Puppy Love in Thunder Canyon

“Most people love Smiley, which makes him so good at being a therapy dog,” she continued, opening the book and laying it flat across her lap. “I started this scrapbook to document our training and all the work we do. There are a number of tests that Smiley had to pass before being certified, such as acceptance of a friendly stranger, walking through a crowd or sitting politely.”

Thomas cleared his throat. It then closed up completely when Annabel laughed and reached out, giving his arm a gentle squeeze. “You’re a special case.”

Her heated touch seemed to sear his skin through the smooth material of his shirt. His fingers tightened against his knuckles until she released him. “Ah, that’s good to know.”

“Smiley was also tested for basic commands and how he reacted to being around other dogs, children and medical equipment and so on.”

“I’m guessing all the animals in this program are required to provide health records?”

“Of course. They have to be tested annually and maintain a good appearance. Grooming is a must.” She turned the page and pointed to certificates in both her and her dog’s names. “We passed every test with flying colors and have been doing this kind of work for the last six months. I document every visit we make, sometimes with photographs, as we are working toward the American Kennel Club’s Therapy Dog title. Smiley’s been to schools, group homes, clinics and nursing care facilities. Not to mention a couple areas here at TC General.”

Annabel gently brushed her fingertips over the pictures on the next page of a young girl lying in a hospital bed, her head covered in a colorful head scarf and Smiley stretched out beside her. “This is Isabella. She was the sweetest thing. When we arrived to visit with her she asked me if Smiley was an angel. When I asked why, she said she’d just dreamed that an angel was coming to take her home.”

Thomas watched as Annabel paused, pressing her fingertips to her lips, and glanced upward for a moment before she went on. “Her mother told Isabella she was too sick to leave the hospital just yet and the little girl said she wasn’t talking about their home. That the angel was taking her to God’s house. She died six weeks later, just days after her tenth birthday. That last week Smiley and I were there every day.”

He had to ask. “Why do you do that?”

She looked at him, her blue eyes shiny. “Do what?”

“Roll your eyes that way. You did it during the appointment with Forrest when I was discussing his surgery and again just now.”

“I wasn’t rolling my eyes. Not in the traditional sense.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning I’m not bored or exasperated. You see, I tend to get a bit emotional, especially in some of the situations Smiley and I find ourselves involved with. It’s a trick I picked up from another dog handler to stop the tears.”

“It works?”

Annabel nodded. “My mom told me that tickling the roof of my mouth with the tip of my tongue will do the same thing, but I’m usually too busy talking—” She stopped and bit down on her bottom lip. “Well, I guess you’ve already figured that out.”

Yes, he had. What he couldn’t figure out was why he liked that about her.

“Should I go on?” she asked.

As if he could tell her not to. “Please do.”

Annabel turned the page and his gaze was drawn to the photo of a teenage boy holding himself upright on parallel bars, a prosthetic where his right leg should have been. “This is Marcus Colton. He lost his leg last winter in a snowmobile accident. Like most teenagers, what he did best was give his physical therapists a hard time.”

“Let me guess. Smiley changed that?”

“We were at the clinic one day when Marcus was being his usual charming self, demanding no one would get him to make a fool of himself by trying to walk, even though he’d been doing pretty well at his rehab for a month by then.”

She pointed to the next picture showing her dog sitting calmly at the opposite end of the bars, Annabel just a few feet away holding his leash. “Smiley allowed Marcus to pet him for a few minutes and then he went and sat there, almost daring Marcus to come to him.”

“And he did.”

“Not the first visit. Or even the second, but Smiley proved to be every bit as stubborn as Marcus. The boy finally relented and now he’s making great progress.”

She went on, telling him stories of senior citizens who had no one to visit them but Smiley, of the patients attending their dialysis sessions who welcomed the distraction petting a dog brought and schoolkids finding it easier to practice their reading when their audience was a dog.

With each story came more looks upward, a couple swipes at the tears that made it through and a sexy husky laugh, all of which struck a chord deep in Thomas’s gut.

“I’m guessing all of this is to convince me to allow Smiley to work with Forrest during his rehab, if my patient agrees,” Thomas said when she finally finished. “But why do I get the feeling you are looking for something else from me?”

“Hmm, now that’s a loaded question.” She closed her book, a pretty blush on her cheeks. “Yes, working with Forrest was my original plan. I still want to now that he’s home from the hospital and ready to start his physical therapy, but what I’d really like is to set up a weekly support group here at the hospital. One that’s open to any patient who wants to come, no matter what their illness.”

While Thomas still had doubts about her work, he found himself enamored of Annabel’s spirit. What surprised him even more was the fact he wanted to see her again.

And not just here at the hospital.

“I’m still not completely convinced, but I’ll agree to at least consider your idea.”

“Really?” Annabel’s smile was wide, her blue eyes sparkling up at him. “That’s wonderful!”

“There’s just one condition.” He could hardly believe the words pouring from his mouth. “You agree to have dinner with me.”

Chapter Three

Stunned, Annabel didn’t know what to say. Anyone who knew her well would say it was the first time she’d ever been at a loss for words.

Especially after she’d spent the past half hour hogging the conversation with a man who’d put those dreamy and steamy television doctors to shame. Without the standard long white lab coat he’d worn the last time she was here, his purple dress shirt and purple, gray and black striped tie brought out just a hint of lavender in those amazingly blue eyes.

Not to mention what the shirt did for the man’s broad shoulders.

He wore his dark hair short, but it stood up in spiky tufts on top, as if he’d been running his hand through it just before she arrived. The sharp angles of his cheeks and jaw were smooth-shaven despite it being late in the afternoon.

Her breath had just about vanished from her lungs when he’d joined her on the couch, his woodsy cologne teasing her senses. Thank goodness she’d remembered the scrapbook so she had something to do with her hands.

Besides attack the good doctor, that was.

“Annabel? Did you hear me?”

She blinked, realized she’d been staring. “You want to go out?”

“Yes.”

Considering how hard she’d tried not to sound like a sap with her endless chatter about the therapy dog program, Annabel now found it hard to put her thoughts into words. “With me?”

“Yes, with you. We can talk more about your program. Unless there’s a reason why you can’t?”

Was “too stunned to reply” an acceptable answer?

“Do you have a boyfriend?” His expression turned serious again. “I didn’t see a ring on your finger, but I don’t want to presume you are free—”

“No.” She cut him off. He’d actually looked to see if she wore a ring? “I’m free, totally free. Free as a bird.”

“Is that a yes, then?”