Breakaway

by Rochelle Alers

  “I’m going to put him in my truck, while you pull yours off the road,” Gavin countered.

  Celia rolled her eyes at him. “Whatever. Just be careful with him.”

  “How do you know he’s a male?”

  “I know he’s a he because I checked. And, he’s also a puppy. He still has his milk teeth.” When she’d opened his mouth, two tiny rice-like particles fell into her palm.

  She returned to her vehicle, maneuvering it over to the shoulder behind the black GMC Yukon hybrid. Reaching for her BlackBerry, Celia called information, pen and paper ready to jot down the number. Her heart sank when the operator gave her numbers of veterinary hospitals more than twenty miles away. She called each one only to find they were closed. The only one with evening hours was in Asheville.

  Getting out, she approached the man wearing a pair of khaki walking shorts, thick white cotton socks, Doc Martens, a black tee and matching baseball cap. She didn’t know his name or anything about him, but he was the most virile-looking man she’d ever seen.

  “Where am I taking him?” Gavin asked.

  “You’re going to take him to my house. All of the vets in the area are closed and the nearest one with evening hours is in Asheville.”

  Gavin shot her a suspicious look. “What are you going to do?”

  “Clean his wound. Now, stop jawing and follow me. Please drive slowly. He’s already in enough pain without you jostling him further.”

  “Ma’am, yes, ma’am.”

  “The name is Celia Cole-Thomas.”

  “What’s your husband going to say when you bring home a strange man and injured dog?”

  “I don’t have a husband, Mr.—”

  Gavin was hard-pressed not to smile. He didn’t know why, but he’d hoped the tall, slender woman with the infectious dimpled smile wasn’t married. “It’s Faulkner. Gavin Faulkner.”

  “Let’s go, Mr. Faulkner. Every minute that puppy doesn’t get medical attention gives the infection the advantage.”

  Celia slipped behind the wheel, maneuvering around the Yukon with North Carolina plates, and drove in the direction of her house. She didn’t want to get stopped for speeding although she’d wanted to get home to set up a mock operating room before Gavin Faulkner arrived.

  Her parents had given her a genuine alligator medical bag stamped with her monogram the day she’d graduated medical school. She could still recall the joy of filling the bag with bandages, scissors, forceps, scalpels, syringes, gauze and medication she replaced whenever they passed their expiration date.

  She parked in the driveway rather than in the two-car garage. Moving quickly, she got out, unlocked the door and disengaged the alarm, while leaving the front door open.

  She retrieved her bag, spread a stack of towels on the table in the kitchen’s dining area and turned a hanging light fixture to the brightest setting. She’d placed two pairs of latex gloves and the instruments needed to clean and suture the wound in the dog’s side on a folded pillowcase when Gavin walked into the kitchen, cradling the puppy to his chest.

  “Put him down on his uninjured side,” Celia ordered Gavin. “After I wash up I want you to do the same.”

  His eyebrows lifted a fraction. “Why?”

  She gave him a dimpled smile. “You’re going to be my assistant.”

  “Oh, hell, no,” Gavin protested.

  “Oh, hell, yes, Gavin Faulkner! If you didn’t care about this animal you never would’ve stopped. Now, stop sniveling and do as I tell you.”

  Gavin glared at Celia. He wasn’t sniveling. In fact, he’d never sniveled about anything in his life. He wanted to tell her only girls sniveled but didn’t want her to think he was a sexist.

  Celia took his silence as acquiescence. “Please watch him while I go and wash up.”

  Taking off his cap, Gavin tossed it on one of the four chairs at the oaken round table. His gaze shifted between the motionless puppy and Celia’s retreating back. He hadn’t realized how slim Celia was until he saw her from the back. She was taller and much slimmer than women who usually garnered his attention. At six-four and two hundred twenty pounds, he liked women who were a bit more substantial than the sharp-tongued doctor.

  He’d only mentioned the possibility of her being married because of her hyphenated last name. There were many professional women who’d elected to keep their maiden names.

