“Lucky dog,” Logan muttered, holding the door.
Dr. McElroy stopped at the entrance—far too close for comfort—and peered up at him. “Sorry?”
He shrugged and turned his face from her narrowed gaze. Edging toward the stalls, he rested his foot on one of the rails. Hopefully, the posture at least made him look unaffected by her presence. She was barely out of vet school and only a little bigger than a minute, so why he always felt so off-kilter around her…
No good, that line of thinking. He crossed his arms and fumbled for one of his reliable scowls. “What can I do for you, Dr. McElroy?”
Apparently, she came prepared. She didn’t waver under his glare, and her smile only slipped a little when he deepened his scowl. If anything, she looked at peace, happy even, standing there in her yellow rubber boots and matching slicker. Her hand rose and she pushed the hood from her head. Disconcerted by the blond curls spilling around her face, he sought the cracks in the wood floor, the piles of loose hay drifting in the corners of the barn, anything but her eyes.
“I appreciate your talking to me today, Mr. Franks. I apologize for not calling first, but unfortunately, we don’t have a lot of time, and I am really, really desperate.”
He brought his head up at the urgency in her voice. She stood with her feet braced, hands on her hips. Except for the puckered lines across her brow, she looked perfectly at home in his barn.
He slid his foot from the rail with a thump. “Excuse me?”
“Your animals.” She cast a glance around the barn. “You still have camels, right?”
“Yes, but—”
“What about sheep?”
“A few.”
“Donkeys?”
“No.”
She shrugged. “We’ll make do.”
“Hold up, what are we talking about?” Logan raised his hands, palms out. “Make do with what?”
“The sheep.”
“The—” He stopped before he actually repeated “sheep.” This time, it took very little effort to scowl.
A flush stole over her cheeks, and she settled into her boots with a sigh. “Sorry. This is not how I rehearsed it in my head.”
Something about her contrite, pixie-like smile melted a corner of his heart…and the irritation seeping through his thoughts. He relented with a sigh. “Maybe you should start from the beginning.”
If she’d thought to win his patience with a smile, it was dispelled by her next words.
“Mr. Franks, I’ve come to ask for your help. What would you think about playing a shepherd in the Bethlehem Live Nativity?”
Chapter 3
Logan Franks’s face looked carved from a glacier. Responding to her instincts, Leesa jammed her hands into her pockets. Flailing her hands when she got nervous or scared was a habit that started when she was young, and judging by the tempo of her heart, she’d start swinging any moment.
“Mr. Franks?”
He dragged his fingers through his dark shock of hair. “A shepherd. In the nativity.”
Leesa swallowed and began again, slower. “Allow me to explain?”
With disbelief darkening his features and his lips clamped in a firm line, he hardly looked in the mood to consider an explanation. She swallowed again hastily and launched into a monologue similar to the one Kate Walters had used, the words spilling so fast she barely registered them—something about Dr. Norwood being out of town, the cost of shipping camels, and the logic behind playing the shepherds. She hoped she made sense. She was certainly louder than Kate. And more passionate. And yes, more animated, given that somewhere during her discourse, her hands had slipped free from her pockets and begun flailing.
“So you see, Mr. Franks”—she spread her palms wide—“it is absolutely crucial that we enlist the help of Bethlehem’s residents if we want to keep the nativity going.”
Was that a hint of glacial melting she saw in his somber gaze? Leesa’s heart pattered hopefully.
Mr. Franks gave a slow shake of his head. “Sorry, Dr. McElroy. I understand the need, but I’m afraid I won’t be able to help.”
Screech.
Her thoughts couldn’t have ground to a halt any faster. “W-what?”
“I don’t loan out my animals, and certainly not for something as public as the nativity. They’re not trained for it.”
“Of course, which is why I will be right there to—”
“I didn’t realize you were skilled in handling large animals.” He grabbed a pitchfork and began walking away.
Actually. Walking. Away.
