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He searched her eyes longer than he meant to. She felt the jolt of pleasure all the way to her toes and averted her eyes quickly to keep him from seeing. Her heart was racing like mad. She hated the effect he had on her. He was all but engaged to the florist, after all. She shouldn’t even be thinking of him like that.
He was doing some thinking of his own. He was an experienced man. He knew the signs when a woman found him attractive. Meadow always had. Even at seventeen, her heart had raced when he came close. He’d been cruel to her, to make sure she didn’t get close.
Now she was older, and she was beginning to get to him. He’d thought her hard, cold, all business. But she was vulnerable and sensitive, and she loved that dog. It was a side of her that he hadn’t seen, and it touched him deeply.
But he remembered that she went to church every Sunday and she’d never had an affair. That lost her points. He might be in the market for a few nights in her bed, but he didn’t do forever after.
He shoved his hands into his jeans pockets and glared down at her from under the wide brim of his Stetson. His dark eyes were expressive.
“You still want me,” he drawled, and with distaste. “No go, honey. You’re still not my type.”
“Want you?” She drew herself up to her full height and her green eyes snapped at him. “Why, you arrogant, smug, self-righteous cowpuncher! Were you always this conceited, or did you take lessons?”
He pursed his lips. “Were you always this nasty tempered or did you take lessons?” he shot back.
“I get along great with most people!”
“They must be blind and deaf.”
“Excuse me?” she asked huffily.
“Not to see the horns and pointed tail or hear the sound of brimstone churning when you show up,” he said with a vacant smile.
Her cheeks flushed even more than they had from the cold. “Now, you just listen here . . . !”
The knock on the door saved him. The vet, Dan Johnson, was tall and blond and pleasant. He examined Snow, pronounced her wounds superficial, and gave Meadow instructions for her care for the next few days.
“I’ll leave this with you,” he said, handing her a topical solution for the wounds. “I’ve given her an antibiotic shot. It will take care of any infection that might set in. Keep her close for a couple of days. If you see any unusual redness, swelling, that sort of thing, get her to me.”
“I will. Thank you so much. I was so scared,” she said, and laughed self-consciously.
“They do get next to you, don’t they?” he asked, grinning. “I like German shepherds. I have two, both female, and they sleep with me.” He shrugged. “I guess they’re why I never married. Not much room left over in the bed,” he added, chuckling.
She shook hands with him. “Here, I’ve got a business card. Can you have your bookkeeper send me the bill?”
He glanced at Dal, who telegraphed a message with his eyes.
“Sure, I will,” he told her, taking the card.
“Thanks again,” she said.
Dal knelt down to pet Snow. “I hope you get better, you bad girl,” he said. “Stay out of barbed wire, okay?”
Snow licked him.
He got to his feet and followed the vet to the door. He turned. “You going to be okay?” he asked.
“I’m just cold and sore. I’ll be fine,” she said. “Thanks again,” she added a little stiffly. “Sorry I had to bother you.”
“It wasn’t a bother. I was just having a hell of an argument that you interrupted. No big deal. See you.”
He went out, leaving her curious about who he’d been arguing with. Surely not Dana, who obviously adored him.
* * *
Gil had received the bill of sale from the antique dealer in Kansas City, but it didn’t contain any information that was helpful. When he tried to trace the owner of the pipe organ, he hit a wall. It became obvious that the man listed as the pipe organ’s most recent seller was a man who’d been in a cemetery in Billings for some twenty years.
“How cool,” Gil remarked. “A dead guy can still buy and sell antiques. Who’d have known?”
