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Authors: Tracy Brogan

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BOOK: Crazy Little Thing
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“What’s his phone number?” Jasper asked.

Dody’s head lolled back, her eyes clouding over. “My goodness, would you look at those cobwebs on this ceiling? Sadie, I’m surprised you missed those.”

Jasper looked at me. “Would you run down there and get him? We may end up in the med center anyway, but maybe he can at least take a look at her.”

I nodded, hopping up on shaky legs. I’d gladly go for Dr. Pullman, if only to escape this moment. Dody was white as a ghost and I was getting queasier by the second.

I ran down the street and a few minutes later found myself standing on Dr. Pullman’s expensively bricked front porch. Ornate ceramic pots sat on either side of the wide wooden door, but in contrast to the elaborate landscaping, the flowers in them were shriveled and dead. I rang the bell, noticing then the flecks of blood on my shirt. Hopefully Dr. Pullman would remember me from summers past and not think I was some homicidal maniac. I smoothed out my wrinkled shorts and quickly redid my ponytail, as if that minor primping would make a difference.

A fluffy gray cat sauntered up, giving me an imperious once-over.

“Hi, kitty.”

She was disdainful in the way only a cat can be. I was beneath her contempt.

“Bitch,” I muttered, attempting to exert my human superiority.

As the word left my mouth and hung suspended in the air, the door opened and there, standing before me, was none other than Running Man!

My eyes widened. I suspect my mouth dropped open too. I must have looked like a skeptical eight-year-old finding Santa unloading presents under my Christmas tree. Wow, ogling this guy from Dody’s deck had not done him justice. He was much taller up close, and his hair wasn’t nearly as dark as I thought. But I’d been right about the muscles. They were everywhere.

My cheeks went hot and I just stood there.

He looked at me expectantly, pleasantly, until he noticed my bloodstained shirt.

“Are you all right? May I help you?”

I started giggling hysterically. I couldn’t help it. I was exhausted and stressed out. And an idiot. I wiped my hand across my shirt. “Um, I’m fine. I’m looking for Dr. Pullman’s house.” I leaned back to check the number posted above the door.

The cat sashayed inside like a saloon girl, pointing her ass right at me as if to say, “Who is superior now?”

Running Man squinted. “Uh, this is Dr. Pullman’s house, but I’m afraid he’s not in residence.”

“What?”

Wait a second.

Seriously?

Did he have an accent?

Unfair!

And dimples? When he wasn’t even smiling? An accent and dimples? That put him straight into Panty Melting territory. (Panty Melter: an exceedingly rare species of man blessed with so many desirable attributes he effortlessly gains access into a girl’s panties.)
God, Sadie! Get ahold of yourself. Dody’s life is at stake here
.

“Um, do you know when he’ll be back? My aunt fell over a truck and I think she might need stitches.”

His beautiful green eyes widened. “She fell over a truck? You mean, out of a truck?”

I shook my head. “No, over a truck. A toy truck. She tripped and hit a table.”

He smiled now, visibly relaxing. “Oh. All right then. In that case, Dr. Pullman won’t be back for a few months, but I’m here while he’s gone. I could help your aunt.”

A haze of irresponsible lust began seeping into my brain, pushing concern for Dody’s life far from my mind. She wasn’t hurt
that
badly anyway. Pheromones permeated my flushed skin, and I began sputtering information faster than an auctioneer. “Could you? Really? But we need a doctor because she won’t go to the med center. It’s her poker night and she wants to win her six dollars back from Anita Parker. But it’s kind of a deep cut, and Jasper thinks she might need stitches. Dody is so stubborn, though, and now Jordan is upset because it was his truck. But really it was all my fault.”

His smile froze. I sounded like an overzealous contestant on some practical-joke show. He must be expecting TV cameras to pop up at any moment.

His head tilted. “Did you say Dody is your aunt? Dody Baker?”

“Yes!” I nodded at his uncanny insight. “She’s my aunt.” I tapped my collarbone. “I’m her niece.”

He nodded, “That’s usually how it works.”

Was he teasing me? Was that banter? I loved banter!

But this was not how we were supposed to meet. Even though I wanted absolutely nothing to do with him, I had orchestrated an elaborate fantasy meeting. I’d be lounging on the beach at sunset. Due to the fading light, I would look quite attractive. He’d stroll along, looking handsome and debonair with his strategically tousled hair. He’d say, “Why, hello there,” and I’d respond with something witty and clever and subversively sexual. Then he’d laugh devilishly and we’d realize we were destined to be together.

It was not supposed to be like this, with me frazzled and covered in blood.

He tilted his head in the other direction. “Stan mentioned her. I’ll come have a look.”

“Stan?”

Who the hell was Stan?

“Dr. Pullman,” he explained at my expression. “I’m his temporary replacement while he’s on holiday, and he asked me to stay here to water the plants and such. He told me about your aunt, though.”

“He did? Did he warn you she’s a little nuts?” I blurted out. Damn it. Apparently I’d left my stupidity filter back at home, soaking in the pool of Dody’s blood.

But Running Man chuckled, a velvety, enchanting sound, and said, “I believe the word he used was peculiar. Anyway, let me grab a couple things. Come on in.”

He pushed open the door, stepping inside. I followed, like Dorothy entering Oz. The front door bumped against a decorative table in the entryway.

This was getting very strange. I mean, he was smokin’ hot and all that, but I couldn’t let some stranger poke and prod at my aunt just because he had really nice arms. Could I?

“Um, are you a doctor too?” I asked. “And you’re here to water the plants?”

I looked out the still open door at the seriously dead geraniums in the porch pots. He followed my gaze and frowned.

“Hmm. Guess I forgot about those. You said you think she needs stitches?” He started rummaging around in a cardboard box. There were several stacked around the room as if someone was either moving in, or out.

