Tracking You. Kelly Moran

consisted of things like relay races and an egg toss. Nothing crazy. But the hair stood up on the back on her neck. This was beginning to look an awful lot like the Battleaxes were trying to play Cupid. They’d “arranged” similar coincidences for Avery and Cade not a few months ago. But…why her and Flynn? And why now?

      She looked at Brent. “I thought you and Zoe were representing the clinic.”

      Avery’s tone was wry. “Funny thing. He twisted his ankle.” Her expression indicated she believed that as much as she believed the tooth fairy would descend upon them and hand over a winning lottery ticket.

      Gabby narrowed her eyes and spoke through clenched teeth. “The Spring Fling is a couple weeks away. You should heal by then. If not, I can participate with Zoe.”

      Rosa shook her head. “Nope. Gotta be one of each gender.”

      “Since when?”

      “New rule this year.” Rosa shrugged like this wasn’t part of her master plan.

      Panic was this close to cutting off her air. If the Battleaxes had their sights on matchmaking, she and Flynn would never escape. She had no idea what brought this on, but she had to nip it in the bud or almost thirty years of friendship and a solid business unit would go up like kindling.

      Flynn shook his head. “I’m going to make sure our bags are packed. We need to be on the road in ten minutes.”

      She and Flynn did house calls three days a week to neighboring farms and disabled residents. Gabby made sure the car and bags were always stocked. And if she didn’t, Avery was an organizational Nazi. “You know the car is ready.” She mouthed, coward.

      Flynn grinned and straightened from the counter, throwing her to the wolves. “Better to be safe than sorry.” He saluted her with two fingers and strode into the back room.

      Brent skipped off after him, merrily avoiding her wrath.

      Gabby frowned. “Twisted ankle, huh?”

      “It comes and goes,” Brent shouted from the hallway.

      She glanced at Avery for support, who looked no more pleased than Gabby, but the Battleaxes were leaving in a flurry of motion designed to distract and deploy.

      Gabby stared at the door after they’d exited and sighed. “When did I get to Oz?”

      Avery laughed. “It’ll be okay. It’s just one day. Whatever they have cooking will be leftovers eventually.”

      She didn’t think so, but she headed to the back room and printed their patient list for the day, figuring she’d think about the problem later.

      Flynn was waiting in the passenger seat when she got to the clinic SUV parked behind the building by the kennels. Because a lot of their home visits were up the mountain or along the coast, an all-terrain vehicle was required. The hatch was loaded with two tranquilizer guns, a satellite phone, and extra first-aid supplies, along with their veterinarian bags. Gabby checked the back to ensure they were loaded before climbing in the driver’s seat. Flynn liked to do his electronic charting while she drove. Saved time.

      She eyed him, not over her mad. “What happened to your balls? Did they disappear with your backbone?”

      “Oh, come on. It’s not that bad. So what if you have to compete with me at the Fling?”

      He was not that dense. “They’re trying to set us up.”

      One pale eyebrow quirked. “For what?”

      He was that dense. She whipped him a duh expression and waved her hand between them.

      He reared back, understanding dawning. And if she wasn’t mistaken, panic hit his eyes. “That’s…ridiculous.”

      She banked down the flare of annoyance that even her BFF thought a relationship with her would be absurd. Or maybe he meant his family trying to shove them together. Either way, neither was wrong. She just had her panties in a wad because of her dry spell. Flynn could no more thwart the Battleaxes than a Band-Aid could help with an amputation.

      She reached for the GPS and loaded the patient addresses for the day. Before she could put the car in gear, Flynn’s hand landed on her arm.

      “Are you really going to do the kissing booth?”

      She thought for sure he’d razz her about it or tease her into next week. But his eyebrows were pinched together in concern. “It beats bar dancing or going gay.” Not that anyone would show up at her booth. Who wanted to kiss their sister? And that’s pretty much how men viewed her.

      After checking the settings on the dashboard to make sure the digital display’s closed captioning was activated for Flynn, she put the SUV in drive. His hand closed around her forearm again, more firmly this time.

      His expression seemed conflicted as he stared at the dashboard like he’d never seen the song lyric readout before.

      Flynn obviously couldn’t hear, but she’d learned back in high school that he liked music. Often, he’d put his hand over the speaker or, since she’d had the digital satellite radio installed, he’d read the music when not charting. The way he was acting, it was as if he’d never noticed.

      She dipped her head to draw his attention. “What’s up?”

      Tenderness shone in his eyes when his gaze met hers, and something crackled in the small space between them. Awareness. Acceptance. There and gone in a blink, leaving the car suddenly feeling too cramped for comfort.

      God. She was losing it.

      Rolling her shoulders, she backed out of their space and headed for the main road. “Know what I like most about you?”

      “Would you stop signing while you drive?”

      She grinned at his age-old argument. “I can drive with my knee. See?”

      He growled. It wasn’t often she heard him make noises or sounds. On rare occasions, he spoke words here or there, but only with no one else around and only when his hands were too occupied to sign, like when treating an animal.

      After a beat, he sighed, conceding. “What do you like most about me?”

      She glanced at him long enough to catch him signing and reverted her gaze back to the road. “You never mind when I sing.” She cranked the volume and sang along to an Aerosmith classic. Poorly. She couldn’t carry a tune in a wheelbarrow and knew it.

      Flynn stared at her with affection warming his eyes and shook his head.

      It figured their first patient of the day was Mrs. Crosby. By Gabby’s estimation, the woman was three centuries old and in excellent health. She also owned six cats and lived alone. Blessedly, Avery had blocked enough time—half the day—for the visit as they usually spent a lot of time with the elderly woman.

      She rang the bell while Flynn scrolled through the e-chart on his device. The pungent stench of ammonia hit Gabby in the face once Mrs. Crosby opened the door. Flynn took an involuntary step back in response. They shared a mutual ruh-roh expression. Someone hadn’t been helping the woman empty her litter boxes.

      They stepped inside and got pleasantries out of the way.

      Mrs. Crosby, with the aid of a cane, waddled over to a brown recliner in the cluttered living room and sat. There were newspapers and knickknacks on every available surface. The aged wall paneling held ancient family photos.

      Two cats were on the back of the plaid sofa, three were winding around her legs on the threadbare shag carpet, one jumped onto the elderly woman’s lap, and another balefully looked on from the bay window. Gabby did a mental head count and looked at Flynn.

      “Did you get another cat, Mrs. Crosby?”

      “Oh yes, dear. This one here is Fluffykins.” She stroked the gray and white kitten’s back in her lap. The gnarled knuckles of rheumatoid arthritis were worse