manner and a habit of doing at least two things at once. Now she continued scribbling notes on a chart, slapped a list on the desk and began talking to Olivia.
“Do you think you can find these medications in the stockroom? And please rummage up some vitamin samples to give to Honey-Bunch’s mom when she checks out.”
“Right away.” With no small amount of pleasure, Olivia aimed a lofty look at the man in front of her. “I’m afraid it’s going to be a few minutes before I can check you in.”
She got to her feet slowly, certain he was like most men and wouldn’t be able to resist checking out those parts of her that had been hidden under the desk. At this point even that small, pseudo-victory would make her feel better.
“Don’t bother,” he replied to her comment about the wait. Not only did he ignore the chance to check her out more thoroughly, but he turned away, shifting his attention to the vet, who had stopped writing and looked up at the sound of his voice.
She immediately broke into a friendly smile. “Hey, stranger. I didn’t know you were here.”
“You asked me to stop by, remember?”
“Of course. But you’re way early.”
Curious, Olivia lingered by her desk, shuffling papers for as long as she dared. It was long enough to note that his return smile was also friendly, as opposed to the nasty smirk he’d used on her.
“I finished setting up that new trail sooner than I expected,” he was saying. “If this is bad timing, Doc—”
“Not at all,” she assured him, taking his arm and tugging him along with her through the Staff Only doorway that led to her private office. The ease with which he fell in step with the other woman was not lost on Olivia. “I’m anxious to have you take a look at…”
That was the last thing she heard before the door swung shut.
What? Take a look at what? She resisted the urge to stamp her foot. Telling herself she really wasn’t interested in his reason for being there, or anything else about the man, she got busy gathering the medications on the list, presenting them to the furry little dog’s “mom” and recording payment for the visit.
As soon as the woman and dog left, she headed for the bathroom, or, more accurately, the mirror over the bathroom sink. Wishing it were full length, she inspected herself from a variety of angles. She looked fine, she decided. Better than fine. She looked the way she always looked, like herself. Obviously, if there was a problem, it wasn’t hers. Not that she’d been concerned otherwise. Merely curious. Mildly curious. Blame it on boredom.
Just the same, she took time to remove her lipstick and reapply it. She also combed her hair, then bent at the waist, tossing it forward and back to lose that just-combed look. Men were suckers for tousled hair and for anything else that helped link women and bed in their thoughts. Last, she pulled a tiny gold perfume atomizer from her bag and gave herself a quick spray of Sultry, rubbing the back of her wrists together until the scent of the aptly named perfume drifted over her.
She inhaled deeply. There, that was better. Strictly speaking, the perfume violated the terms of the wager. Sultry was French and hideously expensive by anyone’s standards. It was also worth every last penny, and she wasn’t going to lose a minute’s sleep over what Brad would say if he knew she’d smuggled it along.
If she’d freshened up for the benefit of Doc Allison’s visitor—which she assured herself she had not—it was a wasted effort. Either he was a very fast looker or he had left the back way. She would like to think he’d ducked out the back to avoid another round with her, but she was too good a judge of character. Nothing about him suggested he was a man who shied away from confrontation.
Perhaps his choice of exits had to do with whatever Doc Allison had invited him to see in her private sanctum. Hmm, that had definite possibilities. Her boss was married, happily so by all appearances, but she sure wouldn’t swoon from shock to discover he was over-stepping his bounds.
“Typical tomcat,” she muttered.
A hissing sound drew Olivia’s attention to the carrier she was using for a footrest. A pair of yellow eyes stared accusingly at her from within. After what just happened, she should know better than to sound off without checking first to see who was in earshot. She’d forgotten all about Izzy, the black cat with a bandaged paw who was supposed to have been picked up over an hour ago.
“Sorry, pal, I call ’em as I see ’em,” she said. “But I don’t blame you for being offended at being lumped together with that guy.”
Izzy’s stare didn’t waver. If she were the type who spooked easily, this would do it. She even went as far as to shift her feet to the floor and nudge the gray plastic carrier a few inches away.
“Nice cat,” she said. “Good kitty. Mommy will be here any minute.”
The cat countered with something between a hiss and a growl, and batted his bandaged front paw against the wire screen of the carrier.
“Cut it out, Izzy,” she ordered. “I’ve heard all about your ‘wonder cat’ routine, answering the phone and opening your carrier door and, well, frankly, Iz, I think it’s a load of bull.” She ignored the growl that rumbled from the cat’s throat. “Just the same, the last thing I need right now is for you to rip off your bandage or hurt yourself on my watch. So cut it out.”
The cat pawed harder.
Olivia tapped the door with her toe. “What’s the matter, Izzy? Don’t you speak English? How about French?” she inquired. “Touche pas. Assis.”
So much for her brothers’ claim that a degree in French culture was useless.
“What in God’s name are you doing now?”
Gretchen, Doc’s assistant, had come to retrieve the next patient’s chart. She stood with it in her hand, watching Olivia, who smiled at her to no avail. Gretchen was nineteen, a little on the plump side, and from the start she’d eyed Olivia as if expecting her to make off with a case of flea collars any second.
“Izzy was clawing the latch with his front paw, and I didn’t want him to hurt himself,” she explained.
“So you kicked him?” Gretchen shook her head. “Figures, after that stunt yesterday.”
“Yesterday was a mistake,” she pointed out. “I’ve apologized at least a dozen times. And I wasn’t kicking anything. I was trying to get the cat to stop picking at the latch.”
“Maybe he wants to get out of that carrier.”
Olivia couldn’t resist returning the girl’s smug smile. “I’m sure that’s exactly what he wants. Unfortunately for old Izzy here, his owner didn’t opt for the deluxe visit, you know, the one that includes roaming privileges whenever the mood strikes him.”
“Maybe he’s in the mood to use the litter box,” Gretchen retorted, speaking slowly, as if Olivia were not too bright. “Did you ever consider that?”
“Not directly,” she conceded. “Not yet, anyway.” She looked around. “Where’s the litter—?”
Before she’d finished the question, Gretchen was pointing
