals are off.”

Chapter Four

“Whatever you want—it’s yours.”

It was Sunday, and Brooke had unlocked the door to her Turtle Creek home, welcoming in Gage. After his outburst on Thursday night, he’d half believed that she would cancel this trip—or make different arrangements. Then on Friday when her aunt’s condition had worsened and the doctors were thinking that the valve procedure was impossible, he’d wondered if the trip would happen at all. However, later Saturday, Marsha had rallied, and here they were.

Brooke’s house bordered University Park, near SMU, another of the most desired neighborhoods around the heart of Dallas. He’d passed through the area a few times while familiarizing himself with the region during holiday breaks, and it was still a prime real estate area. No surprise, then, that Brooke had claimed a piece of it for herself. In her world, the world her father had groomed her to live in, prestige meant a great deal.

“Now who’s being provocative?” He wasn’t referring to her welcome, rather her laughing gasp, then gentle demurring, after he’d seductively warned her on Thursday night.

“I was referring to whatever is in the kitchen or wine cooler,” she explained. “Please help yourself.” But the schoolmarm-like enunciating didn’t work because she was failing at keeping a straight face. “Just get your mind out of the gutter, Doctor.”

“That was nowhere close to where my mind was,” he murmured.

As he followed Brooke into her cozy cottage, he thought it was welcomingly more romantic than what he’d expected from a fast-tracking young executive. The 1950s dark brick-and-mortar structure with pronounced V-roofing and diamond-shaped lead windows reminded Gage of the dollhouse his sisters had played with as kids, and he said as much to Brooke.

“I played with one, too,” Brooke replied. “People sometimes call them gingerbread houses. Our housekeeper had been a German widow and her name for the style was Hexenhaus. Witch house,” she translated, “like in the Hansel and Gretel story.”

“No wonder I feel like a giant in here.”

“Don’t worry, it’s not so small that you’ll bang your head anywhere.”

She was right, and despite what the outside suggested, the interior had been totally updated, including fixtures and appliances current to what today’s homeowners desired. The decorating scheme was sophisticated, the colors soothing—a mixture of taupe, ice-blue and ivory, a theme carried throughout the house, except for the ivory and gold in the kitchen, designed to please a weekend chef. Gage was tempted to tease Brooke by asking if the owner’s manual was still taped to the top rack in the oven, but one look at her biting her lower lip, and he decided not to push his luck. Instead, he noted that the furnishings were inviting but true to her claim that she didn’t equate quantity with quality on any level.

“I can see you in here,” he said, slowly nodding as he continued to look around.

“That’s sweet, but after a week away, it already feels like someone else’s home.” Brooke set her leather shoulder bag on a brass and ivory-suede bar stool and waved her arms to encompass the room. “Well, I meant it—make yourself at home. That door across from the laundry room is a bathroom. There’s another midway down the hall leading to the bedrooms, and another in the master suite. Andi should be here at any minute, so I’m going to check in with Aunt Marsha and let her know we’ve arrived.”

“I’ll start getting the boxes from the truck.”

Gage understood Brooke was still basically winging things emotionally. No matter how Marsha’s doctor tried to soft-pedal around issues, Gage knew the dear woman would need to take things more slowly from here on, and it was likely that her days of running Newman’s Florist and Gifts were also at an end. Brooke hadn’t said more about that and was remaining stoic, and Gage couldn’t have been prouder of her. It was totally human to dread, or at least worry about, what was going on, and it was a true example of character that she did it with such grace.

On his second trip back to the truck to retrieve more boxes, a sleek white Mercedes SL550 pulled into the driveway, stopping him in his tracks. Although it was a cloudy day, the raven-haired driver lowered her Jackie Kennedy-style sunglasses to eye Gage over their black rims. So this was Andi, he thought. Brooke’s college friend and the BFF who’d helped her purchase this house some three years ago. Also true to advertisement, Andrea Demarco emerged from the sporty coupe like a model filming a pricey commercial. Gage watched long, gleaming legs, then the rest of an attention-getting body, finely encased in a silk khaki dress, emerge. The four-inch heels were leopard print, as was her briefcase-style purse. The woman looked ready for a shopping safari…or to bid highest at a charity auction—particularly if the next item up was male. Another Liz Hooper? he wondered. He couldn’t see someone like Brooke being anything more than polite with someone like that.

“You must be Andi,” he said, stepping forward to extend his hand. He expected quick rejection, since he was wearing a T-shirt and jeans—in his case the shirt was Texas A&M maroon and white. But this was as good a time as any to find out if this modern-day Queen of Sheba would be a help or hindrance where Brooke was concerned.

“I must if you’re Gage,” she purred. “Goodness, Brooke told me that I had a treat in store, but she didn’t tell me that her doctor friend was such a specimen.”

“Just a veterinarian,” he replied, accepting her slender limb that was adorned by an array of gold bangles and diamond rings.

