The City Girl and the Country Doctor

“You’re welcome to get him out if you can,” she said, leaving behind the subtle scent of coconut shampoo as she passed him at the door. “He’ll just run off if I try.”

Ignoring the faint tightening low in his gut, he nodded toward the bed. “Has he been eating or drinking?”

“Both. He turned up his nose at the cat food, but polished off half a can of tuna. I’ll get your coffee. How do you take it?”

“Black.”

“I’ll be in the kitchen, then. When you’re through, just turn left at the end of the hall.”

Rebecca watched him acknowledge her with a nod before she closed the door in case the cat decided to make a run for it. Despite Molly’s insistence that vets didn’t make house calls, she was truly relieved that this particular one had decided to make an exception. The cats hid from her all the time, and seemed to take particular delight in pouncing out and scaring her witless. Yet, regardless of the way they terrorized her, she needed to know the injured one was okay.

Two minutes later, coffee poured and waiting on the counter that divided the big colonial kitchen from the sunny breakfast nook, Joe walked in with both cats bouncing at his heels.

Her first thought was of the Pied Piper. The animals never followed her around that way. But, then, the man filling the room with his reassuring presence had a definite knack with the four-legged set. Yesterday, she’d actually seen Columbus visibly calm at his touch.

He seemed to have that gift with two-legged species, too. When he had touched her, she’d felt that calming gentleness herself.

Preferring not to think about that odd phenomenon, she focused on his patient. “How is he?”

“He’s doing fine. How about you? How are you doing with him?”

“He’s really doing okay?”

“He really is,” he assured, echoing her phrasing.

“Then, I’ll be better now.” She had checked on the cat every half an hour since she’d awakened at five to make sure he was still breathing. Apparently, she wouldn’t need to do that anymore. “Thanks.

“Tell me,” she hurried on, watching Columbus paw at the cone collar he clearly hated. “When I brought him in, how did you know which one he was?”

“We have a picture of each patient in their file,” he explained. “Tracy pulled the Turners’ files right after you called. I knew this one because the two darker gray marks above his eyes remind me of horns. The marks on Magellan look more like exclamation points.” He glanced toward the piles of papers on the table in the breakfast bay, then to the coffee cooling on the counter. “Mind if I have that?”

She was still dwelling on the markings. “Of course, Dr. Hudson,” she murmured, handing the mug to him. Horns. How appropriate, she thought, now eyeing the cat. The little devil probably was the one who’d ruined her shoe.

“It’s Joe.”

Her glance jerked from the cat who’d just curled up near the other in a sunbeam.

“My name,” he said, since she looked so preoccupied. “Call me Joe.” Without waiting for a reply, he turned his attention to the table with its stacks of photographs, envelopes and papers. “You were already working.”

“I was just getting ready to.”

“You said you’re freelancing?”

“For the magazine I used to work for,” she explained. “I have proposals out to a couple of others, too. I wrote for accessories and American fashion. Still do. But I like doing research pieces.”

Mug in hand, looking curious, he nodded his dark head toward the stacks. “May I?”

She lifted her hand toward the table, told him to go ahead. Even as she did, her glance darted from the blue chambray shirt visible beneath the open brown leather jacket that looked more comfortably worn than fashionably distressed, down the length of his neat khakis and landed on his brown, tasseled boaters.

Her mental wheels spinning, she watched him sip his coffee as he frowned at a collection of glossy photos.

He was exactly the sort of man she was writing about in her make-over-your-mate project; intelligent, handsome and sexy, but, she suspected, clueless about fashion beyond denim and khaki.

“Would you be interested in helping me?”

One dark eyebrow rose as she moved beside him.

“One of the articles I’m working on requires men’s opinions. It’ll be really easy,” she hurried to assure him, since he was already looking skeptical. “I have a questionnaire that’s multiple choice and photos that just need to be listed in order of preference.

“Not those,” she muttered, seeing his skepticism grow as he glanced back at the photos of brooding and gaunt males. From his frown, it seemed glaringly obvious that the runway look was something he just didn’t get. But, then, some designers did go a tad over the top. “Those are for a menswear article and are a little…”

“Bizarre?”