Leesa gritted her teeth and followed. “What I meant to say, Mr. Franks, is that you and I would both be present to head off any trouble we see brewing. You see, it just so happens that one of the selectmen has the measles.”
“So?”
“So with you playing a shepherd, one of the other actors could take his place, and you could oversee the care and control of your animals.”
Her ire rose as she struggled to keep pace with his long strides. Really? The man thought he could outrun her? She’d show him what an hour of cardio every morning did for stamina.
At a large, circular corral, she drew even with him then stepped around and in front before he could reach for the gate. She fisted her hands on her hips, her head tilted back so she could squint up at him. “Is this about the fight we had last summer?”
“Fight—?”
The confusion cleared from his brow. Propping the pitchfork against the hardened ground, he leaned on the handle. “You mean the town meeting where you communicated the dangers of bird flu so eloquently?”
Wary of his casual stance, she nodded. “They asked for an expert opinion.”
“Oh, and you gave it. Quite willingly.”
“That’s not fair,” Leesa protested. “I did go on to explain that outbreaks of highly pathogenic avian flu viruses occur mostly in domestic poultry in parts of Asia and the Middle East, and that there’ve been no reported infections in birds, poultry, or people in the United States.”
His eyebrows rose. So frustrating, but even to her own ears, she sounded like a recording. She swallowed a growl of frustration and changed tact.
“You have exotic birds. It’s only natural that there would be some concern.” She settled back on her heels and crossed her arms. “If anything, I would think you would be glad that my research laid those fears to rest. After all, I was only trying to help.”
Tick, tick. She watched as the twitching in his jaw intensified.
He straightened and reached around her to unlatch the gate. “You wanna help?”
Even hours of cardio couldn’t calm the sudden racing of her heart caused by his nearness. She eased out of his way, caught a whiff of his aftershave, decided she still wasn’t far enough, and retreated another step.
He shoved the handle of the pitchfork toward her. “Then follow me.”
He strode off without waiting for her answer. Watching his broad back, she itched to put the pitchfork to use.
“Remember why you’re here,” she muttered then cast a glance heavenward and repented of her dark thoughts.
The corral wasn’t exactly circular, she realized. What she entered was actually a large gathering pen. Opposite were two diagonal sorting pens and beyond that, a round forcing pen that fed into a curved, single-file chute.
She had to admit, it was a nice setup. Almost like he knew what he was doing.
“You coming?”
She startled, her cheeks warming as she realized he’d been aware of her scrutiny. “Right behind you.”
He scoffed, a corner of his mouth lifting in a wry grin. Sweeping one arm wide, he allowed her to precede him toward a monster-sized hayrack. Correction—an empty hayrack. She eyed him over her shoulder. “We’re filling that?”
He jabbed his thumb to his chest and shook his head. “Not me…you. I’ve got water troughs to fill.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. He didn’t really think she’d give up that easily? Judgin
g by the smug grin, he obviously did. Swept by a mix of determination and anger, she gripped the pitchfork in both hands and thrust out her chin. “Well, then, we’d better get started.”
Hesitation warred with the confidence on his face. He eyed her hands. “There are gloves—”
“I’ll be fine, thanks.” Honestly, what kind of sissy did he take her for?
She regretted the rash words when, an hour later, blisters had formed on the inside of her thumbs and on both palms. Glaring at him from the corner of her eye, she jabbed the pitchfork into the pile of hay and straightened.
Forget the cardio. The workout she’d just finished beat anything she could do in the gym. Despite the cool temperatures, she wiped a sheen of perspiration from her brow.
“Had enough?” A bottled water in each hand, he crossed to her and extended one.
She ignored the satisfaction she read on his face and took the water. “Hardly.” Unscrewing the cap, she tipped her head toward the hayrack then took a swig. Icy cold water had never tasted so good, not to mention how soothing the bottle felt against her sore hands.
He nodded in grudging appreciation. “Nice work.”
“Thanks.” Watching him, she ran the back of her hand over her mouth. Surely he’d be ready to talk now that she’d proven herself. She cleared her throat. “So…about the nativity?”