“Woof.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle at her easy flirting, especially since her sultry gray eyes held a subtle acknowledgment that she knew where to draw the line if necessary. At least Andi’s approach was far more relaxed than Liz Hooper’s edgy, almost desperate style.

“Brooke will be relieved that you’re here,” he told the undeniably attractive real estate agent. “She could use your moral support. It’s been a hard week for her.”

“I’ve gathered as much. Having expected her to stay in this place for several more years, I know it would be no small thing to make her put it on the market.” Andi eyed the house and the lush and whimsical landscaping. “On the other hand, I’ve been drawn to this property since I first showed it to her. Believe me, it looked nothing like it does now. I hate that her aunt’s not well and that Brooke will have to stay put in Sweet Springs for some time, but I’m thrilled with the chance to get her the price she deserves.”

“She’ll appreciate that. Someday.”

Andi turned to study him anew. “Not only handsome, but sensitive.”

“I’m nice to kids and senior citizens, too.”

Laughing, Andi said, “Lead me to our fair friend before I forget that I’m supposed to be here on business.”

With a wry smile, Gage grabbed up the last bundle of boxes and opened the door for Andi. As soon as Brooke spotted them, she rushed to the taller woman and hugged her.

“It’s so good to see you. Thank you for coming. I know the property is small potatoes compared to what you’re handling these days.”

“Nonsense. Besides, a storage shed is worth a nice bundle in this neighborhood, and your precious abode is anything but.” Then Andi leaned back to study her friend. “What a spell you’ve had. I’ve been worried for you—and Marsha, of course. How is she?”

“Scared. A hip is bad enough. A heart…” Brooke shook her head.

“I can’t imagine. But having you there has to be a huge reassurance.” Andi hugged her again. “So tell me—what stays and what goes?”

“I’ve drawn you up a list.”

As she went to pluck it up from the kitchen counter, Andi gave Gage a look of pride. “I’m efficient. That one makes me look like a rank amateur. If all of my clients were this thoughtful and thorough, I could handle twice the clientele that I do, and there would be fewer misunderstandings.” But when she looked at the list that Brooke handed over, her carefully tweezed eyebrows arched higher. “Good grief. Darling, mad friend, you have obviously been working too hard and lost all sense of reason. Practically everything is on this list.”

Although Brooke’s gaze held regret as she inspected the room, she still ended up shrugging. “I hate the idea of these beautiful pieces being locked away out of sight for who knows how long. At least this way they would be used and enjoyed…if you happen to find the buyer who will fall in love with them as I did.”

Andi remained confused. “Why would you need to put anything in storage? You said your aunt’s house is as large as some museums.”

“Also as full as one,” Brooke replied, drily. “And then there are all of those stairs. After two trips up to the attic, which is my option, although probably crammed, too, the movers would likely abandon the rest of my things on the veranda and back porch and run for their lives.”

Leaning against the counter, Gage raised his right hand. “Permission to interject? You know I’m going to help,” he told Brooke. The look he gave her underscored that the matter wasn’t up for discussion.

“You’re doing plenty helping me this weekend,” she insisted. “Not to mention everything you’ve done up until now. What if you injure your back? I have enough on my conscience as it is.”

“It is a very nice back,” Andi murmured from behind them. “And—oh, my—strong.”

Casting Andi a wry look, Gage told Brooke, “This is clearly a good time to tell you that I have plenty of empty rooms at my place—and half are on the first floor. Anything not sensitive to dust or humidity—garden tools, lawn furniture—could go in the barn. The movers could back a truck halfway inside and let the hydraulic lift do the majority of the work.”

Stepping forward to lean against the counter, Andi gave Brooke and Gage a narrow-eyed look, then drawled to her friend, “Don’t let me leave without getting the number of your fairy godmother. If there’s another man half as good as this one appears to be, I’ll take that introduction as payment of your IOU.”

All but blushing, Brooke uttered, “You’re embarrassing him—and me.”

“And me,” Andi replied cryptically. Then with an ironic laugh, she set down her bag and took out her Android and notebook. “No damage. I’ll get started on taking measurements and pictures. Call me when you two are ready for wine. I want to know if there’s anything else worth seeing in East Texas.”

Brooke waited until the door shut behind Andi. Only then did she say quietly to Gage, “She’s a wonderful person, but she recently broke up with her live-in boyfriend. It’s made her a bit more sardonic than usual. They’d been together for years, and she’d believed that they were together for life, wedding or no wedding. On her birthday, instead of a gift, he told her that he wasn’t having any fun anymore and was ready to move out and move on.”

“Sorry to hear that,” Gage replied, as he tried to play catch-up. Something was clearly going on. “She’s an attractive woman.”

“She’s stunning! She’s like an exotic bird.”

Brooke’s almost hurt expression had him wanting to take her in his arms. For a sophisticated businesswoman herself, she was something of an innocent when it came to personal relationships. It seemed that when she finally embraced someone, she did so with a child’s wholeheartedness and acceptance. Gage had yet to be convinced that Andi deserved such trust. After all, she was sure giving him strong hints that she would like to do more than get to know him better. On the other hand, he was beginning to think part of that was due to Brooke encouraging that.

