Montana spoke in a tone that told him that she was really thinking, “There’s no accounting for taste.”
“She seems nice enough,” he said, tentatively rubbing his fingers against the animal’s back. “As long as Kalinda will be safe.”
“You don’t have to worry. Cece has a great temperament. And I’ll be there the whole time.”
He had his doubts about how much help she would be, but if Kalinda wanted a dog then, by God, he would get her one.
He passed Cece back and made arrangements for her to be brought to the hospital the following day.
“For a test run,” he said. “If it helps, we continue the visits.”
“Of course.”
He turned to leave.
Montana, still holding the dog, walked with him. At the doorway they both paused, as if expecting the other to go first, then they moved at the same time.
They bumped into each other. People did it every day. Simon was used to all kinds of casual contact. He touched his patients, was passed things during surgery. Every now and then he even enjoyed the company of a woman for a few hours. So he had no reason to expect the brief brush of her arm against his to register.
But it did. The second Montana touched him, the second he felt the heat from her body, something large and uncontrolled stirred to life. He was so surprised he came to a stop, and she did, too. They bumped again, which caused her to grin at him.
“Okay. You first.”
Easy words. A casual, happy smile. As if she couldn’t feel the rage of desire that burst to life like an explosion.
He’d never felt anything like it before, had no way of knowing what he was supposed to do next. He wasn’t sure he could keep from reaching for her, kissing her. Because that’s what he needed—not just the possession of her, but her hunger as well.
“Are you all right?”
Simon forced himself back to the moment. He hung on to the ragged remains of his civility and nodded.
“Yes. Thank you for your time.”
Her eyebrows rose slightly. He suspected she was remembering her comment from earlier in the day—when she’d accused him of having a stick up his ass. Better that than the truth, he told himself. Better for both of them.
He quickly made his escape. When he was back in his car, he was disgusted to find that his hands trembled and his sexual thoughts had produced a predictable manifestation. Pray God she hadn’t noticed, he thought grimly, starting the car engine.
As he drove back to the hospital, he tried to figure out what had happened. He’d never considered himself overly sexual. Every few months, when the need became a distraction, he found someone who wanted what he did—physical release and little else. The events were pleasant enough, but more about biology than anything else. He’d never felt compelled. Driven.
It was chemistry, he told himself as he entered the main highway and headed back to Fool’s Gold. One of those quirks of DNA that was intriguing but ultimately meaningless. So, he’d briefly wanted Montana. Later he would see her and everything would be fine. He had his work. Nothing else was as important. He had his work and his patients and that would always be enough.
CHAPTER THREE
JO’S BAR WAS ONE OF MONTANA’S favorite places in town. Unlike most bars, this one catered to women. The colors were girl friendly, with the large TVs turned to shows like American’s Next Top Model and the shopping networks. Drinks were fun and the list of food came with a selection of offerings for the calorie conscious. As for the men, they had a room in back, with a pool table and plenty of sports. But at Jo’s, women ruled.
Montana walked in and spotted her sisters already at a booth.
Technically Nevada was the oldest, with Dakota born in the middle and Montana last. They were separated by all of fourteen minutes. When they were young, they had truly been identical, nearly impossible for even family members to tell apart. As they’d grown, their personality differences had influenced their appearance.
Nevada was the most sensible of the sisters. A civil engineer, she favored short hair, jeans, shirts and boots that were practical on work sites. Dakota was as smart as Nevada, but slightly more nurturing. She was a child psychologist by trade, with a Ph.D. in her field. In the past three months, she’d adopted a little girl from Kazakhstan, fallen in love, gotten pregnant and then engaged.
Montana loved her sisters but there were times she felt like the family screwup. It was only the past year that she’d discovered what she really wanted to do with her life. Working with the therapy dogs was everything to her. She would deal with the fact that her love life was nonexistent another time.
“How’s it going?” she asked as she approached the table.
“Great.” Dakota slid in to make room for her. “Can I persuade you to order a lemondrop tonight?”
Montana greeted Nevada, then turned to Dakota. “Why?”
“I want to smell it.”