another few inches. Not only had he insulted the lady’s ability and the pedigree of her animal, he seemed to have insulted her integrity as well.
“Please, guys,” he pleaded. “Don’t take off with Doctor Stone on board until you know we’ve spoken. I might have offended her and I need to apologize.”
“You got it. But whatever it is, don’t sweat it too much. It takes an awful lot to rile up the Rock.” Harry was reassuring.
Ben wanted to be comforted by the comment, but evidence so far was to the contrary. Something in his gut told him there was a doghouse in his future. With a natural aversion to the entire canine breed, that was the last place he wanted to be relegated. He prepared to head for the front lawn of the expansive medical plaza.
“And Mr. Lamar,” Harry continued, “I want you to know you’ll get my vote if you decide to throw your helmet into the ring for that Congressional seat.”
“I’m counting on that,” Ben answered as he began to stretch his legs, once again back in the chase.
“Did you get my joke, Sid?” Ben heard Harry question his co-worker. “Helmet instead of hat? It’s a football thing. You’re a golfer. You wouldn’t understand.”
Ali pretended not to notice Benjamin Lamar striding toward her in fancy cowboy boots that must have cost him a pretty penny. Ignoring him was a challenge considering he was tall, tanned and very easy on the eye. The man already got more attention than the law allowed, and with good reason. He was capital H-O-T!
The last thing he needed was another drooling female.
“Excuse me! Doctor Stone!” he called out. Twenty-five yards still separated them.
The ridge of thick hair on Simba’s back stiffened. She grumbled, a threatening sound deep in her chest.
“You don’t care for him, do you, girl?” It was amusing but puzzling. Simba was such a lovable and easygoing hound. Her reaction signaled that she sensed the presence of danger. Or fear. Was it possible the big,bad football star could be afraid of a dog? Just in case, Ali quieted Simba with a hand signal.
“Doctor Stone.” He trotted to her side, then eyeing Simba he backed up two steps. “Thanks for waiting on me.”
“Actually, Mr. Lamar, I was waiting on my mongrel to do her business.”
“I apologize for that comment.” He lowered captivating blue eyes and ducked his head in a manner that had publicly charmed Texans for two decades. If rumor of his political aspiration was true, he’d soon be using that humble gesture to convert interested females into registered voters.
“It was a dumb thing to say, but what I know about dogs wouldn’t fill a Dixie cup. There was zero chance I’d recognize a working animal.”
“Hmm, and I always thought the ‘Service Dog, Do Not Pet’ emblem was a pretty good clue.”
Probably for the first time, he took a long look at Simba and noticed her embroidered orange vest. Most people asked to pet a service animal as soon as they realized they weren’t allowed to. This guy didn’t. In fact, he shifted his weight away another step.
He was close to a strikeout, or whatever football players do when they blow a big chance. Ali wasn’t impressed with his sports celebrity, she thought his positive living mantra was simplistic, she didn’t approve of his politics and she had reason to question his parenting skills.
“You don’t like dogs, do you?” she asked.
“They don’t care much for me either, so it’s mutual. I don’t take it personally.”
“That’s probably a good thing. Political campaigning requires thick skin.” Something he’d need to soothe his ego when he lost if her vote counted for anything.
“Well said.” He nodded. “But that’s not the subject I tracked you down to discuss.”
She checked her watch, knowing the crew was waiting. “If you were a paying client I’d start the meter, but the first one’s always a freebie. What do you want, Mr. Lamar?”
His handsome head snapped back at the