“Cosmetics help,” he said, watching her closely, “but the jury is still out on what she’s like on the inside.”

“Men like women with legs that go up to their armpits.”

“Especially in Vegas,” Gage drawled. “But I can’t see how a physical asset would help in a struggling relationship. I do like her frankness, and she seems to have a good sense of humor.”

“Since when do men care about a woman’s sense of humor?”

“Always.” Gage smiled grimly. “Particularly when they’re in trouble—like now.”

Brooke relaxed somewhat. “I want you to like my friend.”

“I think I will. Only don’t hold it against me if I can’t help liking you more. Much more.”

The moment was out of a movie scene set up where the woman was meant to go all soft and willing, and the guy, reassured, would move in for a sigh-winning, applause-worthy kiss. Instead, Brooke turned away and started fluffing up the pillows on the couch and then an armchair.

“You just know me longer, that’s all,” she told him. “Give her a chance.”

Gage couldn’t believe what he was hearing. After all of the tender and tempting moments they’d shared in the past week, he felt worse than let down. He felt…what? Betrayed? Used?

“I think a better use of my time would be to get these boxes put together.” With that, Gage picked up the armful and went into the living room before he said something he would regret.

Some three hours later, the three of them sat in the breakfast nook finishing their lunch. Brooke had ordered Asian takeout from her favorite restaurant only blocks away. Having had enough of her sesame chicken, she sipped at her Chardonnay and watched Andi and Gage engaged in an animated conversation. She was certain that it was her imagination, but both of them seemed determined to prove something—to her—and it was making Brooke increasingly uncomfortable.

“Why shouldn’t I have a dog?” Andi wasn’t just challenging Gage, she clicked her chopsticks together as though tempted to pluck something off him.

“Because he—or she—can’t provide you with what you’re really looking for.” On the surface, he appeared all calm reason, only to stab his fork into a piece of broccoli with a bit too much relish. “Besides, you work too much. Ask Brooke about Humphrey. A dog needs attention, companionship and exercise. Unless you’re willing to invest that kind of time, you’re not going to get the pet you’re expecting.”

Andi didn’t respond well to that. “For pity’s sake, it’s not like I’m talking about adopting a rescued greyhound from a racetrack that will be kenneled all day. I meant something small, a toy something that I can carry in my bag. They make black poodles in that size, don’t they?” Andi turned to Brooke, looking for affirmation as much as confirmation.

“I hear the last place producing them refused to go union, so the employees walked off the job and the operation went bankrupt,” Gage drawled. “Now you have to order them from Guam, and you can only get them in white.”

That bit of outlandishness had Brooke reaching for the bottle of wine. As she poured a little more into her glass, she thought perhaps she should have warned Gage that Andi saw contention like another dimension of foreplay. He wasn’t going to upset her; he was playing right into her hands.

As though reading her mind, Andi said to Gage, a glint in her eye, “You’re getting annoyed with me.”

“Not at all. Only you remind me of the woman who was eager to breed her young dachshund, and, considering its age, I asked if it had even gone into heat yet. She told me it had been curling up by the hot water heater since the first day she brought it home.”

Just in case she was wrong in her estimation, Brooke eased the chopsticks out of Andi’s grasp.

“Well, I think it would be adorable for me to enter clients’ homes toting a little poodle version of me,” Andi said to Brooke.

Not daring to look at Gage, she replied, “No doubt about it.”

“What will the homeowners say when they discover only one of you is housebroken?” he drawled.

“Gage!” Brooke sent him a pleading look.

As though she’d heard nothing, Andi continued. “We could wear matching nail polish and bling.”

“Dogs aren’t fashion accessories.” Gage enunciated each word.

Wondering how a pleasant hour could go so horribly wrong, Brooke snapped. “Enough, you two!” She said to Andi, “You’ll long turn heads whether you adopt a pet or not. The point is that you’ve never been any more drawn to animals than I have. Is adoption really right for you?”

“What is?” Andi tossed back the last sip of her wine only to set the glass on the wooden table with a thud. “Okay, here’s the thing. After several dates since breaking up with he whose name will not be spoken, each guy has been worse than the next. Remember Must Love Dogs? Diane Lane’s website-generated applicants were princes compared to the characters that I’ve been paired with.”

“I’m so sorry! Here, take my wine.” Brooke slid over her glass. Although she could have lived the rest of her life without Gage hearing this, she replied, “You’re way braver than I will ever be by doing that. I’ve seen the commercials, sure, but to actually go online? No way.”

“Besides, think of what your father would say?” Gage asked, his expression benign.

Not only did Brooke glare at him, Andi joined her.

“Well, fear not,” Andi soon added. “I’ve given up the whole business, but look where that leaves me. You’re pulling up stakes. My Friday-night safety net!”