His gaze lowered to the bottle in his hand. He took his time unscrewing the cap, which allowed Leesa to study the strong planes of his face. Dampened with sweat, dark tendrils clung to his wide forehead. He hadn’t shaved, which gave him a rugged look that made her breath catch. And his lashes…
They flitted up and she found herself pinned by his rich-as-chocolate gaze. “Why you?”
Pain?
“W-what?” she stammered.
He blinked, and the anguished look disappeared, replaced by the glacial mask she knew so well. She braced for disappointment, but to her surprise, he gave a curt nod. “I’m still not sure this is the greatest idea, but I’m willing to give it a shot.”
“Really?” She gave herself a mental shake and forced a smile. “You won’t be sorry. I’ll make sure you have input on everything that happens with the animals.”
He nodded his thanks. “What about rehearsals? I think the more the animals are around people, the better. Get them used to the noise and activity.”
“I agree. We start next week. I’ll make sure you have a schedule.” She paused. Though she hadn’t told him, his cooperation meant a lot to her and the success of her clinic. She gripped the water bottle tighter. “Thank you, Mr. Franks.”
His gaze fell. With nothing left to say, Leesa fidgeted and then turned to go. “I’d better get back. Thanks for the water.”
Again, he nodded. When she reached the gate, he called her name. “Dr. McElroy?”
She turned. He stood with both arms loose at his sides, one hand clutching the water and a look on his face she could only describe as shuttered.
“Call me Logan.”
Her insides melted like butter on a hot biscuit. Grasping for a clever response and coming up empty, she whispered, “Okay.” Licking her dry lips, she smiled brightly and lifted her chin. “And I’m Leesa.”
Rather than reply, he studied her a bit longer before offering a brief nod and disappearing into the barn. Only then, did she truly feel free to breathe.
Chapter 4
The bell above the clinic door chimed merrily. Expecting Sammy, Leesa kept her head lowered while she pulled one final stitch free, then gave the cat’s head a gentle tickle. “There you go, Molly. Good as new.”
The cat’s growl said she didn’t agree. Leesa chuckled then carried her, still wrapped tightly in a towel to keep her from clawing, toward an empty kennel. Inside, the cat scrambled for her freedom then scurried to the back of the cage, where she crouched, glowering at Leesa through the bars.
“I know,” Leesa said, securing the door, “but you’ll thank me one day.”
“Sure about that? She doesn’t look too happy.”
Startled by the rumbling voice, Leesa whirled. Logan Franks stood with his elbows atop the counter. Smiling. An actual smile, not the lopsided grimace she was used to seeing.
Realizing she had the towel clutched to her chin, she yanked her arms down then spun and tossed the towel into the dirty laundry. A deep breath later, she faced him and returned his smile. “Jinkies! You scared me. I thought you were Sammy. My assistant. From high school.”
His eyebrows rose. “Jinkies?”
Embarrassment melted over her cheeks. She’d picked up the expression watching cartoons as a kid. She paced to the counter, scooped up the clipboard holding Molly’s chart, and held it to her chest. “What can I say? Scooby fan.”
“Me, too.”
“Really?”
His grin widened as he hooked both thumbs under his collar. “Still have my orange ascot.”
“Now I know you’re a fan,” Leesa teased, stowing the chart in a filing cabinet. “Only the original Freddy wore an ascot.”
“A fact only a true fan would know.”
Before she realized it, Leesa had returned to the counter and was laughing along with him, the awareness of which seemed to strike them at the same moment. Their mirth dissipated like mist under a hot sun. Awkward silence crept into its place.
The nativity practice. Leesa motioned toward a stack of folders on the desk. “So, you’re probably here to pick up a copy of the schedule?”
“Uh…”
She rifled through the folders until she found the right one then tugged a copy of the schedule free. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am that you agreed to do this. Honestly, I don’t think we’d be able to pull off the nativity this year without your help.”
