The City Girl and the Country Doctor

The woman was clearly intent on getting details of the good doctor’s visit. Rebecca hated to disappoint her, but there would be none. She’d meant what she’d said. She truly was swearing off men. In the romantic, physical and emotional sense, anyway. The platonic friendship she’d formed with Molly’s husband was okay. And for support services, they were allowed. But those were her ground rules.

“Sure,” she murmured to Molly, pretty sure she’d covered her bases, and watched her clearly curious friend head back across the cul-de-sac.

“If this isn’t a good time, I can come by later. I was just on my way to the clinic—”

“It’s fine,” she said quickly. The man was there to check on the cat. That fell squarely into the service category. The least she could do was be gracious to him. “I put on another pot of coffee a while ago. It should be ready if you want some.”

Another pot? Joe thought. “That would be great.”

Joe watched the beautiful brunette in the black turtleneck sweater, slim black slacks and high black heels give him a cautious smile before she led him up the walkway of the rather large, two-story colonial-style house that looked pretty much like all the nicely tended homes in the upper-middle-class cul-de-sac—except for the mansionlike structure taking up two lots next door, anyway. But his attention wasn’t on the house or the neighborhood so much as it was on this particular resident.

He honestly did want to know how the cat was doing. He knew he could have one of his assistants make the usual follow-up call to make sure everything was going all right. But he wanted to know how she was coping, too. There had been no mistaking her uneasiness with the little guy yesterday. Between what he suspected was a fear in general of animals and her total lack of knowledge about the care of an injured one, stopping by to check on both seemed like the most practical thing to do.

Rebecca opened the storm screen and the front door, only to immediately bend in a graceful stoop and hold her hand low as if to intercept a potential escapee. Apparently, finding no cat waiting to run out, she straightened to hold the door for him and closed it when he’d stepped inside.

“The Turners have unique taste,” she said, to explain the eclectic collection of Asian and Mediterranean objets d’art mixed among the chintz prints and colonial Williamsburg furnishings. She preferred a sleeker, more urban style herself. Less clutter, cleaner lines. “They travel a lot.

“Columbus has been hiding out in one of the guest rooms,” she continued, leading him past the entry wall of Turner family photos and into a short hallway. Turning into the last door, she knelt beside the high four-poster bed and lifted the edge of the frilly rosebud print bed skirt. “I don’t know how he jams himself under there with that collar, but he’s still under here if you want to try to get him.”

Joe’s glance moved over her slender, incredibly appealing shape. She had the lithe body of a dancer, all gentle, feminine curves and long, long legs. She was also dressed like a cat burglar. Even the wide and intricate black belt snugged low on her hips was the color of coal.

“Has he been there since yesterday?”

“Only since about midnight. That’s when the tranquilizer or whatever it was you gave him wore off and he jumped down. Before that, I had him on the sofa with me.”

It sounded as if she’d slept on the sofa to keep an eye on the cat. Or, maybe, he thought, to keep the cat company. Either way, it seemed she wasn’t as uncomfortable with the animal as he’d thought she was. Or, maybe, he thought, dead certain he hadn’t misread her fear, her sympathy for its injuries had outweighed that unease.

The other gray cat wandered in. Striped silver and black like its sibling, Magellan held up his tail in a high, slow wave and did a lazy figure eight around Joe’s legs before poking his nose under the skirt to see what had his keeper’s attention.

Noting the other cat beside her, Rebecca eased back as if she didn’t trust what it might do and rose to her feet.

“You’re welcome to get him out if you can,” she said, leaving behind the subtle scent of coconut shampoo as she passed him at the door. “He’ll just run off if I try.”

Ignoring the faint tightening low in his gut, he nodded toward the bed. “Has he been eating or drinking?”

“Both. He turned up his nose at the cat food, but polished off half a can of tuna. I’ll get your coffee. How do you take it?”

“Black.”

“I’ll be in the kitchen, then. When you’re through, just turn left at the end of the hall.”

