Fortune's Texas Surprise. Stella Bagwell
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walked on toward the examining rooms, then stopped in midstride as she saw the door to the waiting room open and Dayna usher in the next patient, which, in this case, was a long-haired dog that appeared to be a mix of cocker spaniel and Australian shepherd. She was thinking how adorably cute the dog was when the owner suddenly appeared through the door, and for one ridiculous second her breath caught in her throat.
This had to be the dream man Monica had been raving about. Dressed in faded denim, dirty cowboy boots and a chocolate-brown Stetson, he was young, with a tall, lean body that could only be acquired through hard, physical labor or hours at the gym. And somehow she couldn’t see this cowboy stepping his booted feet onto a treadmill or any other piece of gym machinery. No doubt those long, muscular thighs straining against his jeans had developed from hours of straddling a horse. Not a stationary bike.
“Oh, there you are, Stephanie.” Dayna walked up to Stephanie and handed her a manila folder with the dog’s file. “I’m taking Seymour and his owner to Exam Room 2.”
Stephanie glanced over the tall blonde’s shoulder to where the cowboy was standing patiently with the leashed dog. As soon as he spotted Stephanie glancing in his direction, he tipped the brim of his hat and grinned.
Oh, Lord, for once in her life, Monica might have been right. This man’s looks were lethal!
Clearing her throat, she turned her attention back to Dayna. “Is Dr. Neil ready to see patients? It’s a quarter to eight. I thought he’d be starting surgery already.”
“Neutering and spaying is on hold for an hour or two. Dr. Neil is running late this morning—some sort of emergency at home. And we have several walk-ins already waiting. Until the doctor gets here I thought you might deal with the less serious patients.”
“I’ll do my best,” Stephanie told her.
With the folder pressed to her chest, Stephanie stepped past Dayna and headed to the exam room. While she waited for the patient and his owner to arrive, she refrained from fidgeting with her clothes or hair. Stephanie had never been one to primp or worry about her appearance and she wasn’t about to start just because she was going to meet the sexiest man in Rambling Rose.
She was plucking gloves from a box on a work counter when the door opened and Dayna ushered the man and dog into the examining room. Stephanie instantly felt the oxygen being sucked from the space around her. Either that or her lungs had forgotten how to function.
“Stephanie, this is Acton Donovan,” Dayna said, introducing the cowboy. “Acton, this is Stephanie Fortune. She’s Dr. Neil’s right-hand man.”
He cleared his throat and shot another lopsided grin in Stephanie’s direction. “Excuse me, Dayna, but she, uh, doesn’t look like a man to me.”
Dayna glanced at Stephanie’s pink face before she turned a suggestive look on the cowboy. “It’s just like you to notice, Acton,” she said drily. “Stephanie is Dr. Neil’s number-one assistant. She’ll take care of you—I mean, she’ll take care of Seymour.”
Dayna left the room and after the door had clicked closed behind her, the long, tall cowboy looked at her, his expression a bit sheepish. “Guess you can tell Dayna thinks I’m a pest.”
“You two know each other?” Stephanie asked.
“Oh, sure. We went to the same school. Except that she was a few grades ahead of me. She thought I was a pest then, too.”
“Oh? Why is that?”
One of his broad shoulders rose and fell and Stephanie’s gaze automatically dropped to the front of his shirt. The blue-denim Western shirt molded to the muscular shape of his chest and torso, and for one brief second Stephanie wondered what he looked like beneath the tough fabric.
He chuckled. “I was a bit naughty back in my younger days.”
He wasn’t exactly old now, she thought. And even from the distance of a few feet, she could see there was a mischievous twinkle in his sky-blue eyes.
Deciding it would be best to drop the subject, she cleared her throat and walked around the examining table to where the spotted black-and-white dog was sitting close to Acton’s leg.
“So what brings Seymour to the clinic today?” she asked. “Is he not feeling well?”
“He’s having scratching fits. And I can’t find a flea or any kind of insect on him.”
As though Seymour understood the two humans were discussing him, he looked up at her and whined.
Before Stephanie approached the dog, she asked, “Is he friendly?”
“He’s never bitten anyone, but he can have a nasty temper. He snaps at me whenever he wants to remind me that he’s the boss. And he isn’t good around strangers, and that includes Dr. Neil.”
Stephanie wasn’t put off by his words of warning. Most cats and dogs wanted to be friends. When they did lash out it was out of fear and the instinct to protect themselves. “Well, I have an idea that Seymour is a very smart guy and he knows I’m going to help him feel better. Don’t you, Seymour?”
With her palm upward, she allowed the dog to sniff her hand. Immediately his bushy tail began to thump against the tiled floor. “What a sweet boy,” she crooned, then gently stroked his head.
Acton pushed back the brim of his hat and rubbed a hand across his forehead. “Holy smoke! What did you do to him?”
“Just told him I was his friend,” Stephanie replied.
She gave the dog another rub between the ears, then patted the end of the examining table. “Would you like to sit up here, Seymour, so I can take a look at you?”
The dog promptly walked over, stood on his hind legs and rested his paws on the edge of the table. Stephanie put her hands beneath his hips and lifted the dog onto the stainless-steel surface.
“Well, if that isn’t the damnedest thing I’ve ever seen!” Acton exclaimed. “I normally have to manhandle him up there and hold him down while Dr. Neil takes care of business. Look at that traitor! He’s actually enjoying this!”
Stephanie took her eyes off Seymour long enough to look at his owner, then promptly wished she hadn’t. Now that he was standing only an arm’s length away from her, she was bowled over by the vivid blue of his eyes and the tanned, masculine angles of his face.
He wasn’t one of those pretty boys, she thought. No, there were too many little imperfections about the man to put him in that category. Like the unruly way his sandy blond hair curled around his ears and down the back of his neck, the faint white scar that marked one brown eyebrow, the way the bridge of his nose was a bit too sharp and the jut of his chin overly stubborn. But, dear heaven, put them all together and he had enough sex appeal to knock any woman off her feet.
After drawing in a deep breath, she suggested, “Perhaps you should try a different tactic. Like allowing him to choose to obey rather than forcing him into it.”
The eyebrow with the scar arched upward and his reaction had Stephanie wondering if any woman ever dared to question him.
“I could give him an hour to choose to jump on that table and he’d still be sitting on the floor giving me the evil eye. You’ve put some sort of spell on him. Do you practice magic tricks or something?”
Stephanie turned her attention to the dog, and after checking his vitals, she began a visual inspection of his eyes, nose, teeth and coat.
“I can assure you I haven’t put Seymour under any kind of spell. And, no—I’m not a magician. I don’t even like magic.”
“Uh, what about cowboys with unruly dogs?”
The flirtatious tone of his voice warned her not to look up, but she couldn’t stop herself. The boyish grin on his face was worse than charming—it was downright sinful.
“I