moment, without knowing any of the circumstances, or even if she was right, Patience felt a kinship with him.
Maybe it was something in his eyes. A startling shade of blue, in unguarded moments they seemed incredibly sad to her.
“You know,” she began, putting down her stethoscope, “in addition to being an incredible talker, I am also an incredible listener.”
He knew where she was going with this. Once or twice before she’d tried to nudge him toward a conversation that involved something more private than how King was doing. He’d steered clear of it then, as well. He had no desire to share any of himself. He was what he was and had no need for human contact of any kind.
Inclining his head, he slipped King’s leash around his neck. Brady had witnessed enough routine exams to know that this one was over. “Too bad you don’t have anything to listen to.”
Couldn’t say she didn’t try, Patience thought. But then, Coltrane was a hard nut to crack. And she knew when to back off. Picking up the dog’s chart, she began making the necessary notations.
“Well, I’m available if you ever feel you have something to say.”
“I won’t,” he assured her. Everything he felt remained inside. It was best that way. There had been a period when he’d thought of himself as a walking time bomb, but he had gotten that under control. His father’s demise had done that.
King responded to the hand signal he gave the dog, leaping off the table and then standing almost at attention at his heel. “So, how’s King?”
“Fitter than most people I know.” Retiring her pen, she slipped it back into her pocket and flipped the chart closed. Patience paused to pet the dog. “Okay, boy, you’re free to go.” King looked to Brady for a command. Patience raised her eyes to the patrolman, as well. “I’ll see you next month.”
Brady made no reply, merely nodded. In another moment man and dog were out the door.
It was almost time to open her doors. She glanced at her calendar to see when her first appointment was due in. Not until nine. That meant she could allow herself a decent cup of coffee.
“That is one quiet man,” she murmured to the dog who followed her around like a faithful, furry shadow. She’d rescued Tacoma, a mix of husky and God only knew what else, when she’d come across the stray, dirty, starving and bleeding on the side of the road one night. She’d taken her to the clinic and ministered to the dog, keeping vigil until she finally pulled through. Tacoma had rewarded her the only way she knew how, by permanently giving Patience her heart.
She heard the bell over the door ring. That wasn’t her nine o’clock appointment and, most likely, it wasn’t her receptionist yet. Shirley never came in early. Maybe Coltrane finally wanted to say something.
“Forget something?”
She turned around to see Brady in the doorway. He was holding a single perfect pink rose in his hand.
Chapter 2
“Brady?”
Patience cocked her head, as if that would somehow help her take in the image of Brady holding on to a large German shepherd with one hand and a delicate rose in the other. She’d never seen anything quite so incongruous in her life. He’d be the last man in the world she’d think would offer flowers of any kind, much less a single rose.
Just goes to show that one never really knows a person.
Her smile widened as she held out her hand.
Brady realized by the look on her face what she had to be thinking. That the flower was from him. But why would that even cross her mind? There was nothing between them other than a loose, nodding acquaintance that spanned the last two years. Maybe something could have happened between them were he someone else, were he not hollow inside with no hope of ever changing that condition.
But he wasn’t someone else and he’d never given the gregarious veterinarian any reason to think that he was. Or that he thought of her as anything other than the police vet.
Even if, once in a while, he did.
There was no way for her to know that. No reason for her to entertain the thought that he would be the one to give her a flower.
But someone had given her this gift.
A feel of loss echoed inside him, although for the life of him he didn’t know why.
Bemused, Patience crossed to him. A smile curved her lips as she looked up into his light blue eyes and took the rose out of his hand. For some people, words worked best, for others, it was actions.
Coltrane, she already knew, definitely fell into the latter category. He was nothing if not a man of action. The phrase “strong, silent type” had been created with him in mind. For a fleeting second, she forgot all about her rules.
“I’m touched.”
“Then you know who left this?” he asked.
Something cold and clammy began to rear its head within her when he asked the simple question. She struggled to hold back her fear. To blot out the grim photograph she’d glimpsed in the file her father had brought home with him. A photograph of a girl, about her own age now, who’d been stabbed by her stalker.
Damn it, Walter knew better this time. She took a deep breath, running her tongue along her dried lips. “You mean, it’s not from you?”
For a second he found himself engaged by the flicker of her tongue moving along the outline of her mouth. It took him a moment to respond to her question. Brady shook his head. “No, I found it on your doorstep.”
Patience’s fingers loosened their grasp, and the rose fell to the floor.
Brady bent to pick it up. When he straightened again and looked at her face, he saw that all the color had drained out of it. Her complexion had turned a shade lighter.
Was she going to do that female thing and faint on him? “You all right?”
No, she thought, doing her best to rally behind anger rather than fear. She wasn’t all right. Damn it, this was supposed to have all been behind her by now. Walter’s eyes had all but bugged out when she’d told him that the nine police officers in dress blue were all related to her. She’d thought that was the end of it. And it had been.
Until now.
Patience had to remoisten her desert-dry lips. “You found this?” She nodded at the flower that was once more in his hand. This time she made no move to take it from him.
“Yes. On your doorstep.” He’d already told her that. Brady watched her closely.
“Just like the last time,” she murmured the words to herself. Why couldn’t she stop the chill that slid up and down her spine.
“What last time?” The question came at her sharply, like fighter pilots on the attack.
She stared at him. For a second she hadn’t realized that she’d said anything out loud. And then she shook her head, dismissing her words. Not wanting