“Yes, my cousin is sure she does.”

I perused the decor, noting the Pullmans’ expensive if somewhat geriatric tastes. Lots of pale hues that my kids could stain without even touching. I watched Running Man’s back flex as he tore open another box. I swallowed a sudden rush of saliva, like Pavlov’s horny dog.
What the hell was the matter with me?

“Where did she cut herself?” The cat jumped up on the box beside him, and he pushed her away with his elbow. She landed on the floor with a thud and glared at me.

“In our living room.”

His burst of laughter startled me. Caught up as I was in the grips of my own little hormone storm, it took me a minute to realize that wasn’t the kind of
where
he meant.

“Oh! Oh, on her head. She fell and bumped her head.”

Ding!
Something chimed, and I jumped about a foot. “What was that?”

“Just the microwave. Dinner.”

Microwaved dinner? For one? Where was Mrs. Running Man?

Tossing one last item into a nearby backpack, he reached out to take some keys off of a brass, kitten-shaped hook by the door. With my astute skills of observation—added to the fact that his hand was directly in front of my face—I noticed a distinct lack of wedding band. Interesting. But my heart sank as fast as it rose. Maybe he was gay. Shoot. He was probably gay. He had to be. His fingernails were trimmed and clean. His cuticles didn’t go halfway to his knuckles. Yep, definitely gay. Oh, well. At least Fontaine would be happy.

We stepped back outside, and he pulled the door shut, sliding the keys into a pocket with his unadorned hand. I suddenly realized I didn’t know his name.

I held out my equally unadorned hand. “By the way, I’m Sadie Turner.”

“I’m Des.”

“Des?” I think I might have squinted. Or possibly scrunched my whole face. Either way, I’m sure it wasn’t pretty.

“Desmond. McKnight.”

His name was Desmond? Oh, yeah. This guy was totally gay. But then he smiled, triggering maximum dimple wattage, and my belly did a flip that went straight south.

Dody’s injury required several stitches, but Dr. McKnight, who had apparently been a boy scout as well, came fully prepared. His backpack held a virtual storeroom of medical supplies. He even had suckers for Paige and Jordan.

Paige, already smitten with this handsome newcomer, ate hers immediately while batting her thick, dark lashes. Jordan, on the other hand, was characteristically suspicious. No random interloper could buy his trust with one lousy piece of candy. His sucker still sat on the table, and every once in a while Jordan would flick it with his finger, just to prove how much he didn’t care about it.

“It’s a superficial laceration, Mrs. Baker, but head wounds tend to bleed like this. You needn’t be too alarmed.”

Dody reclined on the wicker love seat on the sunporch, her head resting on a bright yellow pillow. She had wrapped a lace shawl around her shoulders to cover all the brownish bloodstains on her jersey.

“I wasn’t alarmed at all. It was these two.” She waved a wrist at Jasper and me, her bangle bracelets jingling. “Sadie tends to be a little high-strung. She’s a professional organizer, you know. Very fussy. But I suppose I did need some medical attention, and weren’t we lucky to find you! Imagine what would’ve become of me if you hadn’t been nearby.”

She fluttered the plastic fan in her hand, a gift to her from Walter for their thirty-second wedding anniversary. Allegedly from the
Gone with the Wind
collection.

“I’m sure you would’ve been just fine, but without stitches you would’ve had quite a scar.” He began putting things back in his bag.

“Oh, I’ve already got a scar. See?” She pointed at a tiny mark high on her cheek. “Walter gave me this one when his suspender popped off. He was doing a little striptease for me but—”

“Dody!” I gripped her shoulder.

Des smiled. “If you start to feel dizzy or nauseous or have a headache, you should let me know, or call your own doctor. You could have a mild concussion.”

“I feel fine. And now that we’ve got you here, you simply must stay for supper. Sadie spent the whole day labeling the pantry, and Jasper’s a chef. At Arno’s, you know.”

His face remained politely interested, but I sensed Dody had put on her scheming hat. She was starting to worry he might leave too soon.

“Sadie, get the good doctor some lemonade. He must be parched. You’re staying at the Pullmans’ house, you say? What does Joanna Pullman fertilize her azalea bushes with, do you suppose? They are lush with flowers every spring. Is your wife there too? Did you say you were married?”

Dr. McKnight peered up at me from his seat near Dody. “Did she suffer any loss of consciousness when she fell?”

I bit my lip and shook my head. “She’s always like this.”

Dody tapped his forearm with her fan. “So? What about your wife? Is she waiting for you?”

He blushed. “No one’s waiting. It’s just me at the Pullmans’.”

“Oh, dear.” Her voice was drenched in sympathy, as if he’d just announced his entire family had been recently wiped out by cholera. Or were Republicans. “Then you must stay. It’s all settled, Doctor.”

“I wouldn’t want to impose. And please, call me Des.”

“Dody, I’m sure he’s busy,” I said. I knew he had some preservative-laden, freeze-dried food nuked warm back at his house. And he knew that I knew. I looked over at Jasper, hoping for help, but he shrugged with indifference.

Dody flipped open her fan and fluttered it with practiced skill. “Heavens to Betsy, that’s just silly. It’s no imposition at all after you pulled me from the jaws of death, Des, dear.”

He smiled. “I am kind of hungry.”

“Excellent!” She snapped the fan shut. “Jasper, make us some dinner.”

The front door banged open, and seconds later Fontaine burst onto the sunporch in his typical mad dash. Catching sight of Running Man, he stopped short, his mouth popping open like that of a blow-up doll. Then he gasped.

“Holy Mother of God! What did I miss?”

CHAPTER 5

BOOK: Crazy Little Thing
2.44Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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