Take a Chance on Me (48 page)

That was it. That was all he could take.

Thomas mumbled goodbye in the most polite way he could muster, then sped down the sidewalk, dragging Hairy behind.

"Hurry up, you horny little neutered—"

Right then, Thomas swore to God above that he would never, ever, take Hairy out in public again. He'd get him a little doggie treadmill if he had to, but he wasn't taking this oversexed, sweater- and maxi pad-wearing, flamer-magnet on a walk again.

Not in this lifetime.

* * *

I think I'll lift my leg right here on this nice tree. Ahh, fabulous! Now everyone knows I was here. That I'm male. That I exist.

What a lovely evening! My sweater feels so snuggly. The sound of my nails clicking on the sidewalk makes me happy. I feel proud to have Big Alpha at my side.

Something feels so right about the two of us males out in the world together, leaving our scent on the neighborhood. I believe we could accomplish anything we set our minds to!

I'm reminded of one of Slick's favorite songs.

"Macho macho man … I wanna be a macho man!"

« ^ »

W hen Emma entered the clinic Monday morning, she thought she'd strayed into somebody's funeral by mistake.

There were flowers everywhere.

A huge cut-glass vase of roses—at least two dozen flaming red blooms—sat atop the registration counter.

On the small table usually reserved for Lyme disease brochures sat a woven basket overflowing with black-eyed Susans. A blue speckled crock of late summer wildflowers sat near the display for engraved dog tags.

Emma stared in amazement. Then fury.

How dare he do this to her?

"There's more in your office, Em." Velvet's dark head popped up over the registration counter, and she was smiling ear to ear. "I read all the cards so I have a general idea what's going on, but I'm still dying to hear the gory details." Velvet sighed dreamily. "This is just about the sweetest thing I've ever seen a man do."

Emma felt her shoulders sag and her spirits sink. In silence, she trudged through the door that led to her office and exam rooms.

"Hey!" Velvet called after her. "Don't you want to see what he wrote, Em?"

"Absolutely not."

"Emma?"

She threw her backpack onto an office chair and clicked on her computer, the anger swelling and burning inside her chest. It was then she noticed the porcelain teapot smack in the middle of her desk, overflowing with carnations and baby's breath, and a matching china plate piled with teas and chocolates.

How dare he?

"Em?"

"Get this stuff out of here, Velvet. Now. Please. Before I blow a gasket." Emma logged on the computer with loud, pounding strikes on the keyboard. She checked her e-mail with her back toward her assistant.

Velvet stopped and frowned. "Hey. You really are mad." She plopped down in the empty office chair.

"I'm sorry. I just assumed you'd be happy about this. Maybe we should just get right to the details."

"There are no details, Velvet!" Emma wheeled around in her chair. "The man is sick. An addict. A manipulator. And you'd think, of all the people in the world, you'd be the last person who needed me to spell this out! God! And why he thinks flowers—freaking flowers!—are going to somehow make up for all the shit he's put me through I'll never know! And to think he had the nerve to ask me for money again when this pointless gesture must have cost a fortune! I just want to go on with my life! Is that too much to ask?"

Emma took a big breath. "Is it?"

She let her face drop into her hands and tried to get a grip on herself. She refused to start off the week like this. He had no right to do this to her—no right! The sound of Velvet's laughter caused her to look up.

"Excuse me? Is there something funny about this?"

"Well, yeah." Velvet kept giggling. "It sounds like you two managed to cover quite a lot of ground on your first date."

At that instant, Emma saw the elaborate gift basket full of dog treats directly in her line of vision—

chewies, biscuits, Nylabones, rawhide sticks. It was perched on the bookcase below the display of her diplomas, bundled up in fancy clear plastic wrap and tied with a huge red polka dot bow. Her mind was reeling. Velvet's comments made no sense.

"You've completely lost me." Emma picked up the computer printout of the day's appointments and groaned. Sigmund Goetz and Roscoe the blue point Siamese were her first order of business. She was at the bottom of her bag of tricks for that poor old man and his schizophrenic cat and she knew it.

Velvet reached behind her for the small white envelope taped to the dog bones. "Here, Em. Read this. It'll clear things up for you." She forced the card between Emma's closed fingers. "This is my personal favorite, but honestly, the one with the wildflowers made me cry. He's not only gorgeous—he's extremely romantic."

Emma stared blankly. "Whaa?"

"Just read this. Then tell me everything."

Emma opened her palm and stared at the envelope, her name written in an unfamiliar hand—bold, squarish letters that took up a lot of space. She pulled out the card.

Emma,

Even if you throw away all the flowers, I know you'll keep these for your patients. I apologize for my behavior the other night. I'd like to see you again.

Thomas

Her mouth fell open. She took an awkward gulp of air and nearly choked.

Velvet jumped up to pat her back. "Are you all right?"

Emma shook her head. "Hell, no, I'm not all right! Oh, my God—this is so awful!" Emma threw the card on her desk and quickly grabbed the one tucked beneath the china plate.

Emma,

I hope you like chocolate. I opted for every kind of tea they had because I didn't know which you preferred.

