White Picket Fences. Tara Taylor Quinn
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What could Will have been thinking, giving her this assignment? He had to know she’d try to unload it.
Which might very well have been his plan. Cancel the whole thing. Who ever heard of a university having a pet-therapy club, anyway?
Parking the Jeep, Randi hopped out and latched the door behind her. She could just picture it, a bunch of dogs in private offices, sitting in armchairs in front of couches, administering therapy to emotionally disturbed people.
Shaking her head, she entered the building. Cassie Tate had opened the clinic almost three years before, but from what Randi had heard, she wasn’t in town all that much now that she was teaching the rest of the country about pet therapy. Randi had gone to school with Cassie, and while they hadn’t been particularly close—Cassie had only had eyes, and time, for Sam Montford, and Randi had already been in training for her stint with the Ladies Professional Golf Association—Randi had always respected Cassie.
“Can I help you?” a young college student asked from her position behind the reception counter.
“Sure,” Randi said, glancing around the waiting room as she approached. One woman with a cat. In a carrier. “Is Dr. Foster around?”
“Zack?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you have an appointment?” The girl looked down at the book in front of her and then over the counter to notice Randi’s lack of a pet.
“No,” she said. She’d been hoping to just pop in and make this short and sweet. Emphasis on short.
“Can I tell him who’s here?”
“Randi Parsons. I’m from the university, and I need to speak with him about the pet-therapy club.”
The girl nodded and pushed through a swinging door behind her.
Okay, Randi understood the part about extracurricular activities on campus and even the fact that she had to be an adviser. She’d managed to avoid it so far, although most of the Montford faculty served eventually. It kept the teachers and students unified, working toward common goals. Many of the activities were community-oriented, which helped solidify the values of which Montford was so proud. She was for all of that. Would lobby for it, if necessary.
But pet therapy?
“You can go on back.” The receptionist had returned. “He’s in his office, third door on the right.”
“Thanks,” Randi said, rounding the counter with her fingers crossed. Five minutes should make all the difference.
She’d seen Dr. Zack Foster from a distance. In a town the size of Shelter Valley, it was pretty much impossible not to at least catch a glimpse of each of the two thousand or so permanent residents at some time or other. Even if said resident had been in town for less than a year. There was only one major grocery store, two gas stations, one real restaurant. Everyone was seen eventually.
Besides, Zack Foster was a basketball fan. She’d noticed him at one of the final women’s games when Montford had been on its way to the championship.
Which they’d won. Randi still felt a little glow of pride when she thought about it.
Seeing him from a distance was nothing like being in the same room with him. Up close he was huge. Not an ounce overweight, just muscular. Solid.
“Dr. Foster?”
“Please, call me Zack.” He rose and offered her his hand.
Randi swallowed. “I’m Randi Parsons.” Her voice almost cracked.
What the hell was the matter with her?
“Good to meet you,” he said, looking at her oddly. “I followed Montford’s women’s basketball last season. Very impressive.”
“Thanks.”
She’d been around big men all her life. Had four of them for older brothers, and ever since she’d been able to walk she’d been able to take on all four of them with one hand tied behind her back. Both hands, if it came to that.
He didn’t sit back down. Didn’t offer her a seat, either, not that she planned to stay long. At least she didn’t think she planned to. He had the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. And they were boring holes in her.
“Uh, do I, uh, have jelly smeared on my mouth?” she asked, wiping her lips even though she hadn’t had jelly in years. Or breakfast that morning, for that matter.
“No, of course not.” His gaze dropped. “Sorry about that. Please, have a seat.”
Randi sat. She had the strangest feeling that she’d do just about anything the man asked of her right then. A feeling she’d never had before in her life. One she hoped never to have again.
“I, uh, just wanted to speak with you a moment about Montford’s pet-therapy club. I was told you’re administering it from the professional side.”
“I am.” He nodded, one thumb busy thumping a folder on top of his desk.
The man was having the most discomforting effect on Randi. She had no idea what to do with it. Her only consolation was that he seemed to be just as uncomfortable as she was.
Good. That should make it even easier to accomplish her task.
“I’ve been assigned to be the club’s faculty adviser.”
“What happened to Dr. Randolph?”
“He retired.”
“Oh.”
The vet’s blue eyes were studying her again, as though he saw something he didn’t know what to do with, either.
She’d help him out. Help them both out.
“The thing is, I know Cassie’s made quite a name for herself with her pet therapy, helping emotionally disturbed people and all, but this club, it can’t have any real impact. The kids running it aren’t trained like Cassie is. Nor am I. We don’t have the psychology background.”
“There are many kinds of pet therapy—”
“I’m just thinking that, with Cassie being out of town so much and you having to carry an extra load, we’d be remiss not to understand your commitments and cancel the club, at least for this semester. Let you off the hook, so to speak.”
“I don’t want to be let off the hook, but thank you for your consideration.” If she wasn’t mistaken, his words held just a bit of mockery. As though he knew she hadn’t really been thinking of him at all.
Or, at least, only as an afterthought.
Randi wanted out of this assignment. More than ever, now that she was actually sitting here with Zack Foster. His glance was so powerful, something about him so compelling, her stomach was almost quivering.
Her stomach never quivered.
“What good are a bunch of untutored college kids going to be?” she asked, determined to do what she’d come here to do and get the hell out of there. “I don’t imagine they can learn enough about therapy in the five short meetings allotted to us.”
“They don’t need any training at all,” Zack said with great confidence. “And the meetings aren’t all that short. We take four or five trips a semester into Phoenix to nursing homes there. I provide the dogs, you provide the dogs’ partners, whose only job it is to take the dogs into different rooms and let them do their stuff.”
He lost Randi with the remark about meetings that weren’t short. She had a very full schedule this semester. She had a new cross-country coach to stay on top of and a budget that wasn’t going to stretch all the way. Plus, the athletic conference of which Montford was a part was completely reworking its policies this spring. And in her spare time, her focus had to be on recruiting for the basketball team so they weren’t a one-season wonder. She needed the gate