watching her.
She let her breath out. He was a medical professional. Was he going to tell her there was something seriously wrong with her? And if he did, would she have to listen?
Montana stepped out of her rubber boots. If she was about to be drummed out of her perfect career, she wasn’t going to endure it with her feet sweating.
“Say something,” she commanded. “Or did you come all this way to attack me with your ray gun vision?”
“What do you do here?”
She frowned. “Excuse me?”
He motioned to the kennel behind her. “Tell me about the work you do.”
Maybe it was just her, but wasn’t he the one with the advanced medical training?
“I work with therapy dogs.”
His eyes narrowed slightly and his mouth tightened.
Figures, she thought. She’d finally gotten him to show a little emotion and it turned out to be annoyance. Be careful for what you wish for and all that.
“Therapy dogs are used for a variety of purposes. They’re different from service dogs, who are trained to help people with specific problems. Like Guide Dogs for the Blind and so on.”
He nodded. “All right.”
“Okay.” She paused, not sure what he wanted to know. “Our dogs are used to provide comfort and companionship. We visit nursing homes and the hospital. Seniors’ centers. There are a couple of dogs who spend afternoons at a group home for mentally challenged adults. I recently started a reading program. Kids who have trouble reading are often more comfortable reading to a dog than a person.”
She explained a little about the program and how, now that school was out, they’d gotten permission to try the reading program at a local library.
“You mentioned hospitals, which means you bring dogs to hospitals.” He was making a statement, not asking a question.
“Yes. Usually the visits go better than they did today.”
“I should think so.”
She bristled. “You know, you could have been nicer. It was, as I’ve explained several times, an accident.”
“It’s not my job to be nice. It’s my job to help my patients heal.”
She opened her mouth to snap back at him, only to remember that Mayor Marsha wanted her to be charming and convince him to stay in town.
She was so the wrong person for the job, Montana thought, dropping her arms to her side.
“If Fluffy were aware of what she’d done, she would be very sorry.”
The man continued to stare at her without speaking.
It was probably good that he had such a sucky personality, she thought, wishing he would get to the point and leave. If he was charming
“I want a therapy dog for one of my patients.”
The words were so unexpected, she could have sworn she hadn’t heard him correctly. Montana blinked several times. “You want a therapy dog?”
“Yes.”
“In the hospital?”
“Yes.”
What about the germs? What about infection and whatever else he’d yelled about that morning?
She decided it was better not to ask.
“A live dog, right?”
He sighed heavily. “A live dog would be best. My patient is a nine-year-old girl named Kalinda. She was badly burned when the family barbecue exploded a few days ago. She’s had one surgery and is facing dozens more. Her parents are trying to cope. Kalinda is in pain and shock.” A muscle twitched in his jaw. “I do have her mother’s permission to be telling you this.”
“Okay.”
She wasn’t sure why that mattered, then remembered something about medical confidentiality. No doubt he wanted to make sure she understood he wasn’t breaking any rules.
“She’s in bed, right? The girl? Kalinda? She’s not walking around?”
“No.”
Montana thought about the dogs they had. A small one would be best. If Kalinda suffered any lung issues, then avoiding dander would be good, too.
“I have just the dog for you,” she said, smiling at him. “Come on. I’ll introduce you.”
THE WOMAN TURNED, as if she expected him to follow her. Simon didn’t want to go anywhere with the dog-trainer person, but he was here on a mission. Anything for his patients. He’d always believed that. He would do whatever he had to do so they could heal. Dealing with the likes of the woman before him was simply one more challenge he had to overcome.
As she glanced back at him, her long, blond hair caught the sun. He was aware of the colors, the various shades of light and dark gold, the slight wave. Her eyes were deep brown and sparkling with amusement. He had no doubt she was laughing at him.
He was uncomfortable, but that wasn’t news. He was uncomfortable anywhere that wasn’t a hospital. In the familiar space that was his kingdom, he felt at home.
The woman—Montana, he recalled her boss saying—led the way to a fenced in, grassy area. He heard several dogs barking and yipping. They sounded happy. The afternoon was warm, the sun bright.
Montana moved with an easy grace. Her feet were bare, her pink-painted toes contrasting with the dark green of the grass. They were hidden when she slipped into a pair of clogs, then stepped inside what he would guess was the kennel area.
The space was cleaner than he had expected. He didn’t notice any smell and the cages for the dogs were large. He saw big beds in plaid and plenty of toys. The lighting was good. It was obvious someone had put a lot of time and money into the facility.
“The dogs live here,” Montana said, facing him. “Dogs are pack animals, so they’re more comfortable in a group than in isolation. They’re nearly always with someone. We have college kids who spend the night. Just to make sure everything is all right. Sometimes they bring their significant others along and that gets interesting.”
She smiled as she spoke and it took him a minute to realize she meant the college students and not the dogs. Of course not the dogs. Dogs didn’t have significant others.
“Max has plenty of stories, but that’s not why you came,” she continued. “No.”
He knew he should make some kind of small talk. It made people more comfortable. He’d never seen the point, but then he didn’t see the point of most common rituals. Telling someone to have a nice day was beyond ridiculous. As if anyone had the power to make that happen.
She walked to a door that led outside. When she pushed it open and stepped onto the grass, at least a half dozen dogs came running. He followed, curious about them. He’d never had much contact with dogs. From the time he was eleven until he’d gone to college at sixteen, he’d been in a hospital. No dogs allowed.
Large dogs and small hurried forward with equal enthusiasm. He recognized the disastrous mutt from that morning and did his best to avoid her enthusiastic jumping. Montana petted them all, called out to a few and restored order more quickly than he had thought possible.
“Cece, come here, honey,” she said, then looked at him. “I think she’s going to be the right dog for you. Quiet, well behaved and, best of all, clean.”
A small apricot-colored poodle made her way to Montana. The dog was maybe a foot tall to the top of her head, with long legs and a slender body. When Montana said, “Up,” the dog turned so she could easily be scooped into the woman’s arms.