Brooke shook her head, not buying into her angst out of sheer necessity. “I’ll be barely more than two hours away, not across state lines. By the way, during the week, don’t we mostly text anyway?”

“But I live for our sleepovers.” Andi reached over to squeeze Brooke’s hand. “They’re like a weekend at a spa, without strangers judging your body.” She turned to Gage. “No doubt you’ve already grasped this, but this one is the best listener on the planet.”

“Only because your stories are always far more entertaining than mine,” Brooke quickly assured her, afraid of what Gage might say.

“Sadly, true.” Andi’s chuckle was short-lived when she added in all seriousness, “The fact is that you were fine-tuned by Daddy Dearest, who believed in the archaic notion that children should be seen, not heard, and you’ve yet to really escape that demoralizing indoctrination.’“

“Thanks,” Brooke replied with a wry twist of her lips. “I love being called a robot.”

“You know the financial world better than anyone I know. Probably as well as The Donald at your age—maybe even Warren Buffet. I just wish you’d be as confident about yourself.”

As Brooke lowered her eyes, Gage offered to Andi, “As the minority voice on the subject of dating, might I suggest that your bad luck in love is relative to some people finding themselves unable to get pregnant?”

The raven-haired Realtor smiled into his eyes. “Probably because my motto is do it well or not at all.” As mischief lit her sultry gray eyes, she all but pleaded, “Please tell me you at least have a twin?”

“Sorry. I do have three brothers and two sisters, though.”

Her interest sharpening, she straightened in her seat. “Any of them single? The brothers, I mean.”

“Two. But you’ll never get them out of Montana.”

Andi turned to Brooke, giving her a “You see? I have no luck” look. Pouring Brooke’s wine into her glass, she rose. “I’ll take this with me if you don’t mind. It’s time for me to return a few calls and otherwise get back to work, so you can get to yours.”

As the back door closed behind her, Gage said to Brooke, “She’s definitely a live wire. I would never have guessed that you two could be such good friends.”

Simultaneously wondering if that could continue, and thinking she now knew what an abused tennis ball at Wimbledon felt like, Brooke could only reply, “You provoked her.”

“Hit the rewind button, sweetheart. Only after she started it.”

Since he was right, she could only defend her friend on merit. “Andi is more of an extrovert than I’ll ever be, but she has a big heart, and from the first, she protected me and my interests as I shopped for a house that would be a home as much as an investment. She’s become my best friend.”

“I want to agree—especially when she referred to your father as Daddy Dearest.”

“Your ears almost went to attention like Humphrey’s when she spoke of him.” With no leftovers to see to, Brooke stacked one container into the other and carried them to the trash. “Just don’t misunderstand. My father was never physically abusive.”

“Okay, but what about emotionally?”

The question had her struggling for an answer. “Not everyone is born the demonstrative type. That doesn’t make him a bad person.”

Gage rose, too, and carried their plates and silverware to the sink. “And how often did you cry yourself to sleep? Not because he was busy, or because you were missing your mother?”

She knew what he was asking, and his challenge made her feel as though she was having that awful naked-in-public dream; however, she couldn’t stay upset with him. She knew he was trying to understand and be supportive. But the need to keep some walls up seemed wisest, even if it would hurt him. “I’ll say it again, you should open a side business as an analyst, Doc.”

“I’d go broke, my problem being an interest in only analyzing a certain individual.”

Brooke added the empty wine bottle to the trash and, too, a fantasy. “I’m not sure I’m worth that much of your time.”

“I disagree, but I wouldn’t expect a modest person like yourself to say anything else.” He came to her and took hold of her arms, forcing her to meet his somber scrutiny. “Let’s just get one thing cleared up. Stop trying to hook me up with your friend.”

“Groan and blush,” she said, lowering her gaze. “I’m embarrassed enough without hearing how easily you saw through what I’d attempted.”

“Failure was inevitable, since your heart disagrees with your head.”

It felt so natural and right to be standing like this that Brooke didn’t realize she was stroking his chest until he covered her hand with his and stayed it so she could feel the powerful rhythm of his heartbeat. That drew her gaze to meet his.

Brooke forgot about where they were and that Andi was only beyond a door or wall. She was transported to the other night when they’d sat together and all had seemed safe and right with the world. “This is such a mistake,” she said, helplessly focusing on his mouth.

“Let me prove otherwise.”

As he lowered his head, Brooke felt her body react as though someone tripped a switch. The mere brush of his lips—incredibly tender yet coaxing—made her feel both cherished and desired. When she yielded to invite more, he didn’t disappoint, soon kissing her in a way that had her uttering a soft sound of yearning and wrapping her arms around his neck.

“This is the woman I’ve seen watching me,” he said against her lips.

