“My dog’s name is Smiley, and how do you know?”
“Your sister is very proud of you … and Smiley.” Forrest looked down at the dog, continuing to scratch him behind his floppy ears. “But I don’t think he can help me.”
Annabel had heard those words, many times before and from many different types of people. Young children fighting diseases they couldn’t pronounce, the elderly fighting to hold on to their memories and their dignity, and those fighting for the most important thing of all, hope.
“How do you feel?” she asked. “I mean, right now?”
Forrest shook his head. “Forget it, Annabel. I’m not going there.”
“I’m not trying to psychoanalyze you.” She moved closer. “And I know there’s nothing medically we can do—”
“Good. That’s my job.”
Annabel whirled around at the very deep, very male voice coming from the open doorway.
She immediately cataloged a pair of men’s shiny black shoes, dark slacks with a sharp crease down the center of each leg, a cobalt-blue shirt, striped tie and white lab coat.
Dr. Thomas North.
Before her perusal could get past a nicely chiseled jaw, Smiley bounced across the office, pulling his leash to its full length.
Offering an enthusiastic greeting that included a playful bark, her pet rose on his back legs and planted his front paws on the man’s midsection.
The move knocked the doctor back against the door frame and sent the paperwork in his hands flying everywhere.
“Smiley!”
Horrified at her pet’s unusual behavior, Annabel rushed to help. A quick tug on the collar and Smiley dropped back to all four paws on the ground, but the tail continued to wag up a storm.
“I’m so sorry!” She quickly wound the dog’s lead around her palm, pulling him back to her side. “He usually doesn’t act like this. I have no idea—” She then focused on the mess on the floor. “Oh, here, let me help you!”
Dropping to her knees, she started grabbing the loose pages and the manila folders, but the man in front of her mirrored her actions. Their heads collided with a resounding crack.
“Oh, fudge nuggets!” Annabel swore and fell backward, landing on her butt. She rubbed hard at the stinging at her temple hoping to erase the pain.
Darn, that hurt!
Suddenly, the warmth and strength of male hands, one capturing her rubbing fingers and the other cupping her jaw, caused a shiver to dance over her skin.
“Look at me. Are you all right?”
Annabel blinked hard as her world tilted. She could swear she saw a dizzying array of stars.
Forcing her gaze upward, she found icy blue eyes, serious and probing and perfectly matching his shirt, staring intently back at her.
Forget the stars.
This was a full-blown meteor shower.
Thomas North knelt on the carpet, cringing at the wrinkled paperwork beneath his feet.
The last thing he’d expected when he hurried into his office, cursing himself for being late thanks to his weekly breakfast date with his grandmother, was to be attacked by an overgrown hairy beast.
Or by the woman who was obviously its owner.
“Hello, miss? Did you hear me? Are you okay?”
“Y-yes, I think so.”
Ignoring how her breathy words warmed the inside of his wrist, then transformed into a tremor that raced up his entire arm, Thomas focused on her pale blue eyes. They seemed clear and bright, but her speech was a bit slow.
He waved his hand, holding up three fingers in front of the woman’s face. “How many fingers do you see?”
“Two.”
Hmm, not good.
His own head still smarted from where they’d come together with a hard thunk, but he didn’t have any problem directing Forrest Traub back into the chair he started to rise from or to see the beautiful blonde on the floor in front of him.
Not to mention another blond, with four legs and a wet nose, who was getting in his way.
“And a thumb.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re holding up two fingers, index and middle, and your thumb.” She laid a hand on the dog’s snout, where it tunneled into her loose waves at her shoulder. “I’m okay, Smiley. Please, sit.”
The dog obeyed the woman’s command, just barely, as its backside continued to shimmy, helped by the rapid wagging of its tail.
Thomas took the paperwork from the woman’s grip, added it to the pile he’d shoved back into the top folder. He handed it all to his secretary, who stood over his right shoulder. “Can you put this back into some semblance of order, please?”
“Wow, how did you know she was standing there?” the woman asked, drawing his attention back to her.
“He’s got eyes in the back of his head,” his secretary quipped as she stepped around them and headed for his desk. “It’s something they must teach them in medical school.”
Thomas did what he always did when Marge got mouthy. Ignored her. She’d come with the office, having worked for his predecessor for a dozen years, and knew the inner workings of the hospital like the back of her hand. Thomas had only been at TC General two years and he’d be lost without her.
Concentrating on getting the woman back on her feet, he rose and held out one hand. “Do you think you can stand?”
“Of course I can.”
She grabbed his wrist with a surprisingly strong grip, and pushed to her feet. He couldn’t help but notice the dark polish on her bare toes, the snug fit of her jeans over curvy hips or how the loose ruffled neckline of her blouse had slipped to reveal one bare shoulder.
“Annabel, are you sure you’re okay?” Forrest asked.
She turned her head, sending long waves of blond hair flying, covering that shoulder. “Yes, I’m fine.”
Thomas swallowed hard and pulled from her heated touch, refocusing his attention on his patient and the reason he was here.
“I don’t mind your girlfriend being at your appointment, Mr. Traub—” he moved to sit at his desk, not surprised to find Marge had already left the office, closing the door behind her “—but a dog is a different matter entirely.”
“She’s not my—”
“Oh, I’m not his girlfriend.” The woman dropped into the second empty chair. “Forrest and I are practically family. I’m Annabel Cates.”
Thomas tucked away the news these two weren’t involved, and why he even cared, to concentrate on finding out what exactly was going on. “Then what are you and your dog doing in my office, Miss Cates?”
“Two reasons, moral support and a proposition you can’t refuse.”
Chapter Two
“Oh, and please call me Annabel. This is Smiley.” Thomas watched the oversize furball move to sit between her and his patient, ears flopping as it looked back and forth between the two. Then the mutt leaned toward Forrest. Thomas was about to call out, until he saw how the dog rested its chin lightly on Traub’s uninjured knee.
“Smiley is a certified therapy dog,” she continued. “As his owner and handler, I’ve been trained and certified,