Her expression held tolerance. She would be the first to admit that she knew nothing about animals. It was only fair to cut him some slack on the fashion front. “I was going to say cutting-edge. It’s like any of the runway fashions,” she pointed out, warming to her subject. “Everything from hair and makeup on down is exaggerated. The designer is going for a statement. A theme, if you will. You rarely see exact copies on the street, but elements show up on the racks the next season. Or the next,” she hurried to explain, “depending on which part of the country you’re in. Buyers buy differently for different markets. But that’s not the article I need help with.

“I have photos of other designers and more mainstream lines, too,” she said, reaching across the table to pluck a manila envelope off a stack. “Calvin Klein, Ralph Lauren, Versace. Issey Miyake. Armani. He’s my personal favorite.” She turned with a smile. “Levi Strauss.”

She’d already put those photos in each of the five hundred manila envelopes stacked across the back of the table. This morning’s project was to add the last of the photos to the questionnaires already in them and start making her rounds of men’s clothing stores and the men on Danbury Way—with the exception of Jack. That was one man’s opinion her article would have to go without.

“Is this why you came to Rosewood?” Joe asked, watching her punch the metal tab on the envelope through the hole in its flap. “To outfit the suburban male?”

“My job is merely to enlighten.”

His glance skimmed from the animation in her lovely blue eyes to her slicked-back hair. She was truly, classically beautiful, yet nearly everything about her confused his idea of what he usually found attractive in a woman. The severely restrained hair said “don’t touch.” The stiletto heels that put her nearly eye level with most men, including him, seemed to say “don’t mess with me, I’m not vulnerable to you.” She wasn’t soft, yet she was indisputably feminine. The black clothes that covered her from neck to pointed toe weren’t provocative at all by themselves, yet on her, they were as sexy as hell.

“That wasn’t my question,” he said mildly.

Her animation slipped with the quick blink of her lush lashes. “I came here because it’s where I thought I needed to be.” Purposefully looking back to hold his glance, she tipped the envelope toward him. “So,” she continued, clearly intent on sticking to what she felt comfortable with, “are you game?”

He didn’t know what intrigued him more; her contradictions or the effect of her scent, her smile. Seeing no need to figure it out now, he gave her a shrug. “I have no idea how much help I’d be, but sure. I’ll be glad to. You’ll just have to explain all of what you just said. Only not right now,” he continued, taking one last sip of his coffee. “I have to get to the clinic. How about Saturday afternoon?” he asked, setting the mug on the counter. “I’m hiking near the meadow where I took some of the pictures you were looking at. Hang on to that,” he said with a nod to the envelope she held, “and if you want, you can come with me and we can talk on the way.”

“Hike?”

She wasn’t sure if it was the activity she questioned or the invitation itself. Either way, there was no masking her incredulity.

“It’s not much of one,” he assured her. “There’s absolutely no dangling from cliffs involved. It’s more of a walk in the park. Do you have other plans?”

She hesitated. “Not exactly…”

“Then I’ll pick you up at one thirty. The clinic doesn’t close until one.” She was vacillating. He could see it. Not wanting to give her a chance to point out that she hadn’t actually accepted the invitation, he glanced to the pointed toes of her heels. “Wear sturdy shoes. And thanks for the coffee.” He backed toward the door. “I’ll see myself out.”

Joe turned then, checking to make sure he didn’t have cats at his feet as he left the house. As candid as she seemed to be, he felt certain that if Rebecca hadn’t wanted to go with him, she’d have been fast on his heels with a reason or an excuse for not being able to join him. All she’d done was stay where she was, looking temporarily speechless.

He had the feeling she wasn’t often at a loss for words.

He climbed into his truck and immediately frowned at the file folders on the passenger seat. He had no business taking Saturday afternoon off to go hiking. He had a mountain of paperwork to fill out for a small business loan to expand his clinic. With any luck, and the kind of hard work that kept him from second-guessing the decisions he’d made, this time next year, he would have started construction on a bigger clinic that would include an animal hospital so he could offer his clients round-the-clock care.

He should also run up north and help his dad and brother finish weather-stripping the barn before the snows set in. But that would take more than an afternoon. Aside from that, nearly every time he’d gone back home lately, his mom had managed to have her latest candidate for her future daughter-in-law stop by.