  Exchanging places with Celia, Gavin went into the half bath off the kitchen to wash his hands and forearms. He felt like an actor stepping into a fictional role as a surgeon when using a nail brush and antibacterial soap to scrub his fingers. Shaking off the excess water, he returned to the kitchen. Standing only inches from Dr. Celia Cole-Thomas, he smiled down at her head when she dabbed his arms and hands with a towel before holding a pair of latex gloves for him to slip on.

  “Damn, Doc, they’re too tight.”

  Celia shot him a frown. “Stop whining, Gavin. They won’t be on long enough to cut off your circulation.” He tried flexing his fingers. “Stop that or you’ll rip them,” she added, this time in a softer tone as she slipped her hands into a pair of gloves.

  “Why do I have to wear them if you’re going to perform the procedure?”

  “I’m operating in what is a non-sterile environment. I’m going to put Terry under, and I’m going to need you to hold him steady.”

  Gavin gave her a sidelong glance. “When did he become Terry?”

  “He’s a fox terrier, therefore, he’s Terry.”

  “You can’t name someone else’s dog, Doc.”

  “Stop calling me that. And I doubt if he’s anyone’s pet. He’s filthy and undernourished, which means he’s probably a stray.”

  Celia ripped open a package with a sterile syringe and inserted it into a bottle of morphine, filling the syringe with a small amount of clear liquid. “Please hold him, Gavin. He’s going to feel a little prick.”

  Gavin held the puppy’s head between his palms. “How do you know how much to give him?”

  “It’s based on body weight. I doubt if this little guy weighs more than seven pounds. You, on the other hand, would have to be injected with the entire bottle before you’d go out.”

  His eyes narrowed. “What are you trying to say?”

  Celia swabbed an area on the puppy’s hip, wiping away dirt and debris. If she’d had the time, or if the wound hadn’t been infected, she would have given the dog a bath. She gave Gavin a quick glance. “You’re at least six-four or five, and I’m willing to bet you weigh about two-twenty or thirty, and that translates into injecting you with a lot more morphine to put you down than what I’m going to give Terry.”

  Gavin exhaled an audible breath. “I really don’t like the term put down.”

  Terry let out a small yelp with a prick of the needle. Seconds later he lay completely still. His ribs were clearly visible under a sparse coat of grimy, light-colored wiry fur.

  Celia winked at Gavin, her gaze lingering on his cropped black hair. “Not to worry, Mr. Faulkner, I promise not to put you down. You can let go of his head now.”

  Concentrating intently, she shaved the area around the wound and cleaned the infected flesh. She applied a topical antibiotic then closed the laceration with small, even sutures.

  Gavin leaned over to survey her surgical skill. “You do very nice work, Dr. Thomas.”

  “Thank you. You can take your gloves off now.”

  “When is he going to wake up?”

  “He’ll probably sleep for the next two to three hours. I’m going to call the animal hospital in Asheville to let them know I want to bring him tomorrow for an observation. After that, I’m going to try and clean him up.”

  “I’ll do that,” Gavin volunteered as he gently lifted the puppy off the table.

  Celia gave him a skeptical look. “Are you sure?”

  He nodded. “Yes, I’m very sure. Where are you going to wash him?”

  “We’ll use the mudroom.”

  She led the way across the k
itchen to a side door that led to an unheated mudroom. It was where she stored garden equipment and did her laundry. She filled two plastic basins: one with warm water and a mild shampoo and the other with lukewarm water for rinsing. Reaching for cleaning cloths from a stack in a canvas basket, she spread them out on the utility table attached to a wall.

  “Gavin, please try and not wet the sutures.”

  “I’ll be careful,” he said as she turned and walked out.

  He dipped a cloth into the soapy water, wringing out most of the moisture, then began the task of washing and rinsing the grime covering the puppy’s fur. Gavin poured out the water, refilling each bin before he was able to discern the white coat with a faint tan patch of color on the back of the neck, back and above the tiny tail. Wrapping a fluffy towel around the canine, he picked him up and dropped a kiss on the top of his head.

