Hitched For The Holidays: Hitched For The Holidays / A Groom In Her Stocking

“Yeah, parents have a different take on things.” He hesitated as though examining the decorative paw prints on the wall. “My mother was crazy about my fiancée. Unfortunately Cassandra loved horses so much there wasn’t much room left for people, me included. Guess she just thought it would be handy to marry a vet who could look after her stable of Arabians.”

He leaned against the metal-topped examination table and focused on the chart of dog breeds on the wall behind her, maybe regretting saying so much to the owner of one of his patients. Then he met her eyes again and gave her a rueful smile. “I prefer working with smaller animals.”

Now she was much more interested in his problem than hers, but Dad would be getting off a plane in three days expecting to meet a boyfriend.

“I did a terrible thing,” she admitted, nervously twisting the leash around her fingers.

“I find that hard to believe.”

Again the thousand-watt smile. Did he have any idea how devastating it was?

“It was the day Peaches came in for her heartworm shot….”

“I remember that day. It was about three months ago, beginning of August, right?”

“Right. You have a good memory.”

“Sometimes.”

“Anyway, that’s the day he called and started talking about his favorite obsession—my marriage prospects. Had I found a ‘decent sort’ yet which translates to someone he won’t hate more than pickled beets or home shopping networks? I think he’s hated every boyfriend I’ve ever had!”

“I guess fathers can be too protective.”

“Can they! While he was talking, I remembered taking Peaches here for her shot. On impulse I told him I was seeing a doctor. After all, I had just seen you. I never dreamed he’d come before the end of tax time next April,” she babbled. “He’s an accountant, and that’s his usual vacation time. He always spends Christmas with my brother’s family. But he suddenly decided to retire early, and he’s coming to check on me.”

“Ah.”

Again the “ah.” She didn’t know whether he was sympathetic or eager to have her leave so he could see his next patient. He appeared to be giving her his full attention.

“Well, I’ve wasted enough of your time,” she said, her resolve melting under his gaze.

“You’re not the first.”

“What?”

“Not the first woman to make an unnecessary appointment for her pet.”

She opened her mouth to deny it, but his eyes were too all-knowing, too penetrating…

“No wonder,” he said, “when my mom, my aunts, even my receptionist have been recruiting bachelorettes for me since the breakup more than six months ago. One of Mom’s prospects even brought in a borrowed cockatoo to check me out.”

“How do you know?”

She was embarrassed to be busted, but glad she wasn’t the only one to book an unnecessary appointment as an excuse to see him. At least Peaches was a regular patient.

“I can recognize my own patients, even when someone besides the owner brings the bird for a visit.”

“I’m really sorry I bothered you,” she said, trying to lead Peaches toward the door.

The Corgi plopped down on her hindquarters, a trick six weeks of obedience school had done nothing to delete from her repertoire.

“So ask me,” the vet challenged.

“Ask you?” To compound her general embarrassment, her voice squeaked.

“What you came to ask me.”

“Oh, it doesn’t matter.”

“It must matter a lot if you’re willing to pay for an appointment just to see me. If there’s something I can do…”

Her nerve failed her, in no small part because she didn’t want to be turned down. The man was gorgeous. He probably had a pack of women on his heels. He’d never go along with what she wanted.

“I’ve taken up too much of your time, and this is my busy season, as well. I’d better run.”

Would he think she was terrible if she nudged the stubborn dog with her foot? Peaches was acting as infatuated as a human female, sniffing at Dr. Kincaid’s thick-soled running shoe with zeal.

“You’re one of Santa’s elves?” he teased. “Rushing to get all the toys ready for Christmas?”

“Close,” she admitted, relaxing a little because he was so friendly in spite of her dumb idea of pretending Peaches was sick. “I’m a professional organizer. I have to take care of my clients’ needs as much as I can now because the month before Christmas I’m always booked solid.”

“What does a professional organizer do?” he asked, again with the sincere interest in his voice.

“Unclutter closets, rearrange rumpled rooms, fight disorder at its root level. I have parties to plan, trees to decorate, gifts to buy, whatever busy people don’t have time to do themselves. Hopefully, my father will make his usual short, restless visit and jet out again before my schedule is a shambles.”

“If he gets to meet your doctor.”

“There is that,” she said glumly.

“And you were hoping I would…”

“It was a dumb idea.”

“Spit it out, or I’ll have to charge you for two appointment slots.”

“That’s blackmail!”

“Yeah, it is, but you have me curious.”

“I need a doctor to go out to dinner with my father.”

“Your father and you?”

“Both of us.”

“He won’t believe unless he sees?”

“No way.”