Thomas

Emma leaped from her chair and went flying back out into the waiting room, the door thudding in Velvet's face as she stumbled behind her.

"Emma! Wait!"

She went for the wildflowers first because they were closest, and pulled so violently at the dainty white envelope that its plastic prong went flying across the room, sticking in the vinyl window blinds.

Emma,

These reminded me of you—simply beautiful.

Thomas

She lunged for the black-eyed Susans, her heart pounding behind her ribs.

Emma,

You are a lovely and interesting woman and I am an idiot. I hope you like the Maryland state flower.

Thomas

At that point, Emma began to breathe again. The bundle of cards fell from her limp hand to the floor. She turned toward the registration desk and put one foot in front of the other with the zeal of a woman heading for her own execution.

As her fingers reached inside the explosion of red satin petals, she sucked in the sweet, heavy fragrance and briefly closed her eyes. Her mind went blank. Then she read these words: E—

I'd like to start over. Just tell me what to do.

Yours, T.

Emma looked up to the fluorescent lights on the ceiling and blinked back the tears now gathering in her eyes. Damn that man! Talk about not fair! She'd had Thomas Tobin all figured out and now what had he done? He'd ruined it! Now she was wondering if he might be for real. Now she was wondering if she had completely lost her mind for wondering that.

"Aaugh!" Emma slammed the card to the floor and shouted, "Holy shit on a stick and goddamn it all to hell! This sucks!"

A deep voice came from behind her.

"Ach nein. I haven't heard talk like that since the war." Mr. Goetz shook his head in disapproval. "Most ladies love to get flowers! Vat's za fuss?"

Oh, how lovely—her first patient of the day! Emma wheeled around to see that Mr. Goetz wore his usual mothball-smelling suit, bow tie, and threadbare fedora, and his eyes were as bright and intelligent as always.

His cane leaned up against the pet carrier that housed a hissing and spitting Siamese.

Velvet came to the rescue, stepping between them. "Hey, handsome, you're a few minutes early. Your appointment's not until nine-thirty."

"Ya, I'm early, und you can be sure I'll be early from now on—I never knew what I vas missing." He smiled at the women. "It appears za doctor having man troubles?"

"I apologize for my language, Mr. Goetz." Emma smoothed back her hair and straightened her shoulders.

"I've been under a lot of stress lately."

Mr. Goetz shrugged. "Maybe za stress would go avay if you give this poor man another chance. It looks like he's desperate, yes?"

Emma looked hopelessly to Velvet, who grinned and shrugged.

Mr. Goetz added, "Obviously, he'd do anyzing to get you back."

Now, that made Emma perk to attention. "Really? Have you ever sent a woman"—she quickly counted—

"six arrangements at one time?"

He seemed offended, and waved his hand in dismissal. "Mein Gott, no! I have my dignity!"

By lunchtime, Emma had selected yet another treatment option for poor miserable Roscoe, handled a new referral for canine obsessive-compulsive behavior, met with a pharmaceutical rep, and counseled a weepy young woman faced with putting down a Rottweiler that had bitten three neighborhood children.

Through it all, her thoughts kept returning to Thomas and his assault on her peace of mind. She couldn't just ignore the flowers. She couldn't just ignore the way he'd plowed into her life. All this force demanded an answer, and she had every intention of giving him one.

Just as soon as she decided what to say.

As Emma picked through the lovely assortment of teas—English breakfast tea, green tea, spiced chai, chamomile, orange pekoe decaf—she wished she could just hate him and get it over with.

As she headed to the lunchroom, she wished Thomas would just crash through the clinic door, grab her by the shoulders, and kiss her senseless.

And as she made eye contact with Velvet, seated at the lunch table waiting to pounce, she wished she'd never laid eyes on the man.

What could she possibly tell Velvet? The truth was she didn't know what to think about Thomas Tobin.

She didn't know how to take this display of humor, regret—and yes, thoughtfulness. Did he really want another chance with her, or was this just part of the Thomas Tobin two-step—one tug forward and one push back?

There was one thing she knew with certainty: Thomas was not the right man for her. He had issues—

more issues than an annual Newsweek subscription, in fact. She needed to calm herself. The situation called for a clear head and a clear understanding of the facts.

As she heated water for tea, she put together a silent accounting of Thomas Tobin's most significant shortcomings.

For starters, he was obviously lying about what he did for a living, leading her to believe he was engaged in something dangerous, illegal, or top secret—bad news for the woman in his life regardless. And the lying itself was a huge red flag.

Plus, he was too serious. He was afraid to laugh. In fact, Emma doubted the man would recognize joy if it jumped up and took a chunk out of his left butt cheek.

But the ultimate danger sign was that he led her on. He convinced her that he liked her, touched her in a way that turned her patellas to pudding, then turned his back on her.

A man like that was truth in advertising—he'd only bring her more pain. A man like that could not be trusted.

She had no business with a man like that.

She'd just gotten rid of a man like that.

Emma sighed. It was a shame that all these flaws were part of the most divine package of maleness she'd ever seen. A damn shame.

At least the memory of him would stir up her imagination on many a future front-porch night.