  Celia stopped in the doorway to the mudroom, smiling when she saw the tender moment between Gavin and the dog. There was something about him that enthralled her. The longer she remained in his presence, the more she knew it had nothing to do with his face or body.

  Even as an adolescent, she’d never been one to find herself attracted to a boy because he was cute. For Celia, it was always deeper than that. With Yale, it had been his passion for medicine, yet with Gavin she hadn’t been able to identify what it was. For all she knew he could be married with half a dozen children.

  When his head came up, he saw her staring at him. “He smells wonderful.”

  She smiled. “He looks adorable. I spoke to a veterinarian at the animal hospital, and he’s set up an appointment to see Terry at eleven.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  Celia shook her head. “Don’t bother. I can take him.”

  “Are you going to be able to hold him while you drive?”

  “Maybe I’ll ask my neighbor to go with me if she’s not busy.” Children’s book illustrator Hannah Walsh was also a stay-at-home mother. She was now in her last trimester with her second child.

  “I’m on vacation which means I have a lot of free time,” Gavin countered. He wasn’t on vacation, but on assignment. Accompanying Celia to Asheville would fit nicely into his plans. He had to present himself as a tourist or garner unwarranted attention.

  Crossing her arms under her breasts, Celia angled her head. “I’m also on vacation. But wouldn’t you rather spend your free time vacationing with your family than babysitting an injured puppy?”

  She didn’t tell Gavin that she’d been on vacation for the past year. Somehow, she couldn’t bring herself to return to the hospital and relive the horror of the minute that had changed her and her life forever.

  A beat passed. “No.”

  “Why not, Gavin?”

  “Because other than my mother, brother and some cousins, I don’t have much of a family. I’m going with you because I’m concerned about my dog.”

  “Your dog? I save his life and you say he’s your dog?”

  “Why don’t we compromise?” Gavin suggested.

  “How?”

  “Since we’re both on vacation, we can share Terry.”

  “I’ll agree. But he stays with me until he’s fully recovered.”

  He extended a hand. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

  It couldn’t have worked out better for Gavin than if he’d planned it in advance. Hanging out with Celia Thomas would provide the perfect cover when he became the typical tourist, touring the area and asking questions.

  Celia offered Gavin her brilliant dimpled smile when she took his hand. Slowly, seductively, his gaze moved from her parted lips to her throat and still lower to her chest before reversing direction. She tried to ignore the eddying sensations racing along her nerve endings. She didn’t know who Gavin Faulkner was, or what he did for a living, yet she’d agreed to share a stray puppy with him.

  “Deal.”

  Gavin released her soft, delicate hand. “I’ll come by and pick you up at ten.” Turning on his heels, he made his way out the mudroom.

  “Gavin?”

  He stopped. “Yes.”

  “Leave the puppy.”

  “Oops,” he said, hiding a grin. “He’s so light I forgot I was holding him.” Celia extended her arms and he handed her the sedated dog. Taking a step, he angled his head and brushed his lips over her cheek. “Kiss Terry for me when he wakes up.”

  Celia experienced a jolt of awareness from the press of his mouth on her face. She followed him as he walked through the kitchen, living room and dining area and to the door. She stood in the doorway, staring into the encroaching darkness as nightfall descended on the mountain like someone pulling down a gossamer, navy-blue curtain. She stood in the same spot, staring at the red taillights of Gavin’s vehicle until he disappeared from her line of sight.

  Celia found Gavin so compelling, his virility so forceful that he reminded her of what she’d missed—had been missing—for nearly a year.

  She wanted a man, but more than that she needed a man to make her feel alive, desirable. She’d joked with her brother about taking a lover for the summer. After meeting Gavin Faulkner, the joke was upgraded to a notion. Besides, she mused, she could do a whole lot worse than the hunky stranger who cooked and had a soft spot for dogs.

  Chapter 4

  Gavin supported his back against the headboard of the bed in the master bedroom. He’d enjoyed hanging out at this house overlooking a picturesque valley. His temporary residence was a far cry from hotel decor that failed to vary much from one chain to another regardless of the upgrade.

