Unlocking the Surgeon's Heart

“Animals are a far better judge of character than we are,” she said. “However, Ria doesn’t usually give her seal of approval so soon after meeting someone.”

“Then I’m flattered.” Then, because time was marching on, he asked, “Shall we go?”

Pink suddenly tinged her face. “I’m sorry, but I need a few more minutes.”

He couldn’t imagine why. She wore a red and white polka-dotted sundress with a matching short-sleeved jacket. Her bare legs were long and tanned and her toenails were painted a matching shade of red and one little toe had a silver ring encircling it.

Wisps of her short reddish-blonde hair framed her face most attractively and seemed to highlight her fine bone structure. From the freckles dancing across the bridge of her nose, she either didn’t need makeup to create that warm glow or she only wore just enough to enhance her natural skin tone. He also caught a delightful whiff of citrus and spice that tempted him to lean into her neck and inhale deeply.

Certain she sensed his intense, and appreciative perusal, he met her gaze, hardly able to believe the nonhospital version of the dark-eyed Christy Michaels was so … gorgeous. As far as he was concerned, a few more minutes couldn’t improve on the vision in front of him. The idea that he would spend his evening seated across from such delightful eye candy instead of poking inside someone’s abdomen suddenly made him anticipate the hours ahead.

“You look great to me,” he commented.

Apparently hearing the appreciation in his voice, she smiled. “Thanks, but Ria has carried off my sandals. She does that when she doesn’t want me to leave, and now I’m trying to locate where she’s stashed them. Would you mind checking around the living room while I go through my bedroom again?”

Ever practical and conscious of the time, he suggested, “You could wear a different pair.”

“No can do,” she said, plainly impervious to his suggestion. “They match this dress perfectly and nothing else I own will look quite right.”

He wanted to argue that it was just the four of them and no one would notice much less care if her sandals coordinated with her dress, but she’d already disappeared down the hallway, leaving him to obey.

“Okay, Ria,” he said to the Lab, “where’s your favorite hiding place?”

Ria stared at him with a dopey grin on her face.

“No help from you, I see.” Linc raised his voice. “Where does she normally hide her treasures?”

“Under the furniture,” she called back, “or in her toy box.”

Linc glanced around the great room and decided that Christy lived a relatively spartan existence. She didn’t own a lot of furniture and other than a few silk flower arrangements scattered around, the surfaces were free of what he called dust-collectors, although none would pass the white-glove treatment.

Spartan or not, however, the room had that cluttered, lived-in feel. Decorative pillows were thrown haphazardly, a fuzzy Southwestern print afghan was tossed carelessly over one armchair, and women’s magazines were gathered in untidy heaps on the floor.

Dutifully, he peeked under the floral-print sofa and found a few mismatched but brightly colored socks. Some were knee-length and others were just footies, but each one sported varying sizes of chew holes. Next, he moved to the matching side chair where he unearthed two pairs of silk panties—one black and one fire-engine-red—that couldn’t claim more than a dollar’s worth of fabric between them.

After adding the lingerie to his pile, he pinched the bridge of his nose and told himself to forget what he’d just seen and touched. Knowing her tastes ran along those kinds of lines, when he saw her on duty again, he’d have a difficult time keeping his mind off what might be underneath her scrub suit.

Shoot, why wait until then? His imagination was already running wild over what color underwear she was wearing under her sundress.

He carefully glanced around the room in search of something resembling a doggie toy box and found a wicker basket tucked on the bottom shelf of the book-case in the corner filled with playthings that a canine would love. Resting on his haunches, he rummaged through a pile of half-chewed dog bones, several balls and Frisbees, a short rope, and an assortment of stuffed animals before he struck bottom.

“No shoes in here,” he called out as he rose.

“Thanks for checking,” she answered back.

His watch chimed the quarter-hour. “We really should be going.”

“Just a few more minutes. I promise.”

