Noah silenced her with a dismissive wave. “Don’t bother. That Mother relayed instructions is all I care about. Good grief, primping is primping. Any of the shops between here and Rusk would do the same thing.”
Sexy, but grouchy, Rylie thought with renewed disappointment. All because he had to drive a few extra miles for his mother’s dog? She couldn’t resist rubbing it in a bit. “Yes, I am fortunate to have her, Mrs. Collins’s and Mrs. Nixon’s support, as well. They’ve all been very kind about spreading the word. As it happens, I’m a little different from some in the business because I’ve been doing this kind of work since I was old enough to know the difference between the front and back end of animals. And for the record? The term primping is condescending. There are a good number of health issues related to good grooming for animals, just as there are for humans.”
In a moment that couldn’t have been better choreographed if she’d tried, Bubbles started licking Rylie’s hand as though apologizing on Noah’s behalf. Rylie nuzzled the little dog.
“Aw...thank you, precious.” She returned her focus to Noah. “I also don’t believe in sedating animals, whatever their temperament. How safe or wise would it have been for your mother, or nanny, to sedate you when giving you a manicure or trim?”
From the corner of the room the four musketeers chuckled and snickered.
Noah Prescott stared at her as though she’d just burst into “The Sun Will Come Out Tomorrow” and took a cautious step back toward the exit. “Just call my mother when it’s ready. Ramon should be home by then.”
Almost before the doors drifted shut behind Noah, Stan Walsh launched the inevitable commentary. “Whatcha trying to do to the poor guy, Rylie? You had him acting like he’d OD’d on sticky buns.”
As the others laughed, Rylie stroked the adorable animal in her arms and gave them her most innocent look. “Now, Stan, are you accusing me of being an instigator?”
“Never met a honeybee who wasn’t.”
“It’s been my experience,” Pete Ogilvie offered, “that the harder a guy tries to convince a gal that he doesn’t approve of her, the more he’s really trying to deny he’s attracted.”
“That sounds like forced logic to me,” Jerry Platt scoffed.
“That’s because you have the libido of a rabbit,” Pete countered, “and the mind of one. You think that any female who happens to cross your path is a gift from the gods.”
As the men burst into laughter, Rylie pretended the need to cover Bubbles’s ears. “This conversation is getting way too frisky for our tender ears, baby girl. Let’s go.”
* * *
Damn her perkiness.
She was the most annoying female he’d met in some time, and what was driving Noah crazy was that it was for all the reasons that usually attracted him. What the heck was going on? Rylie Quinn was friendly, good-natured, a born optimist. How could he fault someone who tried to see the bright side of things? Yet for some bizarre, quirky reason, he was discovering that he had no problem where she was concerned.
She was an irritating mix of sweetness and provocation, deceptively packaged in a Peter Pan–size body that her maroon medical smock would mostly hide, except when it wasn’t fastened today any more than on his other visit to the clinic. That gamin-short hair didn’t help make her look fully grown, either. The short, punkish style left her looking more like a nine-year-old boy than a woman in her early or mid-twenties, an ironic observation, since he liked his women slender and sleek. But then she did little to enhance her femininity—maybe just mascara and some lip gloss, and yet every receptor in his molecular being went on full alert the instant she was within sight.
It was those gray-green eyes that got him on edge, he decided. Sure they were incredibly framed by lashes that would make a sable proud; however, their color was that unnerving shade of storm clouds before a tornado dropped from them and turned your life inside out. That’s it! he thought, feeling as though he’d locked in on some important detail. She looked at him as though she had a secret, and she wasn’t telling. Well, he wasn’t big on secrets. It was one of the chief things that made his work so difficult and, often, ugly: secrets and lies.
As Noah sped north to Rusk, and the courthouse, he considered phoning his mother again to ask if she really knew what she was getting herself into trusting Rylie Quinn. Just because her equally dog-crazy friends approved of the young woman, Rylie’s claim that she didn’t use drugs to keep animals calm during grooming didn’t mean she hadn’t, or wouldn’t, in a crunch. He also didn’t believe for a moment her self-laudatory proclamation that she got along with any and all critters. Maybe it was working to sell herself as the female rendition of the Dog Whisperer; however, she’d been at the clinic for only about a month. The jury was still out, as far as he was concerned.
On the other hand, Dr. Gage Sullivan’s reputation was impeccable. He just hoped the guy hadn’t been suckered in by a red-haired con artist the way his mother and others may have been.
At the thought of his mother, he sighed heavily. He accepted that he was struggling to understand her and had been since the accident that put her in a wheelchair. She had always been a pragmatic, no-nonsense person, but no more. Who registers their lap dog as Baroness Baja Bacardi? he thought with a new wave of dismay and embarrassment. What a title for a creature that could almost fit in a restaurant take-out box. Granted, his mother had little pleasure in her life anymore—a dog, the pool therapy, her painting and the visits from a small handful of trusted and dedicated friends, as well as her minister, lawyer and accountant. Otherwise, her society was “Livie,” Olivia Danner, her live-in nurse, and Aubergine Scott, the resident housekeeper-cook. Considering the whirlwind life of a socialite that she’d juggled before, his mother’s life was as shockingly different as if Hillary Clinton suddenly chose to exit the political world forever and cloistered herself in a nunnery! Under those circumstances, Noah didn’t have the heart to deny her this bit of frivolity even as he groused to others over being inconvenienced. Audra Rains Prescott had earned a certain amount of indulgences, regardless of how silly this one seemed to him.
Three years ago, his parents were involved in a head-on collision with another vehicle, one whose driver passed out due to side effects of her prescription drugs. The crash had killed his father and the other driver instantly. It was a miracle that his mother hadn’t died, too. She had, however, lost most of the use of the lower half of her body. Nevertheless, there was enough nerve connectivity to trigger chronic pain and insomnia, which in turn added to bouts of depression. If it wasn’t for their dedicated people on the estate, he would need prescriptions, or at least a therapist himself.
For example, Ramon wasn’t just dealing with a flat tire; there was a recall notice on his mother’s Cadillac that he hadn’t let her know about, due to her fragile perspective when it came to all things motorized these days. It had come only two days ago, so the tire issue had been fortuitous in a way. Ramon knew to keep the more serious issue between the two of them. He just hoped the repair wouldn’t take all day.
“Hell,” he muttered, “if you can’t trust America’s classy tank, what can you trust?”
It was a relief to reach Rusk and the courthouse. He’d become the assistant D.A. for Cherokee County soon after his return to East Texas to supervise things at home. Until then, he’d been the hottest “gunslinger” at one of Houston’s top law firms. Had he been able to stay there, he had no doubt there would already be talk about him becoming a partner by now, even though he was only thirty.
Coming home, it had never occurred to him to just manage the family estate and enjoy a gentleman’s lifestyle, which had been an option. True, he could also have opened his own private practice; however, that didn’t appeal to him, either. Divorces, will probates and small lawsuits needed good counsel to be sure, but not from him. He needed something with more intellectual challenge,