Angel's Rest(5)

“I’ll tell Mom you won’t be long,” she said, shifting her gaze to the vet. On her way out the door, she paused and added, “By the way, I think Mom is having supper with Sheriff Turner.”

In the wake of the girl’s departure, Gabe shoved his hands in his jeans pockets and observed, “That was subtle.”

“We watch out for one another around here.” She quickly and efficiently wrapped the bandage, released the locks on the table where the dog lay, and rolled it toward a wall lined with crates. When she opened the door to a medium-sized wire box, Gabe stepped forward. “Let me help.”

“Thanks.”

Careful of the boxer’s injured leg, he slipped his hands beneath the dog’s torso and shifted him into the crate. When he stepped back, Dr. Nic was frowning at him. “What? Did I do it wrong? Did I hurt him?”

“Before, I was concentrating on the dog. I didn’t notice.” She gestured toward his chest. “That’s your blood, not his.”

Gabe glanced down at his shirt. “More his than mine, and my fault for being careless. He got me a time or two before I thought enough to use my shirt to wrap his head while I released him from the trap.”

“Why didn’t you use your coat?”

“Wasn’t mine.”

He watched her silently mouth a word that just might have been idiot. Gabe almost grinned.

“Scratches or bites?”

“Both.”

She sighed heavily. “Go sit on the table and take off your shirt.”

“There’s no need for that,” he said, uneasy over how appealing he found the idea.

“That dog’s been running wild. At the very least you need the wounds flushed and examined.” She pointed toward the table.

He hesitated, and she scowled at him. “Now.”

Gabe gave in to both their desires. He tugged off his shirt and it wasn’t until he heard her shocked gasp that he realized just what he’d done. The scars had been a part of him for so long now that he forgot he even had them. He unconsciously straightened, bracing himself against the barrage of questions sure to come. Questions he had no intention of answering. That part of his life was a closed book.

The pretty veterinarian surprised him. But for that one betraying inhalation, her professionalism never slipped. Maybe her gaze was a bit softer, her touch as gentle as the snowfall, but she never once recoiled or eyed him with pity. Gradually Gabe relaxed. For a few stolen moments he allowed himself to pleasure in the sensation of human touch upon his skin.

“I’ll quarantine the boxer,” she said. “You should drive into Gunnison and see Dr. Hander at the medical clinic. He’ll put you on prophylactic antibiotics. When was your last tetanus shot?”

“Last year.”

“Good.”

Next she ran through a series of basic questions about his medical history, and then asked him to lie on his back. “Your legs will hang off the table, I’m afraid, but this way will keep your pants dry.”

His jeans had been wet since he wrestled with the dog, but he kept that detail to himself and studied her through half-closed eyes as she prepared to bathe his wounds with saline. Her beauty was the wholesome, girl-next-door type. He figured the lack of a ring on her finger was due to work-related safety factors rather than marital status. Bet she was married with a couple of kids.

Pain sliced through him as she applied the solution, and Gabe sucked in a breath.

“Sorry,” she murmured. “It’s important to clean all these scratches.”

“Wouldn’t want them to scar,” he replied, his tone desert dry.

He saw the question in her eyes, and she must have seen the answer in his, because she kept quiet. She moved a step closer and caught a whiff of her scent. Summertime peaches, ripe and juicy. Now there was an incongruous item for a cold autumn day.

Her gentle finger brushed across a hard ridge of scar tissue and she softly said, “More than a hundred and thirty bacterial diseases can be transmitted to humans from a dog’s mouth, Mr. Callahan. Dr. Hander will tell you what to watch for, but as long as you take the antibiotics he’ll prescribe, I doubt you’ll have a problem.”

“I’ll be fine.”

She paused and waited for him to meet her stare. “You’re not going to go see Dr. Hander, are you?”

“It’s a long drive. Can’t you give me antibiotics?”

“I’m a vet.”