Rebecca watched him acknowledge her with a nod before she closed the door in case the cat decided to make a run for it. Despite Molly’s insistence that vets didn’t make house calls, she was truly relieved that this particular one had decided to make an exception. The cats hid from her all the time, and seemed to take particular delight in pouncing out and scaring her witless. Yet, regardless of the way they terrorized her, she needed to know the injured one was okay.

Two minutes later, coffee poured and waiting on the counter that divided the big colonial kitchen from the sunny breakfast nook, Joe walked in with both cats bouncing at his heels.

Her first thought was of the Pied Piper. The animals never followed her around that way. But, then, the man filling the room with his reassuring presence had a definite knack with the four-legged set. Yesterday, she’d actually seen Columbus visibly calm at his touch.

He seemed to have that gift with two-legged species, too. When he had touched her, she’d felt that calming gentleness herself.

Preferring not to think about that odd phenomenon, she focused on his patient. “How is he?”

“He’s doing fine. How about you? How are you doing with him?”

“He’s really doing okay?”

“He really is,” he assured, echoing her phrasing.

“Then, I’ll be better now.” She had checked on the cat every half an hour since she’d awakened at five to make sure he was still breathing. Apparently, she wouldn’t need to do that anymore. “Thanks.

“Tell me,” she hurried on, watching Columbus paw at the cone collar he clearly hated. “When I brought him in, how did you know which one he was?”

“We have a picture of each patient in their file,” he explained. “Tracy pulled the Turners’ files right after you called. I knew this one because the two darker gray marks above his eyes remind me of horns. The marks on Magellan look more like exclamation points.” He glanced toward the piles of papers on the table in the breakfast bay, then to the coffee cooling on the counter. “Mind if I have that?”

She was still dwelling on the markings. “Of course, Dr. Hudson,” she murmured, handing the mug to him. Horns. How appropriate, she thought, now eyeing the cat. The little devil probably was the one who’d ruined her shoe.

“It’s Joe.”

Her glance jerked from the cat who’d just curled up near the other in a sunbeam.

“My name,” he said, since she looked so preoccupied. “Call me Joe.” Without waiting for a reply, he turned his attention to the table with its stacks of photographs, envelopes and papers. “You were already working.”

“I was just getting ready to.”

“You said you’re freelancing?”

“For the magazine I used to work for,” she explained. “I have proposals out to a couple of others, too. I wrote for accessories and American fashion. Still do. But I like doing research pieces.”

Mug in hand, looking curious, he nodded his dark head toward the stacks. “May I?”

She lifted her hand toward the table, told him to go ahead. Even as she did, her glance darted from the blue chambray shirt visible beneath the open brown leather jacket that looked more comfortably worn than fashionably distressed, down the length of his neat khakis and landed on his brown, tasseled boaters.

Her mental wheels spinning, she watched him sip his coffee as he frowned at a collection of glossy photos.

He was exactly the sort of man she was writing about in her make-over-your-mate project; intelligent, handsome and sexy, but, she suspected, clueless about fashion beyond denim and khaki.

“Would you be interested in helping me?”

One dark eyebrow rose as she moved beside him.

“One of the articles I’m working on requires men’s opinions. It’ll be really easy,” she hurried to assure him, since he was already looking skeptical. “I have a questionnaire that’s multiple choice and photos that just need to be listed in order of preference.

“Not those,” she muttered, seeing his skepticism grow as he glanced back at the photos of brooding and gaunt males. From his frown, it seemed glaringly obvious that the runway look was something he just didn’t get. But, then, some designers did go a tad over the top. “Those are for a menswear article and are a little…”

“Bizarre?”

Her expression held tolerance. She would be the first to admit that she knew nothing about animals. It was only fair to cut him some slack on the fashion front. “I was going to say cutting-edge. It’s like any of the runway fashions,” she pointed out, warming to her subject. “Everything from hair and makeup on down is exaggerated. The designer is going for a statement. A theme, if you will. You rarely see exact copies on the street, but elements show up on the racks the next season. Or the next,” she hurried to explain, “depending on which part of the country you’re in. Buyers buy differently for different markets. But that’s not the article I need help with.