He initiated another kiss, lifting her off her feet as he drew her tightly against him to align their bodies. Brooke could feel her nipples harden to sharp points against his chest, and his growing arousal between her thighs. After concluding that she was a woman of limited passion and sensuality, it was as thrilling as it was startling to realize there was someone who could bring her this high this fast that she couldn’t voice any cohesive thought.

“I wish we were alone, so I could really kiss you.”

The shiver that rushed through her body was all about the assurance that there could be more, that his kisses could get any better. As much as she wanted that, Brooke made herself push against his shoulders until he set her back on his feet. “Andi,” she said simply.

With a sigh, Gage allowed, “Yeah, I know. Sorry.” He looked as thrown as she was.

“It’s not like I don’t want this, too.” Seeing her lip gloss on his mouth, she quickly wiped it away with her thumb.

“It’s about time.” The smoldering look he gave her made Brooke feel as though she was a heartbeat away from being in his arms again. “For such a small slip of a woman, you have annoyingly strong willpower.”

Not anymore she didn’t. Not where he was concerned, and when he reached out to brush his thumb over her taut nipple, exposed due to her thin T-shirt and sheerer bra, she moaned and crossed her arms over herself. “Please. I have to go outside and talk to Andi.”

“If she tries to talk you into anything kinky, try to remember that I’m a one-woman man.”

Unable to suppress it, Brooke burst out laughing. “And bad.”

Minutes later, when Brooke got outside, Andi wasn’t where she’d last seen her. That wasn’t unwelcome news. Still feeling her lips tingling from Gage’s kisses, she suspected they remained a bit red and swollen, as well. Buying herself another minute or two, she went to check the mailbox, even though she’d had her mail transferred to Sweet Springs. Finding it as empty as it should be, she headed to the back of the house.

“I was about to come ask you if all of this garden sculpture stays,” Andi said, taking a photo of the man-size tiered concrete fountain tucked in the corner where the kitchen nook’s bay window looked out over the backyard. “It’s not on your list.”

Brooke’s felt a wave of relief knowing that if Andi had been any quicker in her work, she would have witnessed way more than was helpful.

“I’d only gotten around to inside things so far,” Brooke replied. “But, yes, everything was bought to fit this landscape. It would be aesthetically wrong to remove it.”

Andi nodded her approval. “You’re going to make someone very happy, and my job easier yet. This will definitely be a move-in-ready property, both indoors and out.”

“Well, even though I never expected this moment, you taught me what it takes to get a fast offer,” Brooke reminded her. “And a quick sale will, hopefully, make this less painful.”

As she focused on her notes, Andi asked, “Will you buy something in East Texas? You do have to think of some kind of reinvestment to avoid getting hit with taxes.”

Oh, God, Brooke thought. She just hoped that Gage wasn’t watching. “I don’t know. I hadn’t thought that far ahead. It’s not like I need another house to maintain, and all signs are such that Aunt Marsha may never be able to resume residence in her own home. At least not without live-in help.”

“Then there’s Gage’s house next door,” Andi said, bringing matters closer to the real subject. “He said you haven’t seen it yet? You’d better go have a look. You need to find out if it’s a single-guy nightmare or a king’s castle awaiting the right queen. Even at that, it will need some feminine touches.”

Brooke gave up and blurted, “Andi, seriously, that’s the least thing I—”

“Uh-uh!” Andi held up one perfectly manicured finger to silence her. “Don’t even try to go there. We’re friends, correct? I am well familiar with your ladylike ways and how you try to do no harm. I know you.”

“I honestly did mean for you two to meet.”

“I believe that. Just as I believe that while you didn’t want to have feelings for someone, you’d planned—may still be planning—to say goodbye to soon, that’s exactly what’s happened.” Andi shook her magnificent raven mane behind her shoulders. “And face it—he’s half besotted with you. Don’t think I don’t wish otherwise. Believe me, I was ready to give him my business card in the hopes that he would find some time to race down the interstate and address my issues.”

Knowing better than to insult her friend’s intelligence with any more denials, Brooke reached for her. “I’m sick over this. I didn’t go looking for it, and it’s a complication that I don’t need.”

“Oh, shut it,” Andi scoffed good-naturedly, as she hugged her back. “He’s all man in that classical-cowboy sort of way. He knows who he is. How often do you run across someone so balanced? Don’t blow this, which you could, since you’ve never been one to compartmentalize. You gave those bloodsucker employers of yours your undivided attention. Granted, that probably saved you from marrying a clueless jerk, but now you’re giving your aunt and her business that same devoted focus. Let me tell you, Gage is no Parker, and he’ll demand you change your ways. He wants his share of those soulful, melt-your-heart, brown-eyed gazes, and you’d better give them to him.”

Andi checked her latest picture and then pocketed her phone. “I’m done. Time for me to head to the office to start on the paperwork. You’ll probably be back in Sweet Springs before I get everything set. I’ll fax everything you need to sign tomorrow.” Suddenly stopping midway to her car, she announced, “We haven’t even talked a price yet.”

At that moment, Brooke was torn between laughter and tears. “You’re the expert. I trust you.”

