“I can recognize my own patients, even when someone besides the owner brings the bird for a visit.”
“I’m really sorry I bothered you,” she said, trying to lead Peaches toward the door.
The Corgi plopped down on her hindquarters, a trick six weeks of obedience school had done nothing to delete from her repertoire.
“So ask me,” the vet challenged.
“Ask you?” To compound her general embarrassment, her voice squeaked.
“What you came to ask me.”
“Oh, it doesn’t matter.”
“It must matter a lot if you’re willing to pay for an appointment just to see me. If there’s something I can do…”
Her nerve failed her, in no small part because she didn’t want to be turned down. The man was gorgeous. He probably had a pack of women on his heels. He’d never go along with what she wanted.
“I’ve taken up too much of your time, and this is my busy season, as well. I’d better run.”
Would he think she was terrible if she nudged the stubborn dog with her foot? Peaches was acting as infatuated as a human female, sniffing at Dr. Kincaid’s thick-soled running shoe with zeal.
“You’re one of Santa’s elves?” he teased. “Rushing to get all the toys ready for Christmas?”
“Close,” she admitted, relaxing a little because he was so friendly in spite of her dumb idea of pretending Peaches was sick. “I’m a professional organizer. I have to take care of my clients’ needs as much as I can now because the month before Christmas I’m always booked solid.”
“What does a professional organizer do?” he asked, again with the sincere interest in his voice.
“Unclutter closets, rearrange rumpled rooms, fight disorder at its root level. I have parties to plan, trees to decorate, gifts to buy, whatever busy people don’t have time to do themselves. Hopefully, my father will make his usual short, restless visit and jet out again before my schedule is a shambles.”
“If he gets to meet your doctor.”
“There is that,” she said glumly.
“And you were hoping I would…”
“It was a dumb idea.”
“Spit it out, or I’ll have to charge you for two appointment slots.”
“That’s blackmail!”
“Yeah, it is, but you have me curious.”
“I need a doctor to go out to dinner with my father.”
“Your father and you?”
“Both of us.”
“He won’t believe unless he sees?”
“No way.”
“Okay.”
“Okay? Just like that, okay?”
“When?”
“Saturday. I pick him up at the airport around three in the afternoon. He hates flying, so he’ll be pooped. It will practically guarantee a short evening.”
“How about I pick you up at seven?”
“Would you? Really?”
She was so grateful she wanted to hug him. Scratch the grateful part. She wouldn’t mind a few hugs from her vet in shining armor even if he’d laughed at the idea of going out with her father and kicked her out of his office.
“It will be pretty hard to pass me off as a people doctor if you pick me up. I live here. The second floor of the clinic is my apartment. Makes it handy if I have overnight patients to check on.”
“I’m not going to pass you off as a physician. There’s nothing wrong with being a vet.” That didn’t come out quite the way she intended.
“I thank you. The vet school at Iowa State University thanks you. My profession thanks…”
“Please!” She gave the leash a tug Peaches couldn’t ignore.
“Give Della the directions to your place. You’ll make her day.”
He cut her off before she could start gushing again, but she wasn’t proud of what she’d done. She would have left with her tail between her legs if she had one. As it was, she slinked through the reception area, past the shelves of vitamins and pet supplies and the desk where Della Rodriguez managed the office.
Della’s flamboyant red, yellow and green print blouse was a splash of color in a room furnished in muted shades of desert tan, taupe and white, and her personality was as colorful as her outfit. Usually Mindy enjoyed her humorous take on life in general and her stories about her husband, Larry, in particular. Today Mindy wrote her check quickly and didn’t even ask about Della’s three grown kids or four grandchildren. She couldn’t get away fast enough, but fortunately she remembered to scribble directions to her home on the back of one of her business cards. She handed it to Della and beat a retreat before the woman could ask any questions.
Mindy had come on false pretenses and was sure she looked guilty. But she did have a date with a doctor to pacify her father. Eventually the little stab of guilt would fade away. The last thing she wanted was to deceive Dad, but he’d hated every boy who ever showed up at their door when she lived at home. He wanted a conservative, professional type for his daughter, a man whose values mirrored his. In other words, someone safe. Even in Arizona she couldn’t escape his mating machinations. He was sure to have an old college pal living there or a friend with a bachelor son in one of his accounting groups. If he met Eric and was reassured about her prospects, they could have a nice visit, and he could go home with his mind at ease about her prospects.
Imagine, Dr. Eric Kincaid was as nice to people as he was to animals.
ERIC TOSSED his lab coat in the hamper and turned off the light in the examining room. Della had gone home an hour ago to make dinner for her husband and whatever kids and grandkids happened to be around. Tonight he’d been glad to close the clinic himself. She was the best receptionist and bookkeeper he could possibly find, but no doubt she was dying of curiosity about the directions Mindy Ryder had left with her.
He sighed, thought of how good a shower would feel, and decided to run a couple of miles before he had dinner. There were no patients in the hospital wing of his clinic, so he could look forward to a night of uninterrupted sleep.
Instead of running upstairs to change, he did something he almost never did. He stopped in the reception room and sat on one of the taupe vinyl chairs, which were pet proof and comfortable enough to keep people from squirming if they had to wait long. He liked the room. The desert-sand walls were hung with oil portraits of dogs he’d painted himself and a few prints of cats, birds and fussy rodents to compensate for his canine bias. Several Formica tables with black metal legs held the usual assortment of magazines and brochures on pet care. An antique boot scraper shaped like a dachshund sat on the counter where Della presided over his busy practice.
By the time he finished his evening run, the cleaning service would be at work making sure his clinic looked and smelled fresh in the morning. The marbleized brown, tan and white floor tiles had to be swept and scrubbed nightly, a chore he could afford to pass on to professionals now that his practice was booming. This Iowa boy was doing all right in the sunbelt city, although it’d been pretty iffy the first year with payments on the clinic and vet school debts. He owed a lot to his parents for co-signing some whopping big loans, using their furniture store as collateral, to help him get started after his residency. It had been a good investment, and they’d moved from Des Moines to Mesa and opened a new, more upscale store to be closer to him.
Now if his mother