Only Yours. Сьюзен Мэллери
he would guess was the kennel area.
The space was cleaner than he had expected. He didn’t notice any smell and the cages for the dogs were large. He saw big beds in plaid and plenty of toys. The lighting was good. It was obvious someone had put a lot of time and money into the facility.
“The dogs live here,” Montana said, facing him. “Dogs are pack animals, so they’re more comfortable in a group than in isolation. They’re nearly always with someone. We have college kids who spend the night. Just to make sure everything is all right. Sometimes they bring their significant others along and that gets interesting.”
She smiled as she spoke and it took him a minute to realize she meant the college students and not the dogs. Of course not the dogs. Dogs didn’t have significant others.
“Max has plenty of stories, but that’s not why you came,” she continued.
“No.”
He knew he should make some kind of small talk. It made people more comfortable. He’d never seen the point, but then he didn’t see the point of most common rituals. Telling someone to have a nice day was beyond ridiculous. As if anyone had the power to make that happen.
She walked to a door that led outside. When she pushed it open and stepped onto the grass, at least a half dozen dogs came running. He followed, curious about them. He’d never had much contact with dogs. From the time he was eleven until he’d gone to college at sixteen, he’d been in a hospital. No dogs allowed.
Large dogs and small hurried forward with equal enthusiasm. He recognized the disastrous mutt from that morning and did his best to avoid her enthusiastic jumping. Montana petted them all, called out to a few and restored order more quickly than he had thought possible.
“Cece, come here, honey,” she said, then looked at him. “I think she’s going to be the right dog for you. Quiet, well behaved and, best of all, clean.”
A small apricot-colored poodle made her way to Montana. The dog was maybe a foot tall to the top of her head, with long legs and a slender body. When Montana said, “Up,” the dog turned so she could easily be scooped into the woman’s arms.
“She would be very happy to curl up next to Kalinda for as long as she would like,” Montana told him. “She’s great with kids, sweet tempered, and because she has hair rather than fur, no dander. We can keep her really clean, which I know is important.”
As she spoke, Cece stared at him. Her eyes were darker than Montana’s, and never left his. Her nose quivered, then her whole body began to tremble.
“Is she sick?” he asked, wondering if he should worry about transporting germs back to his patients.
Montana laughed. “Not in the way you mean.” She whispered something to the dog, who swiped her tongue across her chin. Montana turned her attention back to him. “She has a crush on you.”
“What?”
The dog was thrust toward him. He reacted instinctively, reaching for it.
She was lighter than he’d expected, with bones that felt delicate. Her fur was soft, her body warm. Even though he didn’t know how to hold her, she snuggled close, perfectly content to be next to him.
“Support her butt,” Montana told him.
He shifted slightly. Cece cuddled against his chest and stared at him with eyes that seemed able to see into his soul. He wondered if she was aware of all the flaws lurking there.
“She likes you.”
Montana spoke in a tone that told him that she was really thinking, “There’s no accounting for taste.”
“She seems nice enough,” he said, tentatively rubbing his fingers against the animal’s back. “As long as Kalinda will be safe.”
“You don’t have to worry. Cece has a great temperament. And I’ll be there the whole time.”
He had his doubts about how much help she would be, but if Kalinda wanted a dog then, by God, he would get her one.
He passed Cece back and made arrangements for her to be brought to the hospital the following day.
“For a test run,” he said. “If it helps, we continue the visits.”
“Of course.”
He turned to leave.
Montana, still holding the dog, walked with him. At the doorway they both paused, as if expecting the other to go first, then they moved at the same time.
They bumped into each other. People did it every day. Simon was used to all kinds of casual contact. He touched his patients, was passed things during surgery. Every now and then he even enjoyed the company of a woman for a few hours. So he had no reason to expect the brief brush of her arm against his to register.
But it did. The second Montana touched him, the second he felt the heat from her body, something large and uncontrolled stirred to life. He was so surprised he came to a stop, and she did, too. They bumped again, which caused her to grin at him.
“Okay. You first.”
Easy words. A casual, happy smile. As if she couldn’t feel the rage of desire that burst to life like an explosion.
He’d never felt anything like it before, had no way of knowing what he was supposed to do next. He wasn’t sure he could keep from reaching for her, kissing her. Because that’s what he needed—not just the possession of her, but her hunger as well.
“Are you all right?”
Simon forced himself back to the moment. He hung on to the ragged remains of his civility and nodded.
“Yes. Thank you for your time.”
Her eyebrows rose slightly. He suspected she was remembering her comment from earlier in the day—when she’d accused him of having a stick up his ass. Better that than the truth, he told himself. Better for both of them.
He quickly made his escape. When he was back in his car, he was disgusted to find that his hands trembled and his sexual thoughts had produced a predictable manifestation. Pray God she hadn’t noticed, he thought grimly, starting the car engine.
As he drove back to the hospital, he tried to figure out what had happened. He’d never considered himself overly sexual. Every few months, when the need became a distraction, he found someone who wanted what he did—physical release and little else. The events were pleasant enough, but more about biology than anything else. He’d never felt compelled. Driven.
It was chemistry, he told himself as he entered the main highway and headed back to Fool’s Gold. One of those quirks of DNA that was intriguing but ultimately meaningless. So, he’d briefly wanted Montana. Later he would see her and everything would be fine. He had his work. Nothing else was as important. He had his work and his patients and that would always be enough.
CHAPTER THREE
JO’S BAR WAS ONE OF MONTANA’S favorite places in town. Unlike most bars, this one catered to women. The colors were girl friendly, with the large TVs turned to shows like American’s Next Top Model and the shopping networks. Drinks were fun and the list of food came with a selection of offerings for the calorie conscious. As for the men, they had a room in back, with a pool table and plenty of sports. But at Jo’s, women ruled.
Montana walked in and spotted her sisters already at a booth.
Technically Nevada was the oldest, with Dakota born in the middle and Montana last. They were separated by all of fourteen minutes. When they were young, they had truly been identical, nearly impossible for even family members to tell apart. As they’d grown, their personality differences had influenced their appearance.
Nevada was the most sensible of the sisters. A civil engineer, she favored short hair, jeans, shirts and boots that were practical on work sites. Dakota was as smart as Nevada, but slightly more nurturing.