“Are you sure?”

It was nearly seven-thirty in the evening when Brooke came into the study to tell Gage that they should call it a day. While his back was getting stiff from packing and stacking boxes of books and his stomach had begun to growl from hunger, he knew—finished or not—they had to head back to Sweet Springs tomorrow, and there were still things to do. At this point, that’s all he wanted to focus on.

“Let me get these last two boxes done. Then how about I get your kitchen packed?” he asked. “I’ve checked it out, and it won’t take me another hour. You have the emptiest set of cupboards that I’ve ever seen outside of a model home. I know you don’t cook for yourself, but what? No dinner parties? Not even catered?”

“Not here.” She shrugged. “Most of my clients are men, and not all of them are married. Those who are don’t always bring their wives to a dinner meeting. To avoid complications, it’s best to hold dinners elsewhere. The same with private parties. I just didn’t have the time to spend in the kitchen.”

For once, Gage was pleased with the news. No wonder the fridge held mostly wine, beer and bottled water. On the other hand, he was also convinced that Brooke would spend more time in the kitchen if there was someone there that she wanted to be with. He’d already proved that to himself.

“You have to be exhausted from tackling your bedroom and bathroom. Why don’t you make us something to drink and keep me company?” He requested a scotch and water for himself.

“Consider it done. I’ll be the designated driver. If I drink now, I’ll fall over on the couch and sleep until sunrise. While I’m gone, you decide where we should go to eat. There are some casual steak houses and breweries that serve great burgers and grilled food close by.”

The idea of having to share her again didn’t appeal to Gage at all. “It’s Sunday night—everything is going to be so packed, we won’t be able to hear ourselves think, let alone hold a conversation. We could go to that gourmet market we passed on the way here.”

“I can’t let you cook after all you’ve already done,” Brooke said, her tone adamant. “What about pizza?”

“Sounds great.”

“Then tell me how you like yours. I’ll call as soon as I bring you that drink.”

In fact, it was just under an hour later that Gage washed up, then got the door for the kid delivering their dinner. Brooke was still on the phone checking on her aunt one last time for the day. The sun was sinking fast, and as he carried the pizza box to the kitchen nook, he admired the way the light played off the live oak and juniper trees artfully framing the small but photogenic backyard. If this property was in East Texas, he could live contentedly here, he mused, as he set the box on the table.

About to refresh his drink, he pantomimed to Brooke, asking whether she wanted wine or whatever? Still listening to her aunt, she went to the cooler and got out a bottle of cabernet, which she handed him.

Winking at her, he opened the bottle and poured so it could get to its best temperature before attending to his glass. He didn’t pretend not to be listening to Brooke’s side of the conversation. It reassured him that there was no hint of the cool, formal financier in her tone; she was all warmth and concern.

“No, dear, I’m not coming tonight. We’re still in Dallas. Yes, that’s right, I did explain earlier today, but you were in between nurse and doctor visits. It’s perfectly reasonable to have gotten confused. I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon for sure, as soon as we unload.” She deftly took two plates from a cabinet and handed them to Gage. “I know where to put things, Aunt Marsha, not to worry.” Lifting a roll of paper towels off its pewter pedestal, she passed it to him, as well. “Humphrey is doing fine. Gage spoke with Roy earlier. Humph has a girlfriend, a yellow Labrador named Lily. No, Gage didn’t get a new dog yet. Her people are out of town, and she’s being kenneled at the clinic.” Brooke looked toward Gage and grinned. “Well, I’m sure you’re about to make his day. I’ll tell him. Try to get some sleep, dear. I’ll be there soon.”

“Now you’re ready for this wine,” Gage said, as soon as she disconnected and set down the phone on the counter.

Thanking him, she settled in the seat next to his and indulged in a slow sip. Only then did she pass on her message. “Aunt Marsha says to consider yourself kissed for making sure Humphrey is being so well taken care of.”

Pretending to be unconvinced, Gage replied, “I think she told you to give me a kiss for her. I caught that smile—it was a dead giveaway.”

“You’ll just have to ask her when we get back to Sweet Springs.”

“I’m being cheated,” he muttered, but he couldn’t keep a straight face as he opened the pizza box. If there was any grace and justice in the universe, he would get kissed before the night was over. “Is she holding up okay? It sounded like she was having some memory or focus issues.”

Sighing, Brooke nodded her agreement. “But there’s good cause—since my last call, she learned that they’re bumping up her surgery.”

“Is that right? How soon?”

“It’s now scheduled for Thursday.”

On Friday, the doctor had said that they’d scheduled her for Tuesday in a week. “Wow,” Gage said. “Did something happen to make them do that?”

“She couldn’t remember their specific reasoning.” The look she gave him signaled that it brought back the concern about her memory. “I suspect the doctor didn’t like her numbers. It’s the first thing I’ll look into tomorrow.”

