He cleared his throat. “Doctor McKenna.”
She glanced at the contented bit of fur tucked into his elbow. “Nice cat.”
“Thank you.”
“He looks pretty healthy. Any reason you’re bringing him to my office at—” she checked her watch “—ten-eighteen p.m.?”
“He’s been in a fight.”
Grace frowned. “Really?”
“Would I lie about something like that?” he asked solemnly. Of course he would, but she didn’t need to know that.
“I don’t know. Would you?”
“No. Open the door, McKenna.”
She considered him for a full minute, but her active sense of self-preservation just couldn’t hold up against an injured animal she knew she could help. She reached up and turned the dead bolt.
“Take him back to the examining room.” She relocked the door and followed behind him as he unerringly found the examining room. She did her best not to study his rear end as he walked.
She washed her hands at the little sink and felt a familiar little zing of adrenaline. Her first client in her own practice. Could there be a more productive sensation than that? She turned to find the cat lounging on her stainless-steel examining table, the Neanderthal leaning against it with his hands widespread, watching her.
“Your cat is purring,” she pointed out.
“He’s in shock.”
“Hmm.” She took the cat in her hands. It rolled onto its back to have its belly scratched. Grace obliged automatically while looking for evidence of the fight. “What’s his name?”
“Uh, Tiger,” Daniel said, though the cat had been called “Cat” since the day it was born.
Grace looked up at him. “Tiger, huh?”
Daniel shrugged. “My brother named it.”
“Well, Tiger here has certainly been in a fight.”
“Yeah,” Daniel said, his mouth pursed in studied concern. “I thought I’d better bring him in.”
“And two weeks ago, I might have thought so, too. Mr. Cash.” She lifted the cat and dropped it into Daniel’s arms. He cradled it against his chest automatically, his fingers folding over its small head to scratch between its ears. Grace noted how unaware he was that he was doing it, how utterly at ease the cat was under his fingers. He’d probably spent hours sitting in some dusty old barn somewhere, that cat on his lap. She forced herself not to imagine it. “But probably not even then. The scratches were pretty minor even at the time they were inflicted. They are almost completely healed now.”
Daniel nodded, pretending ignorance. “So, you think he just needs a little antibiotic cream or something?”
“No, I don’t think he needs a little antibiotic cream or something.” She washed her hands. “I think he needs to go home. I think you need to go home. I think I need to go home.” She stalked out of the exam room, muttering something about wasted time.
Daniel ignored her. “Well, that’s a relief,” he said, following her through the office. “I’m glad I dropped by.”
“You didn’t drop by, Mr. Cash.” She unlocked the door and opened it wide. “Your home is eleven miles south of town.”
“How did you know that?”
“I looked through your file. I figured since you knew where I lived, I should know where you lived. In case I ever had to call the police on you or something.”
“Good thinking.” He paused in the doorway. “So, what are you doing here?”
“I work here.”
“So late.”
“I was just getting ready to go home.”
“Have you even been there yet?”
“I drove by it earlier.”
“Not good enough. I’ll see you home if you’re ready.”
She cocked her head. “I don’t think so.”
“Come on.” He jerked his head in the direction of her truck and his, then held up his cat as proof of his honor. “I own a cat. How bad a person could I be?”
“I believe the number-one choice of pets for crazy people is a cat.”
Man, she was cute. And quick. “Come on. Trust me,” Daniel said.
She did, for some idiotic reason. He didn’t look particularly trustworthy, despite the blissed-out cat in his arms. Something to do with that lingering gleam of reluctant lust in his green eyes, she thought. And he certainly didn’t feel trustworthy. She wasn’t experienced enough to know what it was she felt from him, but she knew she shouldn’t trust it.
Yet somehow… Grace went back for her bag and coat, flicked off the lights, and followed him onto the sidewalk, locking the door behind her. A cold wind sneaked under her sweatshirt and she shivered, ducking her head as much in reflex to the cold as to keep from meeting his eyes. She fumbled with her coat. It was snatched out of her hands at the same instant a cat began winding itself around her legs. She couldn’t decide which was more startling.
“Here,” Daniel said. He tucked her into her jacket, took the zipper between his fingers and pulled it up. If his knuckles brushed against the inside of her breast so slightly, if his hands lingered at the collar for one second too long, that didn’t make him a creep, right? He wasn’t harassing her. He was just being gentlemanly, and accidents happen. He bent and picked up Cat from where he’d dumped him unceremoniously on the sidewalk. Before touching her became less accidental.
“Get in your truck before you freeze solid.”
“Is it always so cold in March?” she asked pertly, to keep her mind off how gentle his hands had been, and how personal.
“Yes. March is a bitch. But January and February are worse, so by March you hardly notice how miserable you are.”
He’d walked her to her truck, stood while she dug in her purse for her keys. “I don’t need an escort home,” she said. “I know where I live.”
“Barely.” He took the keys and unlocked her door, then stepped back before the urge to put his hands on her again got to be too much to resist. He kept reminding himself how much he resented her, how much he couldn’t get involved with another woman who would betray him the minute she heard about his past.
“Why didn’t you tell me this morning you had a thousand head of beef cattle?” she asked, a little accusingly.
He shrugged. “I figured Niebaur would have told you.”
“He didn’t. I thought you were a real estate agent or something.”