“I have photos of other designers and more mainstream lines, too,” she said, reaching across the table to pluck a manila envelope off a stack. “Calvin Klein, Ralph Lauren, Versace. Issey Miyake. Armani. He’s my personal favorite.” She turned with a smile. “Levi Strauss.”

She’d already put those photos in each of the five hundred manila envelopes stacked across the back of the table. This morning’s project was to add the last of the photos to the questionnaires already in them and start making her rounds of men’s clothing stores and the men on Danbury Way—with the exception of Jack. That was one man’s opinion her article would have to go without.

“Is this why you came to Rosewood?” Joe asked, watching her punch the metal tab on the envelope through the hole in its flap. “To outfit the suburban male?”

“My job is merely to enlighten.”

His glance skimmed from the animation in her lovely blue eyes to her slicked-back hair. She was truly, classically beautiful, yet nearly everything about her confused his idea of what he usually found attractive in a woman. The severely restrained hair said “don’t touch.” The stiletto heels that put her nearly eye level with most men, including him, seemed to say “don’t mess with me, I’m not vulnerable to you.” She wasn’t soft, yet she was indisputably feminine. The black clothes that covered her from neck to pointed toe weren’t provocative at all by themselves, yet on her, they were as sexy as hell.

“That wasn’t my question,” he said mildly.

Her animation slipped with the quick blink of her lush lashes. “I came here because it’s where I thought I needed to be.” Purposefully looking back to hold his glance, she tipped the envelope toward him. “So,” she continued, clearly intent on sticking to what she felt comfortable with, “are you game?”

He didn’t know what intrigued him more; her contradictions or the effect of her scent, her smile. Seeing no need to figure it out now, he gave her a shrug. “I have no idea how much help I’d be, but sure. I’ll be glad to. You’ll just have to explain all of what you just said. Only not right now,” he continued, taking one last sip of his coffee. “I have to get to the clinic. How about Saturday afternoon?” he asked, setting the mug on the counter. “I’m hiking near the meadow where I took some of the pictures you were looking at. Hang on to that,” he said with a nod to the envelope she held, “and if you want, you can come with me and we can talk on the way.”

“Hike?”

She wasn’t sure if it was the activity she questioned or the invitation itself. Either way, there was no masking her incredulity.

“It’s not much of one,” he assured her. “There’s absolutely no dangling from cliffs involved. It’s more of a walk in the park. Do you have other plans?”

She hesitated. “Not exactly…”

“Then I’ll pick you up at one thirty. The clinic doesn’t close until one.” She was vacillating. He could see it. Not wanting to give her a chance to point out that she hadn’t actually accepted the invitation, he glanced to the pointed toes of her heels. “Wear sturdy shoes. And thanks for the coffee.” He backed toward the door. “I’ll see myself out.”

Joe turned then, checking to make sure he didn’t have cats at his feet as he left the house. As candid as she seemed to be, he felt certain that if Rebecca hadn’t wanted to go with him, she’d have been fast on his heels with a reason or an excuse for not being able to join him. All she’d done was stay where she was, looking temporarily speechless.

He had the feeling she wasn’t often at a loss for words.

He climbed into his truck and immediately frowned at the file folders on the passenger seat. He had no business taking Saturday afternoon off to go hiking. He had a mountain of paperwork to fill out for a small business loan to expand his clinic. With any luck, and the kind of hard work that kept him from second-guessing the decisions he’d made, this time next year, he would have started construction on a bigger clinic that would include an animal hospital so he could offer his clients round-the-clock care.

He should also run up north and help his dad and brother finish weather-stripping the barn before the snows set in. But that would take more than an afternoon. Aside from that, nearly every time he’d gone back home lately, his mom had managed to have her latest candidate for her future daughter-in-law stop by.

It had taken his mom a while to forgive him for breaking up with Sara Jennings after he’d graduated from veterinary school, but ever since then she’d been on an on-again, off-again mission to find him a spouse. But he wasn’t in the market for a wife. He had too much he needed to accomplish before he even thought about taking on the responsibility of a committed relationship.