A blush darkened his cheeks.
Leesa’s breath caught. As if the man wasn’t attractive enough—now he blushed? Swoon. She lowered her gaze and concentrated on keeping the paper from shaking. No good. Logan Franks had a serious effect on her calm. She dropped the schedule onto the counter then backed up a step when he extended his hand.
Dark lashes swept down to cover his eyes. “Thanks. I probably would’ve forgotten all about it if you hadn’t mentioned it.”
She licked her lips nervously. “That wasn’t why you came?”
“Actually, uh…”
The Adam’s apple in his throat bobbed. So, he was as nervous as she? Her heart jumped.
He motioned toward her hands. “I brought something for your blisters. I thought…maybe…”
She turned her hands up and followed his gaze to her palms. The blisters were irritated and red, but in her line of work, she was accustomed to slogging through occasional pain.
“I should’ve insisted you wear gloves.”
The regret in his voice drew her eyes. His jaw hardened as he fished in his coat pocket. He retrieved something then set it on the counter and backed up in a move similar to the one she’d used with the schedule.
She reached for the squat container. The oval label beneath a bright red lid read “Dr. Naylor.” She fought a smile. “Udder Balm?”
“Uh…yeah. Miranda, my wife”—his voice lowered a notch at the words—“swore by the stuff.”
She unscrewed the lid and took a whiff. “Not bad.”
Her answer seemed to amuse him. His lips twitched.
“Okay, so I don’t know what I expected.” A chuckle escaped as she dipped her finger into the container and removed a peasized amount. Rubbing it into her palms, she was surprised by the relief the balm brought to her tight skin.
Pushing the container back to him, she smiled. “Thanks.”
“Keep it. I’ve got plenty.”
The bell chimed again, and this time, it was Sammy who swung through the door. “I’m back.” She eyed Logan curiously. “Hello.”
Clearing her throat, Leesa made the introductions.
“High school?” Logan asked, raising an eyebrow.
Sammy grinned and flipped a lock of
hair over her shoulder. “I’m on Thanksgiving break.”
Leesa nodded toward Sammy. “How was lunch?”
“Okay.” She shrugged out of her coat and draped it over the back of her chair. “Sorry I’m late. The sub shop was packed, and then I had to swing over to Bloom’s to pick up my mom’s prescription.”
Leesa shook her head. “No problem.” She pointed toward the kennels. “I finished up with Molly. She’s ready to go home. Will you call her mommy?”
Sammy swung that way. “Okey doke. I’ll take care of it.” Around the corner and out of Logan’s eyesight, she paused and made an exaggerated face. Waving her hand as though to cool her cheeks she mouthed, “Hott!”
Drawing a breath, Leesa tried to ignore the stubborn warmth determined to flood her and returned her attention to the hottie—er—Logan. “Sorry for the interruption.”
He shrugged. “No problem.”
He either feigned ignorance, or he truly was oblivious of the effect he had on women. Either way, it was incredibly charming. Mortified by the direction of her thoughts, she dropped her gaze and reached for the balm. “Thanks again for bringing this by.”
He nodded then half turned, a look of indecision on his face. “Listen…”
“Yes?” She raised her chin, proud of the professionalism she heard in her tone.
He glanced at the door and back. “I…uh…I was just about to grab a late lunch myself. I don’t suppose you’d care to come? If you haven’t eaten, I mean.”
“I haven’t eaten.”
She could’ve kicked herself for responding so quickly, yet couldn’t help reaching for her coat. “Where you headed?”
A tiny grin lifted his mouth. “A place I know. You in a hurry?”
Worry wriggled through her. It was only half past two, but she was through with patients for the day. She shook her head and lifted one finger. “Give me just a second.”
After instructing Sammy about the cat and locking up, she made her way to the front where Logan waited. A gentleman, she noted as he opened the door and waited for her to step through.
Not necessarily, another voice argued. Remember what happened in Bangor.
Christmas Comes to Bethlehem - Maine Page 14