The mask of the calm nurturer was gone. In its place was the face of a niece wracked with doubt and dread as she picked up his plate and slid on two slices of the pie.

“It will be all right,” he assured her, reaching over to stroke her cheek.

“What if she’s too weak, or there’s some other problem they haven’t factored in?”

“You can’t think that way.” He accepted the plate. “The point is that she’s in the best place possible if there is a problem. You certainly won’t be of help to her if you make yourself sick.”

Taking a sip of her wine, Brooke assured him, “Believe me, she won’t see this side of me when I step into her room.”

“Then I’m doubly grateful that you’re being so open with me.”

“Well, let’s eat before this wine makes me a total goofball,” she declared. “The pizza smells out of this world! Andi and I usually try for a modicum of restraint and order the thinnest crust and veggie kind.”

That won her a pitying look from him. “Women. Then what’s the point?”

He’d asked for a pepperoni, sausage and jalapeño, thick crust with extra cheese. Brooke had already warned him that she would be plucking all peppers off hers, which she proceeded to do.

“You don’t know what’s good for you,” Gage scoffed, as he held his slice close for her to dispose of them.

“Some of the juice will still be on there. That’s about my speed.”

“I should have known when you ordered sesame chicken for lunch. I guess I should be glad you didn’t ask for half of this to be Canadian bacon with pineapple.”

Gage ate with relish, but he enjoyed watching her more ladylike restraint and how she dabbed at her mouth with a paper towel after each bite, although there wasn’t even a crumb lingering on her lips. “Have you ever so much as dropped something on your clothes since you were…maybe in training pants?” He seriously doubted it.

Brooke’s brown eyes lit with self-deprecating humor. “I have terrible luck with Italian food. It’s so bad that I’ve learned never to order it unless I’m eating here at home. It’s the spinning-in-the-fork thing. I think I’m doing well, but my clothes end up looking like a TV drama’s crime-scene splatter photo.”

“That’s impossible,” Gage replied. “Anyone who handles chopsticks as well as you do? At lunch I was thinking you must have an Asian great granny in your family tree. I wish I’d have thought of Italian. I’d make a donation to your favorite charity to see sauce on your nose.”

About to reply, Brooke paused when her cell phone buzzed. She immediately dabbed her mouth and rose. “Sorry. I wasn’t expecting any calls since I spoke to Aunt Marsha. I should have turned it off. It’s my pet peeve when people think they’re so important they need you to see them taking inane calls during a meal.” But her wry smile froze the moment she picked it up. “Oh, damn. It’s…my father.”

Gage didn’t care for the way she pressed her hand to her abdomen as though she was about to lose the few bites of dinner she’d consumed. What kind of parent did that to a child he supposedly loved? Sure, things hadn’t always gone smoothly between him and his father, but he’d known his old man would lose a leg before seeing one of his kids suffer.

Brooke took the call and turned her back to Gage. “Hi, Dad. Just back in the States?”

Damon Chandler Bellamy. Gage had heard his full name earlier in the day, sardonically spoken by Andi, and had seen a few pictures of him in the study. He was a good-looking guy, something like the European who was playing that superspy these days in the movies. Cold and calculating as he was lean and elegant. From the family photographs, Gage had taken some small satisfaction in guessing he was below average in height—somewhere between Napoleon and Tom Cruise. His blond hair told him that Brooke’s hair color was natural, and that she’d inherited her gorgeous brown eyes from her mother. Damon Bellamy’s eyes were the gray of steel buried in Arctic ice.

“You’re doing what?”

The sharp exclamation yanked Gage back to reality, and he saw Brooke shakily moving the phone a few inches away from her ear. When she glanced over her shoulder at him and he saw her embarrassment, he had to reach for his drink. His only other option was to take the damned phone and yell back, “Exactly what is your problem, pal?”

“It can’t be helped, Dad. I can’t make any appointments yet when Aunt Marsha is dealing with so many problems. Didn’t you get my message about her condition being graver?”

Hell, Gage thought. The guy must have treasury ink in his veins instead of blood to not even ask up front how his sister-in-law was doing.

“It’s nothing she can control. I only just learned they’re going to do the heart-valve-replacement procedure on Thursday. Moving it up must indicate they’re worried.”

As Gage heard her father issue a lengthy list of directives, he watched Brooke cross to the table to reach for her glass and take a fortifying sip of wine. Her hand exposed the subtlest trembling, and he had to fight the urge to go stand behind her and draw her against him to offer his moral support. But would she accept it?

At the end of what seemed a lengthy rant, Brooke said dully, “That’s impossible, Father. She’s afraid, and I won’t leave her in that condition. The hospital staff are fine people, but they can’t provide the reassurance that family can.”

You tell him, sweetheart. Gage was heartened even for that modicum of formal rebellion. He’d been half worrying that he would hear “Yes, Daddy.”

After another lengthy rant by her father, she recited, “I understand that the longer I’m out of circulation, the harder it will be to find a good position, but that can’t be helped.”

