The Virgin Beauty. Claire King
squeezed the folder back into the file cabinet, promising she’d get the Cash Cattle file on computer, along with everyone else’s just as soon as she found an assistant. Niebaur’s office manager had promised to come in a couple of days a week for a while, but she was retiring, too. Couldn’t see herself working for another woman, she’d said. No offense.
Grace hadn’t taken offense, of course. She hadn’t wanted to work for anyone else, either.
Picking up the phone book, she glanced at the wall clock. 9:10 p.m. She riffled through the book for the number to the county newspaper and recorded her ad onto the machine that picked up.
She stretched out her long legs, hooking her heels on the edge of the reception desk. She looked out into dark main street of Nobel, Idaho, and congratulated herself. She had every single thing she wanted, now.
Minutes later she dozed off with a satisfied smile on her face.
He hadn’t meant to come by. He’d dropped his folks off at their house, intending to go home to his own small ranch house, just a half mile down the road from the house where he’d grown up. Instead his pickup truck—of its own accord, he’d swear—found its way the eleven miles back into town and past the building he owned, bought when his future looked exactly as he’d wanted it to look. The lights were on. He glanced at his watch. It was past ten, and he’d bet a hundred bucks she hadn’t been home all day.
He wheeled the truck into a casually illegal U-turn and brought it to rest behind hers by the curb. He scooped up the nameless old barn cat he’d brought with him as an excuse for coming by and tucked it under his arm, trying not to moon over the vet box in Grace’s truck as he made for the office door. He almost managed it, walking past with just a quick yearning glance.
Grace had her feet up on the desk in the reception area and her chin on her chest. Sound asleep. He watched her for a minute, the cat purring happily under his arm, then rapped on the glass of the door with the back of his hand.
She jerked awake and he saw in her brown eyes the instant cognizance of a doctor awakened from a sound sleep. She could perform surgery right now, he knew; intubate a calf, cesarean a breech foal. She had that look as she stared out at him. That completely-awake-and-aware look.
She stood and came toward him. He felt a sudden zip up his spine, a heated pooling of blood between his legs.
Man, oh, man. He’d wasted half the day away wondering if she’d really been the goddess he’d seen that morning, or if he’d imagined that her legs went up to her neck and her hips were narrow and smooth-jointed when she walked and her mouth was wide and lush. He didn’t much like this woman who was stealing his dreams, but he sure as hell wanted her.
For crying out loud, he reprimanded himself pitilessly. Grow up, Cash. He’d gone hard just watching her walk. Heaven only knew what would happen when she got the door open. He smoothed his free hand along the flank of his cat, hoping the thick fur would absorb the sudden dampness there. Didn’t want the goddess to know she’d made him sweat.
She stopped on the other side of the door. She didn’t smile, couldn’t. If she thought he’d been intense this morning, he looked positively dangerous now. It was only common sense and the bone-deep knowledge that she could never, in a million years, with her utter lack of experience and confidence, handle a man with that kind of lust in his eyes, that kept her from throwing the lock on the door and letting him take her.
“Mr. Cash,” she said through the glass.
He cleared his throat. “Doctor McKenna.”
She glanced at the contented bit of fur tucked into his elbow. “Nice cat.”
“Thank you.”
“He looks pretty healthy. Any reason you’re bringing him to my office at—” she checked her watch “—ten-eighteen p.m.?”
“He’s been in a fight.”
Grace frowned. “Really?”
“Would I lie about something like that?” he asked solemnly. Of course he would, but she didn’t need to know that.
“I don’t know. Would you?”
“No. Open the door, McKenna.”
She considered him for a full minute, but her active sense of self-preservation just couldn’t hold up against an injured animal she knew she could help. She reached up and turned the dead bolt.
“Take him back to the examining room.” She relocked the door and followed behind him as he unerringly found the examining room. She did her best not to study his rear end as he walked.
She washed her hands at the little sink and felt a familiar little zing of adrenaline. Her first client in her own practice. Could there be a more productive sensation than that? She turned to find the cat lounging on her stainless-steel examining table, the Neanderthal leaning against it with his hands widespread, watching her.
“Your cat is purring,” she pointed out.
“He’s in shock.”
“Hmm.” She took the cat in her hands. It rolled onto its back to have its belly scratched. Grace obliged automatically while looking for evidence of the fight. “What’s his name?”
“Uh, Tiger,” Daniel said, though the cat had been called “Cat” since the day it was born.
Grace looked up at him. “Tiger, huh?”
Daniel shrugged. “My brother named it.”
“Well, Tiger here has certainly been in a fight.”
“Yeah,” Daniel said, his mouth pursed in studied concern. “I thought I’d better bring him in.”
“And two weeks ago, I might have thought so, too. Mr. Cash.” She lifted the cat and dropped it into Daniel’s arms. He cradled it against his chest automatically, his fingers folding over its small head to scratch between its ears. Grace noted how unaware he was that he was doing it, how utterly at ease the cat was under his fingers. He’d probably spent hours sitting in some dusty old barn somewhere, that cat on his lap. She forced herself not to imagine it. “But probably not even then. The scratches were pretty minor even at the time they were inflicted. They are almost completely healed now.”
Daniel nodded, pretending ignorance. “So, you think he just needs a little antibiotic cream or something?”
“No, I don’t think he needs a little antibiotic cream or something.” She washed her hands. “I think he needs to go home. I think you need to go home. I think I need to go home.” She stalked out of the exam room, muttering something about wasted time.
Daniel ignored her. “Well, that’s a relief,” he said, following her through the office. “I’m glad I dropped by.”
“You didn’t drop by, Mr. Cash.” She unlocked the door and opened it wide. “Your home is eleven miles south of town.”
“How did you know that?”
“I looked through your file. I figured since you knew where I lived, I should know where you lived. In case I ever had to call the police on you or something.”
“Good thinking.” He paused in the doorway. “So, what are you doing here?”
“I work here.”
“So late.”
“I was just getting ready to go home.”
“Have you even been there yet?”
“I drove by it earlier.”
“Not good enough. I’ll see you home if you’re ready.”
She cocked her head. “I don’t think so.”
“Come on.” He jerked his head in the direction of her truck and his, then held up his cat as proof of his honor. “I own a cat. How bad a person could I be?”
“I