Jan Hudson - The Texas Ranger

“It’s okay, girl,” he said, stroking her. “Dr. Skye’s one of the good guys. She won’t hurt you.” How was it that animals always knew when they were going to the vet? He’d had to drag Pookie from under the bed this morning when he was ready to leave.

He heard voices at an interior door, then it opened and the mayor walked out with his Doberman. Wouldn’t you know? The dude glanced at Pookie and smiled. “Cute dog.”

“My neighbor’s.”

“I see,” the mayor said. “Sam, isn’t it?” He held out his hand.

“Yes.” Sam stood and shook hands with him.

A guy roughly the size of a tank followed the mayor out of the interior. He checked the peephole in the front door, then flipped a switch on the wall, unlocked and opened the door for the mayor.

“Good to see you again,” the mayor said.

John? Jim? Sam couldn’t remember. He only remembered that he didn’t much care for his toothy smile.

As soon as the lock clicked into place and the switch was flipped back up, the tank turned to Sam. “I’m Napoleon, Dr. Walker’s assistant. Come with me, please.”

Sam didn’t argue. He was meaner looking than any man he’d ever seen on death row, and, although Sam didn’t often meet anyone who made him nervous, the tank put him on guard. This guy didn’t look like he’d go down unless you shot him—a bunch of times.

He was led into a room where Skye waited. Gus lay quietly in a corner. Gus raised his head and glared at Sam—or did something that passed for a dog-glare. His lips twitched back over his teeth.

Dressed in a blue smock, Skye stood by a tall examining table, scanned a chart. She glanced up when he entered and smiled. “Well, hello, Sam. What brings you here?”

He held out the dog. “Pookie.”

Skye took her, and the dog almost went into ecstasy, wiggling and licking Skye. “Hello, sweetie. How are you?”

Pookie arfed. Twice.

Skye cuddled her close. “Somehow I never figured you for the type who’d choose a Lhasa apso named Pookie.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Me, neither.” He told her the story of how he came to be her new owner. “I don’t know anything about her. I didn’t even know what kind of dog she was until you said. She just looks like a dust mop to me. I don’t know about her health or if she’s had her shots. She hides under the bed a lot.”

Skye checked a tag on her collar. “Here’s the number of her vet in San Antonio. Why didn’t you call the office and ask?”

Feeling a little dumb, Sam managed to grin. “Never thought of it. Guess I was looking for an excuse to drop over and ask you to lunch.”

She laughed, took a cell phone from her pocket and punched in a number. She identified herself and asked for information on Pookie. After a few moments, she hung up and told Sam, “All her shots are in order, and she’s a bit overweight but basically healthy. Let me examine her to be sure.”

Skye set the dog on her examining table, whispered something to her, and Pookie’s wiggling stopped. She stood statue-still while Skye looked her over.

After a few minutes, Skye said, “She’s fine, just a little sad about the loss of her mistress. It’s to be expected. She likes you.”

“I feed her hamburgers and steak.”

“Leave off the hamburgers and steak, or she’ll be a real roly-poly.”

She named a dry food that she recommended for small dogs. “She can have a treat occasionally.” She ruffled Pookie’s coat. “Show dogs of this breed really do look like dust mops, and they have to be carefully and frequently groomed. Her coat has been kept clipped, and I’d recommend continuing that for her comfort and your convenience. She needs a haircut and grooming now before she starts getting painful mats.”

“Where do I get that done?”

Skye glanced at Napoleon. He nodded. “Napoleon will get her fixed up. Every few weeks you can take her to any good groomer near you.”

Skye handed Pookie to Napoleon, and the dog went into her wiggling and licking routine again for him. She didn’t seem to mind his looks. The man spoke to her softly as they left the room.

“Sam, I think it’s very sweet of you to take in Pookie.”

He shrugged. “I didn’t want to take her to the pound. Do you know of anybody who might like to have her?”

Skye looked concerned. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to traumatize her further. She’s probably best off with you.”

Sam nodded. Looked like he now had a dog. “How about joining me for lunch?”

“How about you join me at home instead? You and Pookie. Belle is coming over to go swimming this afternoon.”

“I don’t have a suit.”

“I’m sure one of Gabe’s will fit.”

“It’s a deal.” The thought of Skye in a bathing suit had him salivating. He’d bet she was a knockout in a bikini.

“You can have a seat in the waiting room until Napoleon is finished with Pookie,” she said. “I have a couple more patients to see yet.”

SKYE FELT AS GIDDY AS A CHILD at Christmas. She was sure that Mrs. Westmoreland thought she was nuts because of the way she kept smiling during the account of Puffy’s numerous hair balls. And certainly nothing was funny about George Bill’s parrot, who had picked out half his feathers, but she could barely keep her mind on her patients. She wanted to break out into song and dance around the examining tables.

Sam Outlaw was here, here in her office. She’d thought about him all week, wondering if she would ever see him again. Gabe had said that Sam wasn’t her type, but she had to disagree. Sam was exactly her type. No man that she’d met in years had made her chest tighten and her stomach do back-flips.

She wanted to kiss little Pookie for bringing him to her office. And she could hardly wait to see Sam in a bathing suit. He was sexy enough with all his clothes on. Bare-chested, she’d bet he was a serious stud-muffin.

She giggled as she hung up her smock. Where were all these thoughts and feelings coming from? It was as if all her pent-up desires were rattling their cages and clamoring to get out. She’d have to watch herself or she’d scare the poor man to death.

Holy smoke.

When Sam pulled himself out of the pool, looked at her and grinned, Skye nearly melted into a little puddle. Even his teeth were perfect—as perfect as his abs. He could have been a model, except he probably thought models were sissies. And maybe they were. Sam was all man for sure, and she hadn’t been able to keep her eyes off him since they’d left her office. He was gorgeous, and sexuality oozed from him like honey from a comb. She wanted to run her tongue over his chest to see if he tasted sweet.

Suddenly embarrassed by her thoughts, she forced herself to look away and say something to Belle. But Belle was looking at Gabe as if he were an eclair on a doily and not paying the least bit of attention to Sam and her. Gabe was just as rapt with Belle.

Maybe that’s why Skye had gone so goofy over Sam. She was envious of her brother and Belle, and wanted the same thing they had. Boy, had she picked a doozy for her first foray into romance in years. Why couldn’t she be attracted to somebody sane and simple? Like John.

But no. John didn’t make her heart rev up like a race car.

“Come on in the water,” Sam said.

“I don’t want to get my hair wet.”

“It’ll dry. Come on in. Or can’t you swim?”

“Of course I can swim. I’ve got a box full of ribbons somewhere that says I can.”

Sam walked toward her, trailing water. “Guess I’ll just have to toss you in.” He grabbed her.

“No-o-o-o!” she screamed. “Don’t!”

He laughed, hauled her up and jumped into the pool with her in his arms.