The Dashing Doc Next Door. Helen R. Myers

would never have guessed. Not a princess? Not even Maid Marian?”

      Brooke shook her head at his stereotyping. “You only think you have me figured out.”

      “Interesting. You do tend to look and act as though you came out of the womb wearing high heels and a business suit. Extremely well tailored, but sexy,” Gage added, his blue-gray eyes sparkling with good humor in the glow of the overhead light.

      Her tendency to fixate on looking professional had started later, after her father had taken over directing more and more aspects of her life. Until then, she’d enjoyed playing games, watching Saturday-matinee movies and indulging in a healthy fantasy life—all of which her mother and aunt had supported. It relieved Brooke to realize that Aunt Marsha hadn’t gotten around to sharing that bit of information with him. Yet. It was challenging enough when Gage Sullivan looked at her with those kind but knowing eyes that seemed to see way beyond flesh and bone.

      Averting her gaze, she dealt with his comment by changing the subject. “Where do you think we should start? Even though your jacket is lightweight, I’m already about to melt.”

      “Well...the hospital is that way,” Gage said, nodding toward the west, the direction both their front doors faced.

      Disconcerted, Brooke asked, “Do you think Humphrey would actually try to go there? I’d about convinced myself that he was simply running away from me. Can he actually pick up her scent from that distance?”

      Gage shrugged. “It’s not two miles, and something is compelling him to ignore his obedience training. Since I don’t think you’d be cruel to a pet your aunt loved so much, it has to be pure heartache for his mistress that’s compelling him to escape. Let’s take a left out of the driveway and see if we can hear or spot something. Considering his age, and with legs as short as his, speed and endurance are on our side.”

      As she followed, Brooke glanced from her size-six designer flip-flops sparkling with rhinestones in the artificial light to his size twelve or better athletic shoes. “Speak for yourself.”

      Looking over his shoulder and following the direction of her gaze, Gage chuckled. “I’ll try to remember to cut my strides in half. I’m sure he hasn’t gotten too far, and he’s bound to trigger someone else’s family pet to bark sooner or later.” As he reassured her, Gage directed the beam of his flashlight across the street to scan each yard for any sign of movement.

      Following his lead, Brooke used her flashlight to check houses on their side. Although most dwellings were dark, suggesting their inhabitants were already in bed for the night, she uttered, “I feel terrible about abusing people’s privacy. What do you want to bet some insomniac spots us and calls the police thinking we’re prowlers?”

      “Relax, I know everyone in the department,” Gage assured her. “Plus, their drug dog is a patient of mine.” After only a few more steps, he paused. “Aha! Hear that?”

      Brooke was about to ask him how long he’d been in Sweet Springs, when she, too, heard an excited sound ahead—part bark and part yodel-howl. “Oh, dear. I hope he’s not standing under someone’s bedroom window.”

      They hurried the rest of the way, crossing the street, into the next block, where they came upon Humphrey running around someone’s koi pond. Illuminated in the center by accent lights was a fat, indignant-looking bullfrog.

      “Whoa, Humph.” As the winded but excited dog tried to circle the pond again, Gage scooped him up into his arms. “Some dog on a mission, you are. One chubby amphibian and your whole master plan to get to your lady flies out of your mind. And look how you upset Brooke.” In the soft pinkish glow of the streetlights, his eyes twinkled with humor as he turned the dog to face her.

      What with Gage being almost a foot taller, Brooke found herself practically eye to eye with the panting hound. She primly clasped her hands behind her back and said, “I’m just glad you’re okay. But this is the last time I let you outside unchaperoned.”

      “Aw, don’t be too hard on him. No damage was done,” Gage told her.

      As they started back, Brooke couldn’t help but feel a need to defend herself. “I know I’m not my aunt, but am I really that bad? The more I think about it, the more I believe he pulled this to get back at me.”

      “For what?”

      “He’s not getting to go to the shop with me the way he does with Aunt Marsha.”

      “Whoa. That would do it.”

      “I did come home twice to let him outside. And I petted him extra this evening when I got home from the hospital. Oh—and he’d had the canned food that she says is his favorite, that she only gives him on special occasions.”

      “Ah, the truth emerges,” Gage said, lowering his head to speak into the basset hound’s ear. “A pat on the rump and canned meat byproducts, and she thinks she’s got you under control.”

      With a choking sound, Brooke stopped in her tracks. “Then you do think I’m not being good enough to him?”

      “I think he’s lonely. Why can’t he be at the shop with you?” Gage asked, sounding more curious than judgmental. “It’s his second home. Customers would give him the extra attention he’s used to getting.”

      Brooke understood that Humphrey was a replacement for her in many ways, now that she was an adult and unable to visit Aunt Marsha as often as she would like. She also grasped that animal care was Gage’s calling, but that didn’t mean he or anyone else had a right to put a guilt trip on her. She did that well enough without any help. “Not everyone and everything should or can revolve around Humphrey, Doctor.”

      “Gage.”

      Ignoring his mischievous reply, she continued, “You probably don’t think there’s much to running a florist—”

      “I didn’t say that.”

      His tone was quiet, even gentle, which made Brooke press her lips together as she accepted that she’d jumped to conclusions again. “What I mean is that it’s taken every bit of my attention and ability to get arrangement orders filled, what with the store being busier than ever, now that one of the other two florists in town has retired and closed down her business. Don’t get me wrong, Naomi has been good to come out of retirement to help in emergencies, and Kiki is managing the front just fine on her own, but—”

      “I thought you worked at the shop when you visited?”

      “When I was a child. I could put a single rosebud in a vase with a sprig of baby’s breath or a fern. In time I learned a few more things, but I’ve forgotten most of that, and styles change. The point I’m trying to make is, first and foremost, I’m here for my aunt, not to entertain a dog. Then there’s the matter of the doors opening every few minutes. I’d be a wreck if I’m constantly checking to make sure someone didn’t inadvertently let Humphrey out into the street.”

      Gage nodded, then began walking again. “You should have called me and told me you were struggling. I would have told you to drop him off at the clinic. He’d fit right in with Roy and the boys.”

      It was that simple? “I’m afraid I don’t know who they are.” Boys? Her aunt hadn’t said anything about children, and he’d just said he was single.

      “Roy Quinn is my manager,” Gage said, amusement entering his voice again. “Anywhere else, he’d be called a receptionist, but he tends to get all puffy and glares if he’s called that—and he has the Neanderthal eyebrows to do it. Besides, he does too much other stuff for such a restrictive title. He could be a full-fledged technician, but he balks at fulfilling the necessary requirements to get certified.”

      “Stubborn. I see why you think Humphrey would fit in.”

      After a soft chuckle, Gage admitted, “There’s no denying he can be. But behind all of that gruff exterior, he’s mostly a teddy bear. He’s sure been a welcome change from the young ladies who thought the receptionist