The Doctor Next Door. Victoria Pade
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it. I am. The only one in town.”
He’d gone from the laid-back, friendly yo to a much more curt tone of voice. But then they’d never been friendly, so maybe this was his version of professionalism.
“How bad’s the tooth?” he demanded.
“Bad enough for me to see that it’s broken and for there to be blood all over.”
“I’ll have to meet you at my office. Do you know where that is?”
Because the directory was still open she was able to read out the address that put him just off of Main Street and only a few blocks from Faith’s house.
“That’s it,” the vet cut her off before she got the complete address out. “I’m in the middle of something at my place outside of town so it’ll take me about half an hour to get things under control here and drive in. I’ll see you there.”
Click.
That was it, he’d hung up.
“Well, okay…” Faith muttered to herself, taken aback by the man’s abruptness.
But at that moment manners—or the lack of them—was less a concern than getting Charlie taken care of.
Faith arrived at Boone Pratt’s office exactly half an hour after calling him. But when she carried Charlie from the car to the door she found it locked. Peering through a plate-glass window, she saw no sign that anyone was inside, so she sat on the wooden bench below the office window to wait with Charlie in her lap.
Fearing she might hurt the dog, Faith had only gingerly washed the blood off of her pet’s fur. Charlie wasn’t as much of a mess as she’d been when she’d come in from outside but she wasn’t altogether clean, either. Faith was embarrassed to bring the animal in with matted hair, but putting Charlie through a bath had seemed cruel.
Faith had changed her own clothes, though. In the circles she had become accustomed to in the last eleven years it would have been unthinkable to be seen in the sweatpants and T-shirt she’d been wearing to unpack her belongings. Even an emergency trip to the vet in Northbridge had compelled her to slip into an ankle-length skirt and a silk blouse.
Her bittersweet-chocolate-colored hair had been taken from its ponytail, too, and, rather than leaving it to fall to her shoulders, she’d swept it back into an impromptu French twist.
Not even on a day at home did she go without makeup, but she had double-checked to be sure there were no mascara smudges beneath her violet-blue eyes. That her thin, straight nose was powdered. That the high cheekbones that had made it seem as if she’d fit into the patrician class in Connecticut were dusted with blush. And she’d added an ever-so-light touch of gloss to lips that could have been cosmetically plumped-up but that she’d let remain naturally not-too-full in a quiet rebellion against the tides.
All in all, her former mother-in-law would still have barely considered her presentable for a visit to the facialist or the hairdresser, both of whom would make improvements, but it was the best Faith could do in a hurry.
On the other hand, when the grimy red truck pulled up to the curb to park next to her BMW, it didn’t seem as if anyone who might emerge from it could have any reason to judge.
Probably because she was worried about her dog, that emergence seemed to be in slow-motion and Faith was more aware of details than of the whole that was being unveiled before her as Boone Pratt got out of the truck.
The first thing she noticed were dusty cowboy boots that were obviously unfamiliar with polish or a boot-buffer. They brought with them long legs encased in jeans rubbed nearly white at all the stress points and caked with mud around hems that were partially there, partially ripped into fringe. There was also a denim shirt that was so threadbare it hung almost diaphanously around a lean torso and broad shoulders. The entire ensemble was grimy.
He didn’t look any cleaner from the neck up.
Shockingly handsome, but no cleaner.
And I was worried about Charlie being too dirty to be out in public, Faith thought.
“Boone?” she asked, not intending to sound as put-off as she did.
“Faith?” he countered facetiously.
Had he caught her shock at the way he looked? It wouldn’t help anything if he had.
“Thank you for coming. I’m sorry to drag you out on a Sunday afternoon,” she said, making sure nothing but gratitude echoed in her voice this time.
“Part of the job,” he said dismissively.
She stood and he gave her the once-over, making her wonder, again, if she had given herself away, prompting him to get even.
Or maybe he just found her clothes somehow inappropriate. As eyes the blue of a clear, cool mountain lake assessed her down a hawkish nose, the sneer on a mouth that was devastatingly sexy left her with no doubt of his thoughts. He didn’t approve of what he saw any more than she had.
Not attempting to conceal his distaste, he walked from the truck to the office with long, confident strides and unlocked the door.
Faith stood aside until she and Charlie were ushered in by a motion that managed to mock her. She was convinced that this man genuinely disliked her. And considering the change in his response on the phone when she’d identified herself, it seemed as if it wasn’t only based on her failure to hide that she’d noticed his lack of cleanliness. But if that was the case, she honestly didn’t understand why. They had only coexisted in this same small town while growing up; it wasn’t as if they’d ever spoken more than ten words to each other. Why did he seem to have so much animosity? But it was there anyway, unmistakably.
Unless it was just that Boone Pratt had a bad disposition, like her grandfather—who had been the town’s pastor and was infamously bad-tempered. But a lifetime of the reverend’s unlikable personality had given her a basis of comparison and Faith felt as if there was something more personal when it came to Boone Pratt’s bad attitude toward her.
“In there,” he ordered, pointing a long index finger in the direction of an examining room off the waiting area they’d just entered.
Faith took Charlie into the other room, setting her pet on the countertop that obviously served as an examining table.
Boone Pratt brought up the rear, going around to the inside of the L-shaped space formed by cupboards and counters. As he came into sight again, he ran his big hands through hair that—without the dust that frosted it—was so dark a brown it was almost black.
He needed a haircut—that was what Faith thought of the unruly mane that grazed his shirt collar and waved away from a ruggedly beautiful face with remarkable bone structure. It was a face the photographer who took her former family’s annual portraits would have adored. Sharply defined cheek-and jawbones would have put her ex-husband’s and her ex-father-in-law’s pie-shaped faces to shame.
After this cursory hair-combing, the vet made a show of washing his hands in the sink that occupied the other section of the counter. As Faith cast a glance down at Charlie, she somehow caught sight of Boone Pratt’s derriere. Disreputable jeans or not, it was one fine rear.
Fine enough to make Faith swallow hard to keep her composure.
After the vet had done a thorough job of washing his hands, he turned and came to stand directly opposite her and Charlie, dwarfing them both from a stature that must have been a full three inches over six feet.
“Who do we have here?” he asked in a more pleasant tone aimed at his patient as he held out one hand for the animal to sniff.
“This is Charlie,” Faith answered.
“Hi, Charlie,” Boone Pratt said soothingly and without so much as a glance at Faith. “Got yourself into trouble, did you, boy?”
“He’s a her. I mean, Charlie is a