They aren’t. He left them in here with me. Another onslaught of rotten egg odor wafts in the air.
Oh, good gracious. The reek is going to stick to my clothes, my hair...it might seep into my very pores.
I move to the far end of the room, waiving the air.
Oh, Lord, that’s rank.
Jack comes into the kitchen, leading a distinguished gentleman with the proverbial black bag in his hand. The dog’s right behind the elderly gent, completely obliterating his dignity by shoving his nose up the man’s ass. The doctor does a sidestep-hop combo, pushing at the enormous face, trying to keep the dog from molesting him.
Jacks face changes from that gorgeous smile to one of pure disgust.
“Aw, Bull! C’mon. You could’ve at least waited until the second time Ronnie visited to christen her with your eau de’ Bull.” He pushes up a window. “Damn dog. Sorry about that.”
He stands by the window, using his arm as a fan, trying to move the stench. “Doc, this is Ronnie Fitz. She tripped and hit her head on the tennis court. Ronnie, this is Doc Bentley. He’s been my doctor for the last three or four years.”
The doctor tips my head toward him, gently poking at the sore spot as he asks me a hundred and one questions. Family and health history, current living situation—maybe that last part is because he’s nosy and wants to see if I’m shacking up with Jack. Maybe not.
“I’m afraid it needs a few stitches, dear girl.” He pats my shoulder and turns to dig in his bag.
I close my eyes and take in a deep breath. “I’ve never had stitches. Will it hurt?”
Jackson coughs. “You’ve never had stitches? Ever?”
That is what never usually means. No. Let it go. Don’t be rude. He’s being so sweet.
I shake my head.
He’s probably had stitches more—
“I’ve had stitches so many times, I’ve lost count. There was this one time…”
Jackson walks Doctor Bentley to the door, leaving me on the sofa.
The stitches weren’t that bad, a couple of pinches from the Lidocaine shots and that was that. Four stitches and done. No facial reconstruction as Jack feared.
I take a magazine from below the side table. Let’s see what Jackson reads. A science journal. Nah, what else is down here? I flip up the edges of several periodicals, subject matter ranging from medical breakthroughs to racing. There’s even a ladies’ quarterly. I pull it from the middle of the stack.
Bull sits at my feet, his brown eyes trying to tell me something. His brow wrinkles, and he looks from me to the sofa and back again.
“Sorry, boy, I don’t speak Bull. And I don’t have any goodies for you.”
He stares at me as though he’s trying to give me a telepathic message. I have a feeling he wants on the sofa. Specifically, my spot.
“Fine. If Jack lets you on the furniture, that’s his business.” I move to the other end.
Bull jumps up onto the cushion, somehow managing to turn three circles, his feet almost tangling beneath him, before he plops down. He lays his head on the arm of the sofa and lets out a deep sigh. As long as that’s the only thing that comes whooshing out of him, we’re all right.
I’ve thumbed through half of the magazines by the time Jackson returns.
I raise the journal. “I’m impressed. You have wide and varied tastes in reading material.”
“I like to keep up with what’s new and interesting to people. I have staff that research and bring things to the table, but I’m active in the day to day stuff of the show as well as hosting.”
I nod. “Well, you obviously take your job more seriously than a lot of people might give you credit for. You work hard. That’s admirable.”
His chest puffs out a smidge as he comes to the back of the sofa and slides his hands over my shoulders. “Come on. I’ll show you the rest of the house.”
Bull scrambles off the sofa, grabbing his toy and following Jackson.
We take a tour through the basement. There’s a wine cellar in one part, and a game room and exercise rooms also take up large portions of the walkout basement. The wide doors lead to a lanai located on the side of the house.
The main level has an extra couple of rooms I didn’t realize were there, one office and one bedroom. Out through the huge glass doors is a breathtaking view of the city below. A beautiful blue pool blends with the horizon.
“Wow, is that a negative edge pool?” My hand goes to the glass, but I pull back at the last second so I don’t leave a smudge in this perfect, flawlessly kept home.
Jackson hits a button at the end of the picture window-type doors. They slide open almost silently. Suddenly the inside feels like we’re outside. For December, the day is superb, with the shining sun, and a touch of warmth in the air.