apparently, the chief of police.
Well, she’d kind of known that before she bought this practice from Lt. Patrick Worley, son of Dr. Martin Worley, who’d been shot and killed by a silver bullet only a few months ago. His wife was killed the same way, a year earlier. The shooter—or shooters—hadn’t been caught. And Melanie hadn’t known before how widespread the legend was of werewolves—and how widely accepted.
Ridiculous. No doubt about that. But she promised herself yet again to take a crash course in werewolf lore, so she would be better prepared to deal with this silliness.
No. More than silliness, she reminded herself as she headed for her office door. Viciousness. A man was killed because of it—even though she’d heard no rumors that anyone considered her predecessor vet, Dr. Worley, a werewolf. But the silver bullet bit—that had to be a result of the legend.
And now she’d saved the life of a dog that someone may have mistaken for a shapeshifting human.
At least she was fairly certain that the legends said that werewolves turned back into people as the moon disappeared into daylight. No way would anyone be able to mistake her patient again for a shapeshifter.
Time to go check on him again, before her staff started arriving in a few minutes. She headed back down the hall to the surgery room, thrust open the door—and stopped.
Just inside, staring at her, was a man. He was tall, dressed in jeans and a gray sweatshirt stretched taut over substantial muscles, his black hair flecked with brilliant silver.
And he regarded her with intelligent, grateful amber eyes.
Chapter Two
Melanie barely stifled a gasp. Where was her patient? Surely, he hadn’t turned into this man. The Mary Glen werewolf legends were utter fiction, the creation of superstitious minds…weren’t they?
But if the dog she had treated had become human, this man had some of the features she would anticipate…
“Dr. Harding?” The man’s voice was deep, throaty. All sexy. All masculine.
Human masculine.
“Yes?” she said, hating the slight tremor in her voice. “Who are you?” Good. Her voice was stronger now. “What are you doing here?” She had to see for herself. She sidled uneasily away from the doorway, where this large, compelling man commandeered every inch of her vision, preventing her from viewing the rest of the room.
She needed to see the crate in which her patient had slept last night. Make sure it wasn’t empty. It couldn’t be empty.
“I’m Major Drew Connell. I want to thank you for saving my dog, Grunge.”
“Grunge?” As Melanie said the name, she finally reached a position where the man wasn’t blocking her view. There was the wire crate, still on the floor between the chair she had dragged in and the tall metal table where she operated. The furry dog with the recovery collar was still in it, sitting up, tail wagging furiously.
“Yeah, Grunge.”
“Interesting name.” Melanie felt almost giddy with relief. The dog was still there. Of course. How silly of her to have entertained any doubts, even for a second. Not that she’d really doubted.
But Grunge? The dog looked anything but grungy to her, at least since she had cleaned the blood off him.
“Interesting dog. You should see him after a workout. He really throws himself into it.” Major Connell knelt and put his arms around Grunge, obviously careful not to push the collar into an uncomfortable position, an oddly touching scene—the large, powerful-looking man and the injured dog. He backed off to ruffle the fur on Grunge’s head, then gently turned the dog so he could see the bandaged area. “What happened? How was he hurt? I was engaged in a training exercise on the base late last night, so I wasn’t aware till just a short while ago that he was missing.”
Melanie didn’t answer his question right away. She had too many of her own. It was one thing to keep her imagination in check. It was another to take this man’s appearance at face value. “Then how did you know to look for him here?”
“I couldn’t find him anywhere else, so I used process of elimination and decided to check out the closest vet. And here he was.” He gave the dog another rough pat, then stood again.
Did his answer make sense? Maybe. The nearest military base wasn’t next door, but there weren’t other veterinary clinics or animal shelters any nearer than this hospital.
“He’s your dog?” Melanie demanded. She had to look way up to meet the officer’s eyes. Damn, but the man was good-looking: straight, dark brows over those amber eyes, a slender nose with slightly flared nostrils, a sensuous, full mouth. All that and a hint of dark beard beneath his closely shaved skin.
“Yes and no. He belongs to the U.S. Army, but we’re assigned to work with one another. He’s a highly trained military dog. We use him, and others like him on the base, to help sniff out bombs and other weaponry, to attack on command, and—well, some of his work is classified.”
“Yeah, if you told me you’d have to kill me. I get it.” Melanie kept her tone light, but she stared at the officer. “By ‘base,’ I assume you mean Ft. Lukman, right?”
“Sure, our nearest and dearest facility.”
“Well, military or not, Grunge should be wearing a collar with an ID tag.”
“No argument there. My partner’s a bit of an escape artist, though. He slipped out of his collar and decided to take a walk on his own. I’ll try harder to keep that from happening again.”
“Don’t just try. Succeed. And you train dogs? Is an army veterinarian stationed there?” Melanie’s ears had perked up at the mention of more animals on the base. Ft. Lukman was about five miles from Mary Glen. The soldiers posted there frequented local businesses for goods and services not available at the base’s reputedly small BX. They would have excellent access to all medical needs. But would their animals?
“Not stationed there, but one visits every few weeks to check up on our dogs and facilities. Dr. Worley used to be available in emergencies. His son, Lt. Patrick Worley, is stationed at the base. I expect you’ve met him.”
“Yes, I bought this clinic from him.”
“I figured.”
“And the answer is yes, I’ll definitely be available in emergencies to help your animals. That’s what I do.”
“I’ll remember that.”
His smile was killer. Friendly. Assessing. Suggestive…of what? Hot endless nights? Mind-blowing sex?
What an imagination she was developing around here!
Forget that smile. She wouldn’t let herself get lost in it.
If he’d been an invited guest, or even the owner of a patient, she wouldn’t have kept him standing here like this. She’d have invited him to sit down—on that ugly, uncomfortable chair she’d slept in last night? She glanced toward where it sat near the metal shelves in which her surgical