  Scrolling through his cell-phone directory, he punched in a secure number, grinning when he heard a familiar voice come through the earpiece. The analyst had the sultriest voice of any woman he’d encountered. Now that he heard it again, there was something in its timbre that reminded him of Celia Thomas’s voice. There was just enough of a drawl in Celia’s cadence to garner his complete attention whenever she spoke.

  “Good evening, Vera. When did you switch to nights?”

  “I put in the request several months ago when Peter was reassigned to forensics. There’s no way we can afford to leave two teenage boys unsupervised for long periods of time. The last time Peter and I worked days they almost burned the house down. I know you didn’t call to get an overview of my home life, Gavin. What’s up?”

  “I need you to run a Florida plate for me.” He gave Vera Celia’s license plate number.

  “How much do you want to know about her?”

  “Everything from the day she was born.”

  “Let me call you back, Gavin.”

  “I’ll be here.” Pressing a button, he ended the call. Gavin knew he could count on Vera Sanchez to come up with the information he needed on Celia Cole-Thomas. If he was going to connect with her on a more personal level, then he wanted to know what to expect.

  She’d told him that she was a doctor—that was verified by her surgical skills. She’d also said that she was on vacation. He wanted to know where she lived in Florida, her family connections, whether she’d been married, had children and if she’d ever been arrested.

  Crossing bare feet at the ankles, Gavin stared at the image of the news anchor on the flat-screen television on the opposite wall. He picked up the remote device and began channel surfing. The late-night news was over, so he had his pick of reruns, movies and infomercials.

  When he spoke to Mac, he would thank his supervisor for putting him up in a place and permitting him access to cable television. He found a channel airing a movie about Nelson Mandela and the South African prison official who’d befriended him during his twenty-seven year imprisonment for his opposition to apartheid.

  Halfway into the film, Gavin’s cell phone rang and he was loath to answer it. However, he knew he had to take the call. “Faulkner,” he said by way of identifying himself. His cell phone was programmed with voice recognition. If he lost or misplaced his phone and someone attempted to use it, then it would be rendered inoperable withi
n seconds.

  “Dr. Celia Cole-Thomas has a very interesting life,” Vera began.

  Gavin listened, stunned by the information Vera had come up with on the woman. “Thank you, Vera. You’re invaluable.”

  “Always glad to help. Be safe, Gavin.”

  “Always, Vera, always.”

  He hung up and closed his eyes. He’d never been shot or wounded when he’d served as an Army Ranger or during his tenure as a special agent with the Bureau. But on the other hand, Celia—who’d taken an oath to protect life—had nearly lost hers during a street-gang shootout in a hospital’s E.R., where she’d become an eyewitness to murder.

  She’d said that she was on vacation, but what Dr. Thomas hadn’t said was that her vacation was also an extended medical leave.

  Gavin wondered if the reason she hadn’t returned to the hospital was because she’d been traumatized by the murders, or because she was still mourning the shooting death of her fiancé.

  Forcing his attention back to the film, he temporarily pushed all thoughts of the woman with the dimpled smile and sexy voice to the recesses of his mind.

  Celia heard whining and opened her eyes. She sat up and scrambled off the bed. Terry was sitting up in the makeshift bed she’d fashioned from a wicker laundry basket and a pillow. After making certain he’d recovered from the effects of the sedative, she’d driven to a twenty-four-hour Walmart to pick up puppy food and supplies.

  Kneeling, she picked up the puppy. He’d soiled the wee-wee pad. “Good morning, baby boy,” she crooned softly. “How are you feeling?” Celia was greeted with a yawn. “Are you still sleepy from the drug?” Terry had become her first non-human patient.

  Cradling Terry to her chest, she walked to the French doors, punched in the code on the security keypad on the wall and opened the doors leading out to the deck. She placed Terry on the flagstone surface and returned to the bedroom.

  Celia made a mental list of the items she had to purchase from a pet store: bed, crate, lead and harness. She wouldn’t trust the terrier to have the run of the house until he was housebroken.