Something About Ewe: Something About Ewe / The Purrfect Man. Ruth Dale Jean
I’d like the keys.” She held out a steady hand.
“I’m coming.”
“In that case—” Thalia smiled impersonally at Sylvia and her maverick son “—thank you for inviting us.”
“You had a lovely time, right?” Luke raised his brows.
“Of course.”
“Seriously, if you’d relaxed, you might have enjoyed yourself even more.” He cocked his head. “Aren’t you ever tempted to give it a try?”
“Absolutely not.” But was that true?
Later, alone in the second-story bedroom of her youth, Thalia sat in dark silence staring out the window, her heart full of questions. Maybe she did take everything too seriously. It might be fun just to relax and let life happen.
But could she actually do that? At this point, she really wasn’t sure.
Yet those few minutes spent floundering around completely clothed in the swimming pool with Luke Dalton had been not only fun but exciting and sexy and very, very provocative.
Which was all the more reason to stay away from the man, she decided.
“LOOK,” LORRAINE SAID bright and early Monday morning, “I’ve got a ton of stuff to do at the shop today since all of Saturday was devoted to the Dalton soiree—”
“I’ll help,” Thalia cut in quickly. “No problem.”
“Great.” Lorraine looked relieved. “That’s what I was expecting you to say. What I need you to do is take old Reckless to the vet.”
Thalia frowned. “Did I just get set up or what?”
“Of course not, dear.” Lorraine looked offended. “I’m really worried about that dog. He’s been off his feed all week and he just mopes around.”
“You take him to the doggy doctor. I’ll open the shop for you.”
“When did you become a floral designer?” Lorraine’s brows rose. “Seriously, if you want to help me, this is what I need you to do. That way I’ll have the first wave of orders ready by the time you get there and you can help out with deliveries.”
Thalia groaned. “If this is just some trick to throw me and Luke together—”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Lorraine finished her coffee and rose from the breakfast table. “Why would I do that? For all I know, Luke won’t even be there. Ask for Doc Miller, I don’t care. Just do this for Reckless, okay?”
“I suppose I can if you insist.”
“Great. We’ll take him with us, then. You can drop me at the shop and go straight to the clinic. Thanks, honey.”
Lorraine bustled out. Thalia sat alone at the table for a good two minutes, feeling dejected. Doc Miller wouldn’t be there, or if he was, he’d be busy elsewhere. She’d have to face Luke again and that was getting harder and harder to do.
Worse. He knew it.
LUKE GAVE RECKLESS a thorough going-over, up to and including the drawing of blood for further tests. Reckless just sat there like a furry lump, sad brown eyes accusing.
What the hell was going on? Luke asked himself for about the twelfth time. This was one miserable dog when he should be in tall cotton. He had a great life: plenty of food, lots of room to run and roam, people around when he wanted attention.
Opening the door to the examining room, he gestured for Thalia to enter. This she did without the slightest flicker of recognition. It was as if she’d met him for the first time five minutes ago.
That made him grin. She sure was working hard to keep things between them impersonal.
And failing.
She sat down in the chair next to the dog. Automatically she began to scratch his ears, then stroked the dog between the shoulder blades. She had a wonderful smile, especially when it was sincere. As now—for a dog, not for Luke.
She looked up and the smile evaporated. “What’s wrong with him, Lu—Doctor?”
Luke sighed. “I can’t find a thing physically wrong,” he said honestly. “There are still a few tests to do and then I’ll talk the results over with Doc Miller. The bottom line is, this dog seems perfectly healthy to me.”
Her frown revealed her frustration. “Mother says he used to be real perky and now he just lies around and sighs.”
“Sighs?”
She nodded solemnly. “Or as close to a sigh as a dog can get. It’s almost like…like he’s depressed about something.”
“You know,” Luke frowned, puzzling over what she’d said, “you could be right. Maybe what he needs is a new interest in life, something to shake him out of the doldrums.”
“Like what?” she asked, obviously interested.
“I don’t know, like—” Luke slapped his hand alongside his temple. “Of course, why didn’t I think of this before? Thalia, Border collies are working dogs.”
“Yes.” She frowned. “And your point is…?”
“Your mother got him from a rancher, right?”
She nodded. “A sheep rancher, actually.”
“Then that’s it.” He ruffled Reckless’s furry black head.
“What’s it?”
“He needs a job. He needs sheep to herd.”
Her eyes widened. “You mean Mother’s pet needs pets of his own?”
Luke threw back his head and laughed. “Exactly. A few sheep to herd around in circles could give purpose to his days.” He looked at her then through half-shuttered eyes. “How about you, Thalia? Do you need new purpose to your days?”
She met his gaze squarely. “I don’t need new purpose, Luke,” she said too sweetly. “I’m happy with my days exactly as they are.”
As if he believed that. Amused, he showed her and the depressed Border collie from the office, promising a report on the dog’s tests in a day or two.
And already scheming to get her alone to deliver them.
THAT NIGHT AT DINNER, Thalia innocently repeated Luke’s remarks to her mother, and then only in passing. Therefore, no one was more astonished than she when two sheep were delivered a day later.
5
“UH…HENRY?”
“What is it now, Joyce?
“Do my eyes deceive me or are there really two sheep grazing in that pasture across the road?”
Henry Brown squinted. He was sitting on a patio chair on his deck across the street from Lorraine Myers’s place, so he didn’t have to go to much trouble. After a moment he said, “Yep, that’s sheep all right.”
Joyce harrumphed. “That woman must be crazy! Sheep aren’t allowed in Shangri-la.”
“Well, now, she was here before anyone ever heard of Shangri-la, Joyce.”
“There you go, taking her side again. We didn’t pay this kind of money for a home in Shangri-la so we could live across the street from sheep—smelly, ugly, noisy, dirty sheep.”
“That’s your daddy talking, hon,” Henry said, trying to soothe her. “You don’t like sheep because he was a cattle rancher.”
“I don’t like sheep because they kill the grass. Where they’ve been, not even a weed will grow and no self-respecting cow will ever go.”
“That’s an old wives’