closing lazily as if he were ready to pull the trigger.
Then he moved in even closer and he dropped his gaze to her mouth. And for the briefest, wildest, most implausible second of her life, Emma thought for sure this very strange, very sexy man was going to kiss her.
Oh, daddy!
She turned back to the clippers. "Uh … and you really need to bathe Hairy once a week in a medicated soap to keep his skin free of pustules. I'll write down the name of the brand I prefer, if you like."
Her pulse was thumping like the tail of a Labrador Retriever. Was it her imagination, or were there really great arcs of heat lightning shooting from this guy right into her ovaries? Did she really just say the word pustule?
This was bizarre. He was bizarre. And she was a wreck!
"I would like that very much," he said, his voice thick and raspy and still so close. "I think I would appreciate your recommendations on just about anything, really."
Three paws down. Heart still pounding.
"And Cresteds are always cold, Mr. Tobin. Did you notice the shaking?"
"Of course."
"When you, uh, acquired the dog, was he wearing any kind of sweater or coat?" She finished the last paw and stood, sighing in relief.
"A sailor suit, actually." He gazed up at her, one eyebrow arched in what Emma thought might be the beginnings of actual playfulness. "Navy blue with white trim. And a matching cap."
He was on the verge of a real smile, and in that instant, Emma realized that this somewhat slow guy was not only gorgeous, he was downright adorable! Did she see the beginnings of dimples? She felt light-headed!
"A sailor suit?"
"Yes."
But then he stood up, and any humor or warmth drained from his face, which made her inexplicably sad.
"Seems the previous owner was a complete flame … er … a flamboyant type of person. He had lots of different clothes for Hairy. Jogging suits. A leprechaun outfit. Evening wear."
Emma stared at the man in amazement. The things he said were hilarious, but he wasn't even smiling.
How could a normal person not be laughing? And why did she have the strangest feeling that he was pulling her close while pushing her away at the same time? What was going on here?
As a rule, she tried her best not to alienate the owners of her patients, because she had yet to meet a dog that could sign a check. But she couldn't hold it in anymore with Thomas Tobin. She let her mouth fall open and she laughed. Loudly. It was one of her snorting laughs, too, the kind that made people look sideways at her in restaurants.
Mr. Tobin gazed at her blankly.
Emma wiped her eyes. "Okay, the thing is, Hairy needs to wear something because he's got no hair, right?"
"Oh." Thomas rubbed a hand along his jaw. "I didn't know the outfits were for heat retention. I thought they were, well, you know, fashion statements." He didn't bother mentioning that Hairy's owner was wearing an identical sailor suit at the time of his death.
Emma picked up the chart and began scribbling notes to herself, still chuckling. "Let's see what we can do to make Tom and Hairy get along a little better, shall we?"
"Thomas."
She raised her eyes to him.
"My name is Thomas. Not Tom."
"I see. And I'm Emma." She held the pen in mid-air as they stared at each other awkwardly. It soon became apparent that Mr. Personality had nothing to add.
"All righty then, Thomas. Let's go over the specific behavior problems you've encountered. On your form you say that Hairy isn't quite cutting it in the house-training department, is that correct?"
Thomas nodded.
"Unfortunately, that's rather common with male Cresteds. I'll order a urine analysis and an ultrasound to rule out any medical conditions, such as bladder stones. And when was the dog neutered, Mr. Tobin?"
"Neutered?"
"Yes. The dog has been neutered—his testes were surgically removed. Do you know how old he was at the time?"
Thomas stared at the dog in horror. "I have no fu—uh—idea," he mumbled.
She suppressed a smile while glancing
Then he moved in even closer and he dropped his gaze to her mouth. And for the briefest, wildest, most implausible second of her life, Emma thought for sure this very strange, very sexy man was going to kiss her.
Oh, daddy!
She turned back to the clippers. "Uh … and you really need to bathe Hairy once a week in a medicated soap to keep his skin free of pustules. I'll write down the name of the brand I prefer, if you like."
Her pulse was thumping like the tail of a Labrador Retriever. Was it her imagination, or were there really great arcs of heat lightning shooting from this guy right into her ovaries? Did she really just say the word pustule?
This was bizarre. He was bizarre. And she was a wreck!
"I would like that very much," he said, his voice thick and raspy and still so close. "I think I would appreciate your recommendations on just about anything, really."
Three paws down. Heart still pounding.
"And Cresteds are always cold, Mr. Tobin. Did you notice the shaking?"
"Of course."
"When you, uh, acquired the dog, was he wearing any kind of sweater or coat?" She finished the last paw and stood, sighing in relief.
"A sailor suit, actually." He gazed up at her, one eyebrow arched in what Emma thought might be the beginnings of actual playfulness. "Navy blue with white trim. And a matching cap."
He was on the verge of a real smile, and in that instant, Emma realized that this somewhat slow guy was not only gorgeous, he was downright adorable! Did she see the beginnings of dimples? She felt light-headed!
"A sailor suit?"
"Yes."
But then he stood up, and any humor or warmth drained from his face, which made her inexplicably sad.
"Seems the previous owner was a complete flame … er … a flamboyant type of person. He had lots of different clothes for Hairy. Jogging suits. A leprechaun outfit. Evening wear."
Emma stared at the man in amazement. The things he said were hilarious, but he wasn't even smiling.
How could a normal person not be laughing? And why did she have the strangest feeling that he was pulling her close while pushing her away at the same time? What was going on here?
As a rule, she tried her best not to alienate the owners of her patients, because she had yet to meet a dog that could sign a check. But she couldn't hold it in anymore with Thomas Tobin. She let her mouth fall open and she laughed. Loudly. It was one of her snorting laughs, too, the kind that made people look sideways at her in restaurants.
Mr. Tobin gazed at her blankly.
Emma wiped her eyes. "Okay, the thing is, Hairy needs to wear something because he's got no hair, right?"
"Oh." Thomas rubbed a hand along his jaw. "I didn't know the outfits were for heat retention. I thought they were, well, you know, fashion statements." He didn't bother mentioning that Hairy's owner was wearing an identical sailor suit at the time of his death.
Emma picked up the chart and began scribbling notes to herself, still chuckling. "Let's see what we can do to make Tom and Hairy get along a little better, shall we?"
"Thomas."
She raised her eyes to him.
"My name is Thomas. Not Tom."
"I see. And I'm Emma." She held the pen in mid-air as they stared at each other awkwardly. It soon became apparent that Mr. Personality had nothing to add.
"All righty then, Thomas. Let's go over the specific behavior problems you've encountered. On your form you say that Hairy isn't quite cutting it in the house-training department, is that correct?"
Thomas nodded.
"Unfortunately, that's rather common with male Cresteds. I'll order a urine analysis and an ultrasound to rule out any medical conditions, such as bladder stones. And when was the dog neutered, Mr. Tobin?"
"Neutered?"
"Yes. The dog has been neutered—his testes were surgically removed. Do you know how old he was at the time?"
Thomas stared at the dog in horror. "I have no fu—uh—idea," he mumbled.
She suppressed a smile while glancing
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