from her head so she wasn’t shouting into the receiver. “Laverne doesn’t like—”
She stopped speaking when the cat in question purred and wound its way around Hawk’s neck to settle comfortably on his shoulder. The long tail twitched and wound around his head.
“Never mind, Sandy,” Eldanis said in a calmer tone of voice. “False alarm. I’ll call you later if I need help with anything.” After she ended the call, she leaned onto the counter and studied not Hawk’s face, but the way her cat had made a home on his shoulder. She didn’t relax all at once, but gradually her distrust of him faded. A little. Maybe a trace of the smile crept back, and her expressive eyes definitely changed.
“Laverne seems to like you,” she said. “That buys you three minutes to explain yourself. I suggest you make the best of it.”
Sheryl stayed close to the phone. In fact, she kept one hand on the receiver, just in case. She was absolutely stunned by Laverne’s reaction to the man in the waiting room, and she couldn’t ignore what she saw. The stubborn cat never cuddled up to anyone, and yet she had definitely made herself comfortable on the stranger’s wide shoulders.
“My name’s Hawk Donovan,” the man said simply. “If you want to call the police, go right ahead. I don’t have anything to hide.”
That was a good sign, Sheryl decided. She relaxed a little bit. “What do you want?”
“I’m not sure,” Donovan said. “You mentioned files. What kind of files?”
Was it possible that her two visitors were not connected? Possible. Not likely. And she still didn’t trust this man—or any other. She especially didn’t trust men who looked like this one. He was too pushy. Too big. And he had a fascinating face that suggested women had been doing whatever he asked of them all his life.
She didn’t allow herself to be pushed around, not anymore, and no one told her what to do. Especially not men. “Don’t try to turn this around on me. Why are you here?”
He didn’t answer. At least, not immediately. Hawk Donovan, if that was indeed his name, was not at all bad looking. Not at all. He had the required iron jaw, and the hard body and the way of moving that came from being in the kind of physical shape most men simply dreamed of. There was something sleek about Donovan, in the way he walked, in the way he moved his head. He reminded her of a caged animal. Beautiful, fascinating, but also dangerous and unpredictable.
Big men could be aggressive, so for a moment she ignored the fact that he was over six feet tall and wide in the shoulders. His hands were big, too, and they were definitely a working man’s hands, weathered and scarred.
His dark hair might’ve been conservatively cut a while back, but was growing out just a tad on the shaggy side, untended and thick. Those eyes set above killer cheekbones were deep and dark and warm. His face would be like granite, if not for the unexpected and subtle dimple in his chin. Well-worn jeans hugged muscled thighs, and the shirt he wore was a plain and sturdy denim. The boots were leather, expensive and had seen better days. There was no cowboy hat in sight, at least not today, but she’d bet her last dollar that he had one at home.
“My sister is sick,” he said in a lowered voice. “The doctors are having a problem coming up with answers for us. Since we were adopted as infants, we don’t have any family medical history available.” The dog who’d arrived with Donovan sat at his side. Laverne continued to rest on his shoulder, and instead of dismissing the cat, as many men would have, Donovan seemed to have forgotten she was there.
“Don’t tell me,” Sheryl said sternly, not at all convinced by his supposedly tender words or swayed by the fact that he was mouthwateringly studly and intriguingly different in a way she could not explain. “You want the files from the fertility clinic to assist in your search for answers.”
He didn’t smile, but it seemed that the muscles in his face relaxed as if he were thinking about it. “Fertility clinic?”
Disgusted, Sheryl waved her hand at him. “Don’t play games with me, Donovan. Don’t stand there and pretend you don’t know exactly what I’m talking about.” What could possibly be in those old boxes that was suddenly so desirable? Maybe she should have looked through a couple of them when she’d moved them from the basement of this old building.
Donovan reached into his back pocket and pulled out a thick wallet. “I don’t know what’s going on here exactly, but it seems to me you’ll rest easier once you know that I am who I say I am.” He withdrew a driver’s license and tossed it to her. It landed on the counter and skidded to a stop directly in front of her.
She glanced at the authentic-looking license. “Fake IDs—”
“Call your police chief,” Donovan interrupted briskly. “Have him check me out if it’ll make you feel better. Have him call anyone in Greenlaurel, Texas, and ask them about me.”
She picked up the phone, ready to call his bluff. “Fine.”
Instead of challenging her, Donovan walked to a lobby chair and sat. Laverne remained on his shoulder. His dog, a large, yellow, mixed breed who obviously adored him, curled up at his feet. An absent hand, tanned and long-fingered, reached up to stroke Laverne’s thick gray fur, and the usually unsociable cat purred and swished her tail.
Donovan hadn’t been exactly warm in dealing with her, but any man who was so obviously adored by animals couldn’t be all bad.
“Aren’t you going to make your phone call?” the cowboy asked as he waited. At the sound of his deep voice, both Laverne and the yellow dog turned accusing eyes to her. This was her clinic, and that gray cat usually wouldn’t let anyone but Sheryl near her. So why did she suddenly feel like the outsider here?
“No.” He didn’t care about her phone call to the police, which meant that, true or not, his story was going to check out. She still didn’t trust him. “Come back tomorrow.”
He stood quickly, one big hand on Laverne so the cat wouldn’t be frightened by the sudden move. “Tomorrow? What’s wrong with right now?”
Carpenter had been smoother than this! The last thing she needed was a bossy man showing up to issue orders.
“It’s late, and I’m tired,” she said. “I’m sure the hotel has a room available. It’s cheap and just a couple blocks away.”
“But—”
“Tomorrow,” Sheryl said. She stepped out from behind the counter. “And if you don’t mind, I’d like my cat back.”
He reached up and grabbed Laverne in one large hand, swung the cat down and handed her over. Laverne allowed herself to rest in Sheryl’s arms for about three seconds, and then she leaped to the floor. She and the dog were nose to nose for a moment, and then Laverne began to once again wind her supple body around Donovan’s legs.
Anthony Caldwell made his way out of town, empty-handed and frustrated. According to the computer file he’d stolen, thirty-odd years ago genetic experiments had taken place in that building where Sheryl Eldanis now operated her veterinary clinic. There should be something that had been left behind. Something concrete. Proof.
Nothing remained in the building itself; he’d confirmed that for himself. After darkness had fallen and Eldanis had gone for the night, he’d searched the place from top to bottom and found nothing out
