so I can look at the poor creature.”
He took a step back, opening the door and reaching for her hand to assist her. As his gaze swept over the woman who claimed she was a doctor, a slow smile tilted the corners of his mouth. The other day she’d worn a pair of jeans, a baggy T-shirt and running shoes. Today she looked softer, more feminine in a white tank top she’d paired with a pair of black cropped pants and leather sandals. The delicate pink polish on her bare toes matched her fingernails. A black-and-white striped headband held a profusion of curls off her face.
His gaze lingered on her profile when she knelt to examine the whimpering canine. “What’s wrong with him?”
Celia glanced up at the man towering over her. “He has a laceration near his belly. And judging from the swelling, it’s infected.” She stood up. “I need for you to pick him up and place him on the rear seat of my truck, while I call to find a number for the nearest vet.”
“I’m going to put him in my truck, while you pull yours off the road,” Gavin countered.
Celia rolled her eyes at him. “Whatever. Just be careful with him.”
“How do you know he’s a male?”
“I know he’s a he because I checked. And, he’s also a puppy. He still has his milk teeth.” When she’d opened his mouth, two tiny rice-like particles fell into her palm.
She returned to her vehicle, maneuvering it over to the shoulder behind the black GMC Yukon hybrid. Reaching for her BlackBerry, Celia called information, pen and paper ready to jot down the number. Her heart sank when the operator gave her numbers of veterinary hospitals more than twenty miles away. She called each one only to find they were closed. The only one with evening hours was in Asheville.
Getting out, she approached the man wearing a pair of khaki walking shorts, thick white cotton socks, Doc Martens, a black tee and matching baseball cap. She didn’t know his name or anything about him, but he was the most virile-looking man she’d ever seen.
“Where am I taking him?” Gavin asked.
“You’re going to take him to my house. All of the vets in the area are closed and the nearest one with evening hours is in Asheville.”
Gavin shot her a suspicious look. “What are you going to do?”
“Clean his wound. Now, stop jawing and follow me. Please drive slowly. He’s already in enough pain without you jostling him further.”
“Ma’am, yes, ma’am.”
“The name is Celia Cole-Thomas.”
“What’s your husband going to say when you bring home a strange man and injured dog?”
“I don’t have a husband, Mr.—”
Gavin was hard-pressed not to smile. He didn’t know why, but he’d hoped the tall, slender woman with the infectious dimpled smile wasn’t married. “It’s Faulkner. Gavin Faulkner.”
“Let’s go, Mr. Faulkner. Every minute that puppy doesn’t get medical attention gives the infection the advantage.”
Celia slipped behind the wheel, maneuvering around the Yukon with North Carolina plates, and drove in the direction of her house. She didn’t want to get stopped for speeding although she’d wanted to get home to set up a mock operating room before Gavin Faulkner arrived.
Her parents had given her a genuine alligator medical bag stamped with her monogram the day she’d graduated medical school. She could still recall the joy of filling the bag with bandages, scissors, forceps, scalpels, syringes, gauze and medication she replaced whenever they passed their expiration date.
She parked in the driveway rather than in the two-car garage. Moving quickly, she got out, unlocked the door and disengaged the alarm, while leaving the front door open.
She retrieved her bag, spread a stack of towels on the table in the kitchen’s dining area and turned a hanging light fixture to the brightest setting. She’d placed two pairs of latex gloves and the instruments needed to clean and suture the wound in the dog’s side on a folded pillowcase when Gavin walked into the kitchen, cradling the puppy to his chest.
“Put him down on his uninjured side,” Celia ordered Gavin. “After I wash up I want you to do the same.”
His eyebrows lifted a fraction. “Why?”
She gave him a dimpled smile. “You’re going to be my assistant.”
“Oh, hell, no,” Gavin protested.
“Oh, hell, yes, Gavin Faulkner! If you didn’t care about this animal you never would’ve stopped. Now, stop sniveling and do as I tell you.”
Gavin glared at Celia. He wasn’t sniveling. In fact, he’d never sniveled about anything in his life. He wanted to tell her only girls sniveled but didn’t want her to think he was a sexist.
Celia took his silence as acquiescence. “Please watch him while I go and wash up.”
Taking off his cap, Gavin tossed it on one of the four chairs at the oaken round table. His gaze shifted between the motionless puppy and Celia’s retreating back. He hadn’t realized how slim Celia was until he saw her from the back. She was taller and much slimmer than women who usually garnered his attention. At six-four and two hundred twenty pounds, he liked women who were a bit more substantial than the sharp-tongued doctor.
He’d only mentioned the possibility of her being married because of her hyphenated last name. There were many professional women who’d elected to keep their maiden names.
Exchanging places with Celia, Gavin went into the half bath off the kitchen to wash his hands and forearms. He felt like an actor stepping into a fictional role as a surgeon when using a nail brush and antibacterial soap to scrub his fingers. Shaking off the excess water, he returned to the kitchen. Standing only inches from Dr. Celia Cole-Thomas, he smiled down at her head when she dabbed his arms and hands with a towel before holding a pair of latex gloves for him to slip on.
“Damn, Doc, they’re too tight.”
Celia shot him a frown. “Stop whining, Gavin. They won’t be on long enough to cut off your circulation.” He tried flexing his fingers. “Stop that or you’ll rip them,” she added, this time in a softer tone as she slipped her hands into a pair of gloves.
“Why do I have to wear them if you’re going to perform the procedure?”
“I’m operating in what is a non-sterile environment. I’m going to put Terry under, and I’m going to need you to hold him steady.”
Gavin gave her a sidelong glance. “When did he become Terry?”
“He’s a fox terrier, therefore, he’s Terry.”
“You can’t name someone else’s dog, Doc.”
“Stop calling me that. And I doubt if he’s anyone’s pet. He’s filthy and undernourished, which means he’s probably a stray.”
Celia ripped open a package with a sterile syringe and inserted it into a bottle of morphine, filling the syringe
