Make Me a Match. Alice SharpeЧитать онлайн книгу.
her question to sound quite so much like an accusation, added, “It’s just that I was expecting Doctor Victor Reed.”
Mr. Hollywood folded his glasses into his breast pocket and extended a hand. “Victor’s out of the office. I’m Jon Woods. I’ll be happy to take a look at your cat this morning.”
Intending to politely shake his hand, Lora relaxed her hold on Boggle, who took the opportunity to make for the hills. She gasped in pain as the cat’s needle-like claws punctured the weave of her sweater, tearing holes in the tender flesh of her upper arm and shoulder.
Jon Woods gently unhooked Boggle and settled him on the stainless table with a practiced firmness the cat seemed to grudgingly respect. He rubbed Boggle’s ears and crooned to him, his voice a soothing murmur. Was he speaking some kind of secret animal language? Tilting her head, Lora listened closely but couldn’t make out a single word. Finally, keeping a good grip on his rebellious patient, Jon fixed Lora with a steady gaze. “Now, what seems to be wrong with Boggle?”
As far as Lora knew, there wasn’t a thing wrong with Boggle that a horse tranquilizer wouldn’t take care of. She wasn’t there because of the cat; he was simply her cover. For that matter, he wasn’t even her cat. She’d borrowed him from a neighbor. Rubbing what she imagined to be her blood-soaked shoulder, she glanced at the door and said, “I’ll just wait until Dr. Reed gets back.”
“You’ll have a long wait. He had surgery on his foot so he’ll be off for a few weeks.”
“He’s in the hospital?”
“Yes—”
“Good Samaritan?”
A quizzical look flashed across Jon’s face, settling in his willow-bark brown eyes. “Are you another of his devoted admirers? No, wait, didn’t I see on the chart that this is your first visit to the office?”
“I’ve never met Dr. Reed,” she said. “I wouldn’t know him from Adam.”
He regarded her with open curiosity, which she tried to ignore. Striving for a casual tone, she added, “So, how long do you think the doctor will be in the hospital?”
“A few days, then he’ll finish his recovery at home.”
A new plan hatched itself in Lora’s mind. She’d drop Boggle back at the neighbor’s, then go into the shop and make up a flower arrangement and deliver it to the hospital herself. Better double check which hospital, just in case. As a florist, she did this all the time so that was no problem. Congratulating herself on the flexibility of her scheme, she cautiously started to pick up Boggle.
Jon’s hand landed on hers. “I assure you I’m capable—”
“Oh, I didn’t mean to insinuate that you couldn’t fix Boggle.”
He looked even more confused. “I’m sorry, they should have told you up front that you need to make an appointment for that procedure.”
She liked the way his face reflected his emotions. She liked the way a lock of sun-bleached hair fell across his forehead. His hands, one of which still rested atop hers, were well formed, his touch extraordinarily light.
Lora worried her bottom lip. Was it possible this man was different from the rest? If he was a partner in this office didn’t that suggest a certain stability? Maybe she should give him a chance.…
No. No, no, no. “No,” she said, aloud.
His hand slid off of hers and along Boggle’s spine. Amazingly, the cat produced a tattered purr. Glancing at Lora, Jon said, “His temperament might improve if you did have him neutered, so you might want to consider it.”
She’d forgotten that in the veterinary world, “fixed” and “neutered” were virtually synonymous. “I just mean that Boggle is—”
Boggle is what?
Since her sole experience with keeping pets revolved around the care of a twenty-gallon aquarium, she realized she’d neglected to think up a suitable ailment for the cat. Hoping to sound like less of a ditz than she suddenly felt, she mumbled, “Grouchy. I think he needs a checkup. He hisses…a lot.”
“Is this new behavior for him?”
“Ah, no,” she said, thinking of the times Boggle darted spiteful looks at her from beneath her neighbor’s stairs. “No, he always seems ill-tempered.”
“How about his appetite?”
How about his appetite? “Seems normal,” she said.
“Any new members of the family to contend with?” he asked. “A husband, maybe? A new boyfriend?”
Was he flirting with her? She studied him but just couldn’t tell. Should she invent a jealous spouse to squash any romantic notions that might be floating around in his handsome head? She murmured, “No husband.”
“I see.”
Their eyes met again. Lora looked down at the cat.
Jon opened a cupboard and brought out a pressurized can of cheddar cheese spread. He distributed a thin line of it on the table top which Boggle immediately began licking. Next the vet produced a stethoscope. “Okay, well, let’s take a look at him,” he said.
Lora couldn’t help but admire the deft way Jon managed the examination. She wondered if Doctor Reed would have handled himself as competently. Surely he wouldn’t look as good doing it. Jon was definitely in his prime, one could say. Strong. Competent. Great hands. She wished she’d paid more attention to how he looked in his glasses—she’d bet he was just cute as a button. If she could bend her neck a little, she could check out his rear—
Stop it! Concentrate on Dr. Reed.
For penitence, she began mentally building a flower arrangement in her mind. It was spring and the town of Fern Glen sat right on the coast, so Siberian Iris and dune grasses came to mind. Maybe daffodils. She’d never met a man who didn’t like daffodils. At the hospital, she’d hide behind the arrangement just as she currently hid behind Boggle. She needed to find out four things: was Victor Reed likable? Did he have any obvious bad habits? Was he cute in an older guy kind of way? Was he available?
“Lora?”
Hearing her name snapped her out of her thoughts. “Huh?”
Jon looped the stethoscope casually around his neck. “I think Boggle is fine. Heart and lungs and stomach sound good, no other obvious problems. Of course, if you notice additional symptoms, bring him back in, but honestly, I think he’s just ornery by nature. And he’s already been neutered so I’m afraid that as far as personality goes, what you see is what you get.”
He was probably wondering how in the world she would not know that her own cat was already neutered. She said, “Thanks, Doctor.”
“Call me Jon.”
She didn’t want to call him Jon. She didn’t want to call him anything.
Okay, that wasn’t true. He was a tasty-looking dish, there was no denying that, but she’d recently bowed out of the dating game.
On the other hand, she didn’t want to leave a bad impression even if she would never see him again. It was a small community and who knew when he’d show up at the flower shop needing flowers for some new honey? A beautiful bronzed blonde, she’d bet. A woman with long eyelashes and a thrilling career that didn’t require she live from paycheck to paycheck. Sweeping aside wayward strands of wavy dark hair, Lora added, “Did I mention that I haven’t had Boggle very long?”
“That explains a lot,” he said as though relieved to discover she might not be a nitwit after all. He unfolded his glasses and put them on again, and sure enough, he looked fine. Reaching for the folder, he flipped it open and scanned the page. “It appears you forgot to give us your phone number,” he said, glancing up.
“Why do you need my phone number?”
“It’s