list, but he might have a cat he needed spayed someday.
She looked at his sharp face, his vast size, and decided no. No cats for this one. And certainly not anything spayed. This man would have a dog, a wolfhound or something, blissfully un-neutered so as not to offend his manly sensibilities.
“I should probably get busy in here, Mr. Cash. If you would excuse me.”
“It’s Daniel. Where are you living?”
She stared at him. “I beg your pardon?”
“Where are you living?” he repeated, ignoring her ruffled feathers. He knew he was being rude. He knew why, of course. She was in his building, with the practice that should have been his, would have been his if not for fate and a horrible lie he’d never been able to disprove. What he didn’t know was why he was so reluctant to slink out and leave her to her unpacking. He hoped it was because he was small and petty and bitter, all manageable, if not particularly honorable, emotions. And not because she was just so damn tall and because he could vividly picture where she’d fit if he shoved her up against that newly painted wall she seemed to like and wedged his knee between her thighs. That was not manageable. Not manageable at all.
“Where am I living?” she echoed. She thought of a million reasons he shouldn’t know, all big-city, woman-alone reasons. But what difference did it make, really? She was this town’s vet now, the only one in a hundred square miles. She’d have to post her home phone and address for her patient’s owners anyway, sooner or later. “I’ve rented a house.”
“Here in town?”
“What—what—” Now she was stuttering. Wonderful. She wondered if punching Daniel Cash, landlord and probably Noble County scion, her first day in town would lose her many customers. “Why do you want to know, Mr. Cash?”
“Daniel.” He corrected her again. “I have some other properties here in town. Just curious.”
She doubted that. “On Fourth.”
“Mrs. Hensen’s old house? Did she get those front steps fixed?”
“I don’t know. Also sight unseen.”
“You have plans for dinner tonight?”
She almost laughed. “No.”
“Want some?”
Her eyes went wide. “With you? I don’t think so.”
“Why not?”
She cocked her head, looked him up and down. She’d been right about the length of his legs, but she ignored the tiny buzz of interest in them. She put her hands on her hips and gave him her most confident glare. “Because you seem a little unbalanced, frankly. What’s the matter with you?”
He frowned at her. “‘Unbalanced’?”
“Yes,” she said. “Unbalanced. You nab my box of meds without introducing yourself, play with those surgical instruments like some kind of serial killer, grill me on my credentials and my qualifications and then ask me where I live? Not to mention I met you all of three minutes ago. And I’m supposed to go out to dinner with you?”
“Oh, I thought you meant unbalanced because I was asking you to dinner.” He flashed a quick grin at her, making that sharp face go gorgeous. “Like maybe you don’t get many dinner invitations.”
She flushed, because she didn’t, because she knew he was baiting her. “I get thousands. I need to hire a secretary just to handle them all.”
He gave her the long look this time, his head tilted to match hers. “I’ll bet. So what about it?”
“No, thanks.”
He narrowed his eyes on her. She was spoiling his plans. He wanted to know what kind of vet Niebaur had sold his damn practice to, and interrogating her over some fried chicken at the café was as good a way of finding out as any. The fact that he was very nearly aroused to the point of discomfort just standing next to her had nothing to do with it.
“Just a Welcome-to-Nobel dinner. I can give you my folks’ phone number. They’ll vouch for me.”
“Parents never know. Besides, I have a million things to do. I haven’t even been to my house yet.”
“Okay.” He could count on one hand the number of times a woman had turned down a dinner invitation from him. But he supposed a girl such as this, with those legs and that wit and a face like a Klimt painting, was turning them away by the truckload. He shrugged, took one last lingering look at both the legs and the veterinary supplies he wanted to get his hands on. “Welcome to Nobel, anyway, Dr. McKenna. I’ll see you around.”
“Yes. All right. And thank you for the help. My office will be open for business Monday, if you have animals that need tending.”
He considered for a moment. “I have a couple. I’ll be in touch.”
He pushed out the front door and strode across the street without giving so much as a glance around for potential traffic. Grace watched him go with a dead even mix of relief and disappointment.
He’d pronounced it “noble,” the name of his town. She’d been calling it “no-bell,” like the prize. She’d remember that. It was always important, when you were doomed to make a bad first impression, to remember what you could to make a decent second one.
Chapter 2
He walked into his mother’s kitchen late in the afternoon, not surprised to find it empty. Ever since he and his brother had taken over the running of the family cattle ranch at the base of the hills that shadowed Nobel, his mother and father had run amok.
He poked his head into the refrigerator, looking for a little fuel to keep him until dinner, an hour away and nothing much to look forward to anyhow, since he’d be having it alone.
“Mom?” he shouted, just to give general warning he was here and in her refrigerator. “Dad?”
They were probably out playing an afternoon rubber of bridge or something equally goofy and unproductive. They seemed to have taken to the goofy and unproductive since they retired, and he couldn’t have been happier for them. They’d worked like dogs every minute he’d known them, with the cattle and the hay and the occasional field of potatoes or sweet corn or wheat when the futures looked good. Had worked even harder to help him through college and then vet school. They deserved a break. He was more than happy to give it to them.
He pulled out a beer, twisted off the top, pinched the cap between his thumb and middle finger and flicked it across the kitchen, where it rebounded off the wall and landed in the trash.
Of course, he’d planned it all differently. They’d have still had their retirement, but Frank would have had the ranch on his own now, with Lisa helping full-time, and he’d have been in that cinder-block building instead of Grace McKenna, living in town with his wife and the life they’d planned together.
His wife. The phrase left a bitter taste in his mouth and he took a slow pull off his beer to wash it away. Julie had left him to face his disgrace and his failure alone. They’d only been married seven months when his life had started
