I took it.
It was a good hand, callused and warm and strong, what you’d expect from a man who made animals better. A current of electricity ran up my arm and straight to my groin, and it took me a moment to realize that Ian had let go, though my hand was still extended. Blushing yet again, I put said hand to use, grabbed Bowie’s leash and started down the path.
“This is a beautiful spot,” Ian said.
“You should come back,” I said. “Think that view’s pretty now, wait about six weeks.”
We walked along in companionable silence, my stomach still somewhat sore but without the lancing pain of earlier. Bowie sniffed and tugged until I decided to let him off the leash, so he could bound ahead.
“Nice dog,” Ian said.
“Thanks. How’s Angie? She’s not a hiker?”
“I didn’t realize dogs were allowed,” he said. “But she’s fine. Thank you.”
I swatted at a few mosquitoes, which were attracted to my sweat, as I was clad in plastic. Something BTR’s research and development might want to work on. I glanced at Ian, who looked as cool as if we were in Siberia. Those Arctic eyes were just about the same color as the sky today. Ian was tall, too, about six-two, and I had a sudden urge to see him without his shirt. Bet it was nice under that shirt. Bet he looked pretty damn—
“So. Your boss. Mark,” Ian said, interrupting my lustful thoughts. “That was the guy you were crying over in the DMV?”
My jaw clenched. My stomach, too, resulting in another gurgle. “Yes,” I said tightly. “Why do you ask?”
“No reason. It was a memorable day, that’s all.”
“Indeed,” I muttered. He didn’t say anything else. A mockingbird trilled above us. My stomach twinged as if answering, but no sounds emerged, thankfully. “Do you have any siblings, Ian?” I asked after a few minutes of silence.
He glanced at me as if assessing my ulterior motive in such a devious and personal question. “Um … yes. I do. Alejandro.”
“Ooh, I love that name! Wasn’t Zorro’s name Alejandro?”
“I don’t know.” His mouth pulled up one side.
“Alejandro McFarland. I wouldn’t put those two names together.”
“We have different fathers. His last name is Cabrera.”
“Better,” I said. “Is he gorgeous? He sounds gorgeous.” I was rewarded by a quick smile, complete with attractive laugh lines fanning out from his rather shockingly lovely eyes. Pleased, I blushed a little and looked away.
“Callie,” Ian said, “when you mentioned doing some PR for me, how would that work?”
Well, knock me over with a feather! “Is business down?”
“A little,” he said, not looking at me. “What did you have in mind when you came into the office that day?”
I had nothing in mind, Ian, as I was, in fact, checking you out. “Um, well … basically, we’d make you seem really … approachable.” He didn’t say anything. “I’m sure you’ve heard people tell you over and over again how great and sweet and wonderful Dr. Kumar is, which is all absolute fact. So, of course, you’re going to look a little, er, frosty compared to him. Don’t worry. We’ll make people like you.”
He gave me a veiled look. “By which you’ve just implied that people currently don’t.”
“Oops.” I laughed. “No, no. Well, we’ll make them like you more. Don’t worry. That’s a specialty of mine.”
He said nothing.
“See, we’d turn you—Ian, this standoffish guy who dislikes single women—into the human equivalent of a golden retriever. Warm, fuzzy, affectionate. The warm and fuzzy campaign. It’ll be great!”
“I don’t dislike single women, Callie,” he said coolly. “I just don’t appreciate them wasting my time by pretending to have a sick animal.”
“Touché, Dr. McFarland,” I answered. “Not that I’m copping to anything, of course.”
“Nor do I want to pretend to be something I’m not,” he continued, his words clipped. “I’m a capable vet. That should be enough.”
“Right, Ian. But if business is slacking off, then you might just have to … market yourself differently. Not be different. Just try a little harder, because I’m guessing that while you’re smart and know your vet stuff, maybe you’re not so, um … relaxed with people.”
He didn’t say anything, and I got the impression that I had hit a nerve. His eyelashes, which I heretofore hadn’t properly noticed, were blond. Blond and quite thick, really, which I could see as the sun was shining right on them.
“I could do it freelance,” I offered. “It would cost less, and it could be our guilty secret that way.” Actually, I’d have to check with Mark on that, but I was pretty sure it would be okay. The agency didn’t charge less than a couple thousand per account, and Ian’s little project would be far smaller than that.
He didn’t say anything for a few seconds, then finally spoke. “I’ll think about it,” he said.
“You do that,” I replied.
Ah, heaven. There was the end of the trail, and better still, the parking lot. My beloved Lancelot waited to take me home, where all the modern conveniences awaited. I’d have time to shower, beautify and change before meeting everyone for dinner. “Thanks for staying with me, Ian,” I said, clipping Bowie’s leash back onto his collar.
“You’re welcome,” he said. He stood with his arms folded, legs slightly apart, sort of like a sea captain on the deck of a frigate. Rather appealing, really.
“Bye,” I said.
“Bye,” he replied, and with that, I tugged on Bowie’s leash and bolted for my car.
CHAPTER NINE
“BOOM-BOOM-BOOM, GOTTA get-get!” I sang the following week.
“Boom-boom-boom, gotta get-get!” my students obligingly echoed, much to my delight. Of course, this was our seventh time through the song, and so far, only Jody Bingham had the moves down.
I’d taken a vacation day today; it was the after-school Brownie field trip, and I’d swung by the Senior Center for lunch (small town, not much going on, people who liked to see my smiling face … you get the picture). My yoga ladies had been clucking in dismay … Leslie hadn’t shown up for the Senior Citizen Flex class. Loath to miss an opportunity to be a jewel, I plugged my iPod into the stereo and was teaching my very first hip-hop lesson. See, much to the pity and disgust of Kiara, my college roommate who happened to be a dance major from Trinidad, I knew a few moves—oh, yeah. Uh-huh. Clearly, I was the hippest white girl in the state of Vermont (which wasn’t saying much, but still).
