Don't Mess With Texans. Peggy Nicholson
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angle without standing. Her fingers curled limp and unmoving. “Susannah?”
There came a faint sigh and a murmur. Her hand flexed slightly, then relaxed. Out as cold as her four-legged friend.
And speaking of which, the clock was ticking. Tag had seen enough people faint in vet school not to worry about her. She hadn’t fallen far, and she’d fallen on straw. And if she was this squeamish she’d be happier out of it. Teach me to let amateurs in the op room! He grabbed the special stainless-steel pliers and went back to work.
Eight minutes later when he set the instrument aside, she still hadn’t stirred. Tag did his final cleanup, a last inch-byinch inspection, a quick stick of long-acting antibiotic to the rump, then nodded. A good job, if he said so himself. Even fussbudget Higgins would have had to agree.
“Susannah?” He hid his tools from view, then stood, stretched and had to smile. Oh, Susannah! She was as irresistible as a basket of golden retriever pups. She’d toppled straight back into the straw, one arm flung overhead, the other resting below her small breasts. She breathed deeply, easily, soft lips barely parted. Faint had flowed straight into sleep, it looked like. Drove all night, he remembered. He knelt beside her and clamped his fingers on his knees to keep from smoothing her hair.
It was like a run of rough water on a mountain stream, riffling and rumpling and cascading down sunstruck rocks, an eddy of smooth gold here, a swirl of copper and sunshine there. It almost begged a man to thread it through his fingers, use it to tip back her head for a—
“Bad idea,” she muttered without opening her eyes. “Oh, real bad!” She scowled, wrenched her head to one side, her lashes shivering.
Damn, was she psychic on top of all else? Tag hadn’t blushed since seventh grade, the time that little redheaded substitute teacher caught him peeking down her—“What is?” he said guiltily.
“Don’t!” She opened her eyes, stared blankly at a world of straw for a second, then swung her gaze up to his. “Don’t do it. I changed my mind!” She latched onto his jacket lapels, hauling him down and herself to a half-sit, their faces mere inches apart.
“You mean...?” His stomach did a slow, nasty somersault, and it wasn’t just her breasts nearly grazing his chest or the tip of her tongue glossing delectable lips. “Susannah, you mean don’t do your stud?”
She nodded violently. He slipped an arm under her shoulders before she choked him. “Uh, Susannah...it’s a bit late for that now.” All the king’s horses and all the king’s men, babe... “The Pook’ll be neighing tenor from now on.”
“Ohhh...” She squeezed her eyes tight and simply lay there, letting him support her weight for a long moment. “Oh.” She drew a shuddering breath and opened her eyes. “Right.”
He blinked, then realized. She meant “right,” not “rot.” She gave him a wavering smile and shrugged as he lifted her upright. “Oh, well, it was just a thought...”
Tag was having second thoughts, too. Malpractice suits against vets weren’t as rare as they once had been. Trusting idiot, he hadn’t even made her fill out the forms beforehand as he should have. If she wanted to claim otherwise, he had no legal proof that she’d requested this procedure and not a tonsillectomy. Higgins would have called him twelve kinds of lust-struck idiot for this oversight, thinking with his—
“Never mind.” She braced her arms behind her and he let her go. She glanced around. “How is he?”
“Couldn’t be better.” One dark ear twitched at their voices, then flopped again. He’d finished in the nick of time. Tag brought his gaze warily back to her face. Her color was returning to normal, well, maybe a bit pinker than normal, but whatever she was thinking he was pretty sure it wasn’t lawsuits. He pulled a wisp of straw from her hair and she gave him a shaky smile. It would be all right, thank God. She might be a waffler, but she wasn’t a blamer. “You’re from Georgia?”
Her foxy brows drew together. “Texas.” A two-and-a-half syllable word, the way she said it. “Te-exas,” pronounced with pride and mild reproof, as if he’d asked an angel for her address. Left hand of God, of course, silly. Where did you think?
Was it an ethical blooper to kiss your patient’s owner? And did he care? Tag wasn’t the outlaw he’d been in his youth, but he still followed his own counsel more often than not when it came to rules.
On the other hand, one of his personal principles was that you didn’t kiss a cornered woman. Not the first time, anyway, before you knew how she felt about it. He helped her to her feet, stood looking down at her. Her eyes weren’t blue in this light, but violet. “If you’re from Texas, then what’s a blue norther?” He remembered puzzling over the phrase in a paperback western he’d read that summer he’d spent locked up in reform school.
She laughed. “Big winter storm, comes whoopin’ down out of the Panhandle. The whole sky goes purply blue and the horse trough freezes over. Why?”
“Dunnow. Just crossed my mind.” Pookie lifted his head and blew, and the moment passed. They helped him roll awkwardly to an upright position. After he’d considered that woozily for a minute, he snorted and struggled to his feet. Stood wide-legged and swaying.
Out in the corridor, the phone rang. “Be right back.” If that was Higgins, he was too late.
It was Carol Anne. “Doctor Taggart. Mrs. Hazard and her Rotweiler have been waiting to see you for ten minutes.”
“Tell her five more.” Tag returned to Pookie’s owner. “He needs to be quiet for the next hour or two, Susannah. So why don’t you come up to the clinic? Carol Anne can find you a cup of coffee and—”
She shook her head. “I’d rather keep an eye on him.”
“Suit yourself.” She was a stubborn little cuss, but that was part of her charm, the variety—softness and toughness, flashes of fire and hints of tenderness. He shrugged out of his leather jacket as she turned back to her horse. He probably shouldn’t do this, but... He settled his coat around her, smiling down at her as she glanced back over her shoulder, surprised. “Meantime, this’ll keep you warm.”
Her lips parted as if to protest—then closed again and curved softly. She put up her arms like a trusting child and he helped her into its sleeves. Then she rotated under his hands to face him. “I want to thank you, Dr. Taggart.”
“It was my pleasure.” He shouldn’t push it. She had to be beat if she’d driven all night, but he didn’t want to let her get away. She was new in town and he meant to stake his claim before another man spotted her. “Once you’ve settled Pook into his new home, how about coming out to supper with me? Something simple. I know it’s been a long day and you...” He paused as her face closed down. Stupid, you should have waited!
Her shoulders stiffened under his fingers, subtly shrugging him off. “That’s most kind, Doctor.” Her drawl was more pronounced, as if she drifted southward away from him. “But truth is...I’m married.” She dropped her chin and fumbled with the zipper of his coat “B‘sides, I don’t much like men, now’days. Not that way.” She scuffed a boot in the straw. “But I appreciate the offer.” She looked up suddenly, jaw set, eyes direct and purply blue, the color of a freezing Texas wind.
“Right” He felt as if she’d slapped his face. No, he’d run head-on into her hand—she hadn’t raised it against him. He’d been the one who’d come on like a half-grown, bumptious puppy, sniffing after his first bitch in heat. She’d simply needed a doctor. Married, standing there straight and small in his jacket. “Right, well...” Crap. Stick your neck out this far, there was no way to retreat without looking a fool. He headed out the door. “Come up to the office if you need anything. I’ll check back in an hour, see how he’s doing.”
Or you could always come up and pay. If it wasn’t love at first sight, then he supposed it was business. Carol Anne would certainly see it that way. For all he cared, Susannah Mack could have a freebie.