Because he had so little time for leisure reading, the books on her shelves drew his gaze next, and he took a few minutes to glance at the titles. Most of her paperbacks were romances with a few adventure novels sprinkled among them. He also ran across several cookbooks and a few exercise DVDs, but tucked among them were a few books that piqued his curiosity.

Chicken Soup for the Survivor’s Soul. Life after Cancer. Foods that Fight. Staying Fit after Chemo.

Before he could wonder what had caused her interest in such topics, she returned to the living room, wearing a pair of strappy red high-heeled sandals that emphasized her shapely legs. “Sorry about the wait,” she said breathlessly. “I found them in my laundry basket.”

“Great. By the way, I ran across a few things you might have lost.” He plucked his pile of treasures off the coffee table and handed them to her.

Her face turned a lovely shade of pink as she eyed the scraps on top. “I wondered where those had gone,” she said, her chuckle quite pleasing to his ears. “I’ve blamed the washing machine all this time. Ria, you’ve been a bad girl.”

Ria sank onto her belly and placed her head on her front paws.

“But I love you anyway,” she said as she crouched down to scratch behind the dog’s ears. “Now, behave while we’re gone.”

As she rubbed, Ria responded with a contented sigh and a blissful doggy smile before rolling over onto her back for a tummy rub. Obviously Christy had The Touch, and immediately he wanted to feel her fingers working their magic on his sore spots.

He tore his gaze from the sight, reminding himself that Christy wasn’t his type even if she could engender all sorts of unrealistic thoughts. She was too perky, too lively, and too everything. Women like her weren’t content with the mundane aspects of living. They wanted the constant stimulation of social activities, four-star shopping and exotic vacations. Staying home for popcorn and a movie would be considered slumming.

“Are we ready now?” he asked, conscious of his peevish tone when all he wanted to do was shake these wicked mental pictures out of his head.

She straightened. “Of course. Sorry to keep you waiting.”

To his regret, the warm note in her voice had disappeared and he wondered what it would take to bring it back. If he walked into his brother’s house with icicles hanging in the air, his sister-in-law would read him the Riot Act. He didn’t know why Gail was so protective of Christy, but she was.

Minutes later, Linc found himself on the sidewalk, accompanying her to his car. He couldn’t explain why he found the need to rest his hand on the small of her back—it wasn’t as if the sidewalk was icy and he intended to keep her from falling—but he did.

That small, politely ingrained action made him wonder if his plan to concentrate on his career should be revised. He was thirty-seven now and he had to admit that at times he grew weary of his own company. To make matters worse, lately, being around Gail and Ty made him realize just how much he was missing.

Now was one of those moments. Especially when he caught a glimpse of a well-formed knee and a trim ankle as he helped her into the passenger seat.

He might be physically attracted to Christy Michaels, but their temperaments made them polar opposites. He had enough drama in his life and when he came home at night, he wanted someone to share his quiet and peaceable existence, not someone who thrived on being the life of a party.

Opposites or not, though, he wasn’t going to pass the drive in chilly silence. Given how much she obviously loved Ria, he knew exactly how to break the ice.

“After seeing your dog, I’m wondering if I should get one,” he commented as he slid behind the wheel.

“They’re a lot of work, but the companionship is worth every minute,” she said. “Did you have a breed in mind?”

“No, but I’d lean toward a collie or a retriever. We had one when I was a kid. Skipper died of old age, but we didn’t replace him.”

She nodded. “I can understand that. Bringing a new pet home can make you feel guilty—like you’re replacing them as easily as you replace a worn-out pair of socks—when in actuality, you aren’t replacing them because they’ll always be a part of you, no matter what.”

Spoken like a true dog lover, he thought, impressed by her insight.

“Why don’t you have a dog now?” she asked.

“Isn’t it obvious? A pet doesn’t fit into my lifestyle.”

“Oh.” He heard a wealth of emotion—mainly disappointment—in the way she uttered that one word. It was almost as if she found him lacking when she should have been impressed by his thoughtfulness. After all, the poor mutt would be the one suffering from inattention.