Thomas didn’t put much stock in therapy dogs—or meditation, or aromatherapy, or any number of other alternative therapies that floated around out there.
All he believed in were cold, hard facts. And science.
“Miss Cates, I really don’t have time for this. Your visit today is not authorized, by me or, I’m guessing, Mr. Traub, and is distracting to say the least.”
“Oh, I don’t mean to be any trouble—”
“You’ve already been that.” Thomas dropped his hand to the folder in the middle of his desk, drumming his thumb repeatedly on the cover. An action her dog apparently took as a cue to perch its large front paws on the edge of his desk and swat its large, fluffy tail at the shoulder of Forrest Traub.
“Smiley, stop that and get down.” She gently tugged at her dog’s leash. “I’m so sorry, Dr. North. I promise you he never acts this way. I guess he must really like you.”
“I doubt that.”
The dog sat again and returned its attention to Forrest. Miss Cates did the same. “I guess this wasn’t such a good idea. Maybe you can spend time with Smiley another day.”
“I’d like you to stay.” Traub laid his hand back on the dog’s head. “Both of you.”
Surprised by his patient’s request, Thomas studied him closely, silently admitting the animal did seem to be having an impact on the man.
He and Forrest had only met twice before, the last time being a week ago when Thomas had performed a thorough examination of the ex-soldier’s injured leg. Forrest had been withdrawn and testy, speaking only when asked a direct question.
In the subsequent reading of his military medical records, Thomas had found the former army sergeant had good reason for his surliness, having gone through hell after a roadside explosive destroyed the Humvee he was riding in during his last tour in Afghanistan.
He’d been in and out of hospitals for the past year and still had not regained full use of his leg. Today though, he seemed more relaxed, a hint of a smile on his face as he continued to scratch the animal’s ears and neck.
Of course, this had to be temporary. Depression was common in veterans, as was post-traumatic stress, and Thomas couldn’t see how patting a dog could counteract such difficult conditions. The only real cure for Forrest was in the skilled hands of a surgeon.
At any rate, the man clearly enjoyed the dog’s company, so Thomas had no choice but to let the mongrel—and Miss Cates—stay.
“Fine.” Thomas flipped open the folder. “We planned to discuss my findings and go over recommendations for further treatment. Are you comfortable discussing your condition in front of Miss Cates?”
“Don’t worry about me. I’ve been present at doctor-patient consults before. Confidentiality isn’t an issue,” the blonde spitfire said with a wave of her hand. “I know how to keep a secret.”
Thomas ignored her and waited for his patient to reply.
“Yeah, go ahead,” Traub said.
“The results are a bit complex and cover a lot of technical jargon—”
“Get to the bottom line, doc.”
Thomas did as requested. “You are going to need surgery. Again.”
He waited, but Forrest’s only reaction to the news was the fisting of his free hand while the other continued to dig deep into the dog’s fur. Thomas glanced at Miss Cates, but her focus was on his ceiling as she blinked rapidly.
“How soon?” Forrest asked.
Thomas looked back at his patient. “The sooner the better. We can schedule you for next week.”
The conversation continued for several minutes as Thomas outlined the presurgery preparations, what he planned to accomplish with the delicate procedure and the post-care that would be required.
“Okay, then. I’ll see you next week.” Forrest finally released his hold on the dog and grabbed his cane. Pushing to his feet, he held out his hand. “I’m betting on you to work your magic, doc.”
Thomas rose and returned the man’s firm grasp, determined to bring all his skills and knowledge to the operating room, like always. “You can count on it, Forrest.”
The man returned Thomas’s gaze for a long moment before he released his hand and turned away. “Annabel, I’ll walk you to your car if you and Smiley are heading out?”
“That would be great, thanks.” Rising, she held out her hand. “Dr. North, it was a pleasure. I would appreciate the opportunity to discuss the possibility of us working together in the future.”
Thomas took her hand, the warmth and softness of her skin against his again creating that same zing of awareness he’d felt earlier. “Thank you, but I don’t see that happening, Miss Cates.”
“I’m sure we can come to a meeting of the minds, not quite as literally as we did this time, I hope.” Her full lips twitched and then rose into a playful grin. “Besides, I’m known to be very persuasive when I want something.”
For some reason, Thomas believed her. “My schedule is pretty full.”
“A half hour.” Her fingers tightened around his. “What harm can I do in thirty minutes?”
Thomas cleared throat and released her hand. Seeing her again would be crazy. His mind was already made up. To him, dog therapy was nothing but … fluff. Still, the chance to spend time with this bewitching woman was something he couldn’t make himself pass up.
No matter how much his logical side told him it wasn’t a good idea.
“Okay, thirty minutes. You can call my secretary to set up a date and time. But be warned, I rarely change my mind.”
Once a decision had been made, Thomas stuck by that decision. No matter what. It was something the hospital staff had learned about him in the two years he’d been here.
But agreeing to meet with Miss Cates?
Thomas had seriously reconsidered allowing the meeting to take place many times over the past week.
Thunder Canyon General wasn’t a large facility, but thanks to the financial boom that came to town a few years back and the hard work of the hospital administrators—including his grandmother Ernestine North until she finally retired a year ago—the facility lacked for nothing.
Including a thriving gossip grapevine that, until recently, he’d never been a part of. An accomplishment Thomas had worked hard at since accepting his position.
He’d come home to Thunder Canyon determined not to make the same mistake twice. Oh, he knew the staff talked about him. Even after twenty-four months he was still considered the “new” guy around here.
His reputation as a skilled surgeon, and a success rate that was all the more impressive here at TC because of his age, followed him from his previous position at the UCLA Medical Center in Santa Monica.
Thank goodness that was the only thing that had followed.
He also knew some at Thunder Canyon General considered his bedside manner a bit … cold, at least to those who confused emotional involvement with professionalism.
A mistake he wouldn’t make again.
But thanks to Annabel Cates and her dog he’d found himself the recipient of even more stares, whispered conversations that ended when he appeared and a few hazing incidents, some subtle and others not so much, starting the day after her visit.
The sweater Marge had worn the other day covered in miniature poodles had been a delicate jab, but the not-so-quiet barking his fellow surgeons