Whatever Damon Bellamy said next had Brooke gripping the back of her chair.

“That was uncalled for. I respect that the countryside doesn’t hold any appeal for you, but I spent some of the happiest days of my childhood there with Aunt Marsha. I know I’m no longer a child, and I don’t see myself as a martyr. Listen, I have to go. A neighbor is at the door. I’ll get back with you after the surgery. Thank you for the call.”

As soon as Brooke disconnected, she turned off the phone and pushed it as far away from herself as she could. When she returned to the table, she reached for her wine glass. “I’ll probably regret this, but—” She took too long of a swallow to appreciate anything but the alcohol, and when she set down her glass, she glanced at him with no small chagrin. “I guess you could tell that didn’t go well?”

“He tends to speak loudly when he’s annoyed.”

She exhaled shakily. “I underestimated how unhappy he would be with my decisions.”

Underestimated his ability to be an ass.

Wanting badly to reach for her, Gage said, “I should have left the room to give you more privacy, but the truth is that I didn’t want to. I have a low tolerance for anyone, particularly a parent, bullying.”

Brooke winced at the word. “He’s not really that, he’s…just used to getting things done.”

“Well, you’re his daughter, not his protégée. Excuse me prying but…he seemed annoyed with your aunt, as well as you?”

“He feels that Aunt Marsha has lived her life and that she shouldn’t burden me with her problems.”

Gage could tell just by her expression that even repeating that was upsetting and distasteful to her. “Much better to get back to wheeling and dealing and chasing that all-important dollar, eh? Helping is part of what families do. Isn’t a prime vow in a wedding ceremony ‘For better or worse’?” It never ceased to astonish him when people were in a hurry to say those words, only to be among the first and fastest to indicate, “I didn’t mean this!”

Brooke fingered the remnants of her first slice of pizza but didn’t try for a bite. “My father was an only child, and his parents had very little and didn’t achieve much more. It made him extremely ambitious. He could have stepped out of a Dickens novel.”

“Was he on your mother’s reading list?”

“Never let it be said there’s anything wrong with your memory.” Brooke shook her head, her expression sad. “Maybe those books helped my mother understand him, and it may have helped her reach his compassionate side, but once she was gone, he reverted back quickly.” She shrugged, then tried for a resilient tone. “Don’t worry. This isn’t the first time I’ve been on the receiving end of his criticism, and I doubt it will be the last.”

“Thinking of you developing a thicker skin is doing wonders for my state of mind, too.”

Brooke abruptly shifted her gaze out the bay window where now the timer-set lights around the fountain shrubs twinkled. “Don’t be too nice to me. I’m just tired and emotionally drained enough to make a fool of myself and burst into tears. Believe me, I can handle my father’s censure far easier than your tenderness.”

That made all the sense in the world to Gage, but it wouldn’t help him sleep tonight. He was tied in knots for her. Finally, slowly shaking his head, he said, “You’re asking for too much, sweetheart. My sisters taught me that classic romantic movies held a lot of advice if I ever was in relationship trouble, but I never saw one where the guy gorging on pizza made the girl throw herself at him.”

Staring at him, Brooke eased her fingers over her mouth as new tears flooded her eyes. But this time they were tears of laughter. “Neither did I,” she said as giggles burst from her lips. “But his error might be in that he didn’t save her a piece for breakfast.”

Taking his time to pretend to ponder that bit of wisdom, Gage ultimately shook his head in rejection. “That can’t be right. Cold pizza for breakfast—who are you, a former trash-bin scavenger?”

Sniffing, Brooke reached for a slice. “I happen to like cold pizza.”

As she took a bite and chewed, Gage ripped off a fresh sheet of paper towel and dabbed at the moisture under her eyes. “You finally found some jalapeño juice, I see.”

After a grateful glance, Brooke played along and said huskily, “I still don’t know how you stand the things.”

Smiling into her eyes, he said softly, “They’re worth the trouble.” Taking another sustaining sip of his drink, Gage thought they should get the rest of tonight’s awkwardness out of the way. “In case you were figuring out how to bring up the subject, I’m going to camp out on the couch in the study tonight.”

Brooke wiped her hands and reached over to gently rub his forearm. “I’m sorry. I honestly intended for tonight to go differently. I was going to let you seduce me.”

With a slow, full nod, he asked, “I knew it. Thick crust is the secret aphrodisiac, isn’t it?” When she smiled, he took hold of her hand and lifted it to his lips for a kiss. “You’re physically exhausted and mentally beaten up, and you’re about to say goodbye to a big piece of your independence for a while.”

“And you deserve better than leftovers,” she said, rubbing his lower lip with her thumb.

“Lovely, I would crawl on all fours for your leftovers. But for our first time, I have this fantasy.”

“That’s nice,” she whispered, transfixed. “I don’t know that I’ve ever been part of anyone’s fantasy before.”

“Stick with me, kid.”

“You make me want to.”

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