Wendy Warren - The Oldest Virgin In Oakdale

His hands came toward her neck. Reflexively Eleanor backed up. Ignoring her surprise, he reached for the ear-pieces of the stethoscope, brought them up—and placed them in her ears, where they belonged.

One handsome brow arched. “Better?”

Eleanor blushed bloodred. His grin deepened. Of all the humiliating…! Furious with herself, furious with him, furious with Chloe, she clamped her lips shut and got down to business. With a rigid efficiency that precluded conversation, she listened to Sadie’s heartbeat, checked the dog’s eyes and ears and examined her coat. She refrained from saying another word, refused even to glance in the man’s direction, until the examination was complete.

Keeping her head down while she made preliminary notations on the dog’s chart, she murmured, “Her health seems good generally. She’s on the thin side, though. What are you feeding her?”

“Big Macs. Fries. Hold the ketchup.”

The pen stilled. “You’re kidding.”

“Why? You think she’d like ketchup?”

Glancing up at last, Eleanor was rewarded with a wink that made the blue eyes sparkle and dance. This time the curve of his full lips was downright roguish. “You know how I feel about ketchup, Teach.”

“I beg your—”

Teach.

Eleanor felt a surge of déjà vu so strong, it made her dizzy.

Teach? Only one person in her life had ever called her that. Only one person on the planet…

Gaping through her glasses, she looked at him, then down at the chart, then back up. It couldn’t be… No, definitely not…

“Colvin?”

The hand that was stroking Sadie stilled immediately. He crossed both arms over his chest and scowled. “No one’s called me Colvin in over twelve years… Eleanor Gertrude.”

Eleanor’s heart thumped like a jackhammer. It was him. Colvin—or rather Cole—Sullivan. Her words rushed out on a breath.

“When did you get back?”

“A couple of days ago.” The grin returned with devilish implication. “Miss me?”

Dumbstruck, Eleanor could only stare. Her heart fluttered. Miss him? It had been twelve years since she’d last set eyes on him. If Cole Sullivan had been in Oakdale at all since their high school graduation, she hadn’t known about it. She hadn’t spoken to him, hadn’t heard from him.

Not that that was surprising. They hadn’t parted on the most congenial of terms. She should have recognized him by the small crescent-shaped scar on his chin—she’d put it there.

He caught her looking at it and touched two fingers to the twelve-year-old brand. “Still hurts, you know.”

Eleanor blurted her first thought. “You deserved it.”

Cole tilted his head back and laughed—rich, full-bodied laughter that held not a single grudge. “You’re right, Teach. I did.”

Feelings Eleanor couldn’t begin to identify—and didn’t think she wanted to—swelled inside her. Quickly she reached for Sadie’s chart.

She cleared her throat. “So. You brought Sadie in to be spayed. I don’t see any record of shots.”

Cole’s gaze narrowed. Crossing his arms, he leaned against the examining table and studied Eleanor leisurely, in no rush to answer, as if he were deciding whether to accept the abrupt change from the personal to the professional. “I found the dog,” he said finally, keeping his gaze on Eleanor, “a few days ago on the drive up here. She was taking a stroll along the I-5 Highway. No collar. And no sense of direction.”

Eleanor reached out to touch a grouping of small scars on the boxer’s left flank. “Abandoned, probably,” she murmured.

“And abused by the look of things.” Cole’s tone hardened, but his hand moved absently, gently over the dog’s spine. “I found you in the phone book, by the way.” He arched a brow. “Eleanor Lippert, D.V.M. Is this your own practice?”

“Yes.”

“Very impressive,” he commended, nodding slowly, his voice low and tinged with approval.

A frisson of pleasure skittered up Eleanor’s spine. She squashed it ruthlessly.

“I can spay Sadie this afternoon,” she said, forcing herself to stick to the business at hand. “We use a general anaesthetic. Has she eaten?”

“Not since last night. Your receptionist gave me the drill when I called.”

Eleanor nodded and penned the information on the chart, noting as she did that Cole had listed Los Angeles as his permanent place of residence. Was that where he’d been all these years?

“So, is this going to hurt?”

She glanced up. The hand smoothing Sadie’s back had stilled on top of her sturdy head and the dog had lifted her muzzle as if to fit herself into Cole’s palm.

“No,” she said, smiling when he looked relieved. “Spaying is a very safe procedure. Not as simple as neutering a male, of course, but—”

Cole’s eyes widened, and Eleanor felt her smile falter.

“What I mean is, castration is very straightforward.” He winced.

Heat suffused her neck and cheeks. She’d explained this unhesitantly dozens of times in spay and neuter clinics.

Raising her chin, she stated with forced calm, “We’ll keep Sadie overnight—”

“Is that what you do with the easily neutered males?”

Closing Sadie’s chart with a snap, Eleanor tucked it under her arm. As matter-of-factly as she could, she replied, “Males don’t need to be kept overnight.”

“Hmm. I never did know as much about biology as you—” his voiced rolled toward her like a slow rippling tide “—but I’d say that all depends on the male, Teach. It all depends on the male.”

The bottom half of her glasses fogged. Wrapping the examination up while she still had a modicum of composure, she said, “You can pick Sadie up tomorrow.”

“What time do you close?”

“Six. So if you can’t get here earlier, we can keep her until closing. She’ll be very comfortable.”

“Are you married, Eleanor?”

“I— Am I— Uh, no. Mmm. No.”

“Living with anyone?”

Returning her pen to her breast pocket—three jabs before she got it in—she raised her brows, a study in forced nonchalance. “Why? What do you mean?”

“Just a friendly question. If we grab dinner, catch up on old times, is there anyone whose feathers could get ruffled?”

Slowly Eleanor shook her head.

“Good.” He nodded. “I’ll pick you and Sadie up tomorrow evening.”

“Well, I…”

“Be good for the doctor, Sadie.” Reaching over, he gave the big puppy a solid pat.

Moving past Eleanor, Cole grasped the doorknob, then turned. “I realize you’ll be working, but try not to be late.” He gave her a long, steady look. “I may be ‘straightforward,’ but I’m a devil when I’m hungry.”

Eleanor, who in a dozen years of driving had never had a ticket, managed to run a stop sign on her way home from work.

Inside her apartment she tossed keys, coat and purse onto a bar stool, deposited a paper sack of take-out Chinese on the kitchen counter and atypically ignored her cat, Gus, who yowled in complaint while she made a beeline for the hall closet.

Sliding open the closet door, Eleanor stood on her toes to extract hats, mittens and other winter gear, sending items sailing to the floor until her hands closed on a box shoved all the way to the back of the shelf. Lugging the heavy carton to the floor, she rummaged through the contents until she found what she was looking for.

Oakdale High 1990. Her senior yearbook.

The broad flat album smelled musty. Sitting on her heels, Eleanor wiped a finger across dusty gold lettering while her heart beat with anticipation. She opened the stiff maroon cover, turning pages without pause until she came to the senior high students whose last names began with S, then scanned the page until she reached “Sullivan, Colvin Orson.”