That didn’t stop him from wondering about Rebecca Peters, though. He couldn’t help being drawn by her attempts to care for animals that clearly made her uneasy, and the compassion that somehow pushed her past the worst of her discomfort. She was dealing with them, and her fear, far better than he had anticipated. There was no denying the physical pull he felt toward her, either, but he hadn’t been with a woman in months, so that chemistry was easy enough to explain. What had him most curious as he left Danbury Way, though, was the suspicion that she wasn’t all that happy with the reason she was in Rosewood.

There had been no mistaking the unease that had slipped into her expression when he’d asked what had brought her there, or how quickly she’d shied from the subject. Since she was still doing the same type of work she’d done in the city, he didn’t think the move was job-related, though he’d be the first to admit that he knew zip to squat about what it was she did for a living. Or why. All he knew for sure was that it had been a long time since he’d met a woman who so thoroughly intrigued him. He also knew for a fact that he’d never met one who seemed so clearly out of her element.

He just had no idea how totally out of her element she was until two mornings later when he picked her up for their day in the Catskills.

Chapter Three

He really shouldn’t be taking the afternoon off.

That thought had occurred to Joe more than once in the past couple of days. On any given weekend, the only spare time he had was Saturday afternoon. His Sundays were committed to chores around the house he was slowly renovating, and maintaining the five acres of property that provided elbow room for him and his pets. Sunday afternoon, weather permitting, he also tried to squeeze in an hour or so at Rosewood Park with his dogs to keep them socialized, before heading back home to finish whatever he’d left undone or clean up the mess he’d made doing it.

His weekday evenings inevitably seemed just as crowded.

With his current time constraints, he’d thought about calling Rebecca and asking her to just drop the questionnaire by the office so he could work on his loan application. The only reason he hadn’t was because he wasn’t in the habit of backing out on any sort of commitment—unless an emergency arose and he had no choice.

Poor planning on his part did not constitute an emergency. The good news, however, was that he’d only be gone for a few hours.

It was with that mental concession that he pulled onto Danbury Way.

The moment he did, he noticed the guy in front of the house on the corner stop mulching leaves with his lawn mower and follow his progress into Rebecca’s driveway. On the other side of the street, an older woman leaned on her rake, peering at him from beneath the rim of her purple gardening hat. Two trim, middle-aged gals in matching jogging suits pulled their attention from the Gone With the Wind-like mansion at the end of the street to check out his truck, him and the stylish woman emerging from the door of the Turners’ house on their way by.

He had the distinct feeling that not much got past the residents in this particular neighborhood as he headed to where Rebecca stepped off the low porch. The joggers had already continued on, their pace uninterrupted but their necks cranked back so they wouldn’t miss anything. He had no idea who else still watched them, though. His concerns were with more practical matters as he watched Rebecca tuck her keys into a small, backpack-style leather purse while trying not to drop the manila envelope that probably held her questionnaire.

Between the quilted, rust velvet, elaborately embroidered vest she wore with her matching scarf, mustard-colored turtleneck and slim, embellished jeans, she looked more like an ad for trendy autumn wear than someone actually planning to hike.

“Hi,” she called, walking toward him.

“Hi, yourself.” He forced himself not to frown at her boots. They looked very much like those she’d worn the first day they’d met, sturdy enough but with heels way too high and totally impractical for a walk in the wilderness.

Thinking she looked a little preoccupied, he decided to deal with first things first. “How’s the patient?”

“He hates me. They both do.”

“That good, huh?”

“I don’t know why else they leap out at me the way they do. I was getting out of the shower and Columbus jumped at me from behind the toilet.” The little monster had startled her so badly, she’d screamed. It had served him right that his cone collar had gotten him jammed between the cabinet and the wastebasket. “Magellan did it last night when I got up to turn off the TV.”

To keep an image of her body, naked and dripping, from forming, he kept his focus on her face. “Did they hiss at you?” he asked, his forehead furrowing with the effort. “Or swipe at you with their paws?”

“No,” she replied, as if scaring her were quite enough.

“Then, they’re probably just playing. ‘Pounce’ is like a game with cats.”

“Playing? I thought they were trying to stop my heart.”

