Mai Tai'd Up(19)
“My friend Lou mentioned that Dr. Campbell would be a good person to talk to about pit bulls. Or rather, rescuing them. I probably should have called—”
“Wait, Lou. You mean Lou Fiorello?” she asked.
“Yes, Lou Fiorello mentioned that Dr. Campbell would be a good person to speak to about a shelter for rescued pit bulls in the area,” I finished, my pageant training taking over and slowing down my speech so I enunciated each word. My tummy had automatically pulled in as well.
She giggled. “Oh yes. Lou called this morning.” She sighed dreamily and an actual blush began to bloom around the rouge stripes. Interesting. “So you’re Chloe, right?” she asked, and I nodded. “Lou told me he was sending some pretty young thing in here to talk to the doc—something about picking his brains about opening up a gang here in town?”
“Well, kind of, yes. Is he in? It looks really busy; I can come back.”
Marge got a different look in her eye—one that appeared much more like problem solving than dream weaving.
“It’s busy, but I know he’ll be glad to meet you. Why don’t you come with me, sugar, and we’ll get you all fixed up. Amy, take over the desk for a moment, won’t you?” Marge called.
As a young woman in scrubs took her place, Marge led me through the waiting room and down a corridor filled with exam rooms.
“You just go right on in here to exam room six and I’ll send the doctor in to see you, okay? Here’s some pamphlets about heartworms while you wait; make yourself comfortable,” she cooed, her voice literally dripping Spanish moss and tall lemonade.
Spying a stool in the corner, I took a perch, waiting for Dr. Campbell. And I did in fact do my assigned reading. I was so engrossed that when the door opened, it took me a second to register who had just come in the room.
Blue-eyed guy with the Prince Harry hair.
Well, hello.
His gaze was down on his clipboard and medical charts, and he came through the door saying, “Okay Mrs. Winkle, it says here that our pal Stanley swallowed an entire roll of quarters. Has he passed them yet?”
When he looked up at me and I caught the full force of those ice-blue eyes, the impact was a thousand times more lethal than the reflection in the bar mirror.
Gingers are my kryptonite. Always have been, always will be. Show me a hot redheaded guy and my pulse will start a’racing. And this guy? At least six feet three, sun-kissed skin, freckles scattered across his nose, his hair swept back from his chiseled features. Cheekbones that could cut glass. And those eyes, currently giving me the three-second inventory. I drew myself up to my full seated height and took another two seconds to catalog the strong forearms, also splashed with a few freckles, the long and tapered fingers holding the charts. Oh yes, a very good-looking man. And did I mention the scrubs? Oh my yes, he was all wrapped up in dark navy blue surgical scrubs, which accented the eyes magnificently. I finished my perusal, and met those eyes on the return trip.
“You’re not Mrs. Winkle,” he said, one corner of his mouth turning up, then looking behind him to make sure he came into the right room. That’s when I noticed the name tag. Dr. Lucas Campbell.
“I’m definitely not Mrs. Winkle,” I said, jumping off my stool and crossing to him.
“Obviously,” he answered with a twinkle in his eyes. Fudge, the kryptonite had a twinkle.
“Dr. Campbell, right?” I asked, and he nodded his head. “I’m Chloe, Chloe Patterson?”
“Nice to meet you Chloe, Chloe Patterson,” he replied, tilting his head at me, looking a little confused as he took the hand I offered.
“From the email? Lou told me I should stop by and introduce myself.”
“Thanks, Lou,” he murmured, shaking my hand.
“He thought you might have some advice for me about setting up here in town.”
“Setting up here in town?” he repeated, still shaking my hand.
“Our Gang. He wants to set up an operation somewhere up north, and he was considering Santa Cruz or Salinas until I suggested Monterey. I just got into town last night and—”
“—had dinner at Spencer’s Grill,” he interrupted. Still shaking the hand.
“Yes, yes that’s right,” I replied, going a little starry-eyed. But I quickly rallied. “Were you there?” I asked, not so much fluttering my eyelashes as just blinking once or twice. Rapidly.
Still shaking hands—just a reminder.
“I was there. In fact, I could have sworn you saw me too. In the mirror?” he pressed, a knowing grin on his face.
I blinked my wide eyes, but my blush gave me away.
“I may have seen you,” I allowed, and his eyes danced. Dancing and twinkling. I was in trouble here. “I was exhausted; I’d just driven all the way from San Diego.”