He tipped his head, nodded toward his truck. “Why don’t you tell me what else they do while we’re driving. Maybe I can explain the behavior so you can deal with it better.”

“Would you?”

The phenomenon was interesting. He’d never felt gut-punched when a woman simply smiled at him. But that was what he felt when he saw the gratitude in her beautiful blue eyes. “Be glad to.”

As if aware that she’d just betrayed some vulnerability, she quickly looked away. He couldn’t begin to imagine why she should be uncomfortable needing help with something she didn’t understand. He just knew she did in the moments before he nodded to her boots.

“Can you walk any distance in those?”

Rebecca glanced at her feet, then to the rugged, lug-soled hiking boots Joe wore with his comfortably worn jeans and a gray fleece shirt. Her chunky heels were barely two inches high, practically flat as far as she was concerned. Thinking it couldn’t possibly be that difficult to walk through a meadow, she gave a shrug. “I can run in stilettos if I have to.”

Pure doubt creased his features. “You can?”

“I did it all the time in New York. Chasing down cabs,” she explained. “But you know, Joe, I never actually agreed to do this hike thing,” she reminded him, wanting to keep the record straight. “If you want, we can just go for a latte while I explain what I’m looking for on my questionnaire.”

“It’s too nice a day to be cooped up inside.”

“We can sit at a table outside, then. Latte and Lunch has café—”

“I don’t care for stuff in my coffee.” His eyes narrowed on hers. Like every other time he’d seen her, she had her hair smoothed back from her face and clipped tightly at her nape. On any other woman, he would have given little thought to the simple style. On her, it seemed to enhance that don’t-touch-me sophistication—and made him want to set it free.

Minutes ago, he would have taken her up on her offer to stay in town, simply because of the time it would save. Seeing her again, listening to her logic, the hike became something he wouldn’t miss for the world.

“You’re not nervous about hiking, are you?”

Joe watched her open her mouth, only to see her close it again. Like the other day in his office when she wouldn’t directly admit to being afraid of Columbus, he sensed now that she didn’t like to admit that there was something she couldn’t handle.

“Of course not,” she finally said.

“Good.” He didn’t know if it was stubbornness, determination or simple obstinacy that pushed the woman. All he knew was that he wanted to see how far it would take her. “Because I promised Bailey he could go for a run.”

“Bailey?”

They’d reached his truck. With the patterns of leaves reflecting off the windows, it was hard to see inside—which was why Rebecca hadn’t noticed that Joe wasn’t alone until he opened the driver’s door.

“He’s a sweetheart. I promise. Come on, boy.”

The simple command had barely followed his assurance before seventy pounds of blissfully panting German shepherd leaped to the ground and planted himself on his haunches by the open door.

From the corner of his eye, Joe saw Rebecca stiffen. “He’s totally harmless. Honest.” He curled his fingers around her wrist, drawing her attention from the dog to him. Aware of how skittish she was about animals, he wouldn’t have brought the dog had Bailey not been the most gentle canine on the planet. “He’s just going to say hi. Okay?”

Rebecca couldn’t have imagined anything that would have made her tear her eyes from the large amount of tan-and-black fur sitting six feet away. But Joe’s touch had done just that. She wasn’t sure, either, if it was the odd, calming effect that touch had on her or the quiet reassurance in his deep voice that had her giving him a barely discernible nod.

“Okay, Bailey,” she heard him say, “come meet Rebecca.”

As if pulled by a string, the dog immediately popped up on all fours, walked over to her and sat back down again. She’d barely felt Joe’s hand slip away before the dog held up its paw and, tongue lolling, blinked his bright eyes at her.

“He wants to shake.”

This was a bit more than she’d bargained far. There was only one reason that she hadn’t already backed out of this nondate with the man standing almost protectively beside her. And it was a nondate as far as she was concerned. Joe was her support system for the cats. Even before he’d offered to explain their behavior, she’d figured that as long as she had to be with them for another two months, it would be infinitely easier on her if she would ask him to do just that. As far as subjecting herself to the wilds was concerned, her less-than-enthusiastic willingness to face the experience was strictly for self—and job—improvement.