Second to None Page 3

  “Shouldn’t she be treating cows and pigs, then?” he asked, his tone wry.

  “We don’t have a lot of those in Harlem.”

  “Mrs. Duke used to have a goat,” Diego volunteered. “But he died.”

  Max snorted. “Not a ringing endorsement of Dr. Quillen.”

  “The goat was really old,” Diego said.

  “Ah.” The corner of Max’s mouth twitched. “I suppose we can’t expect Dr. Quillen to have discovered the fountain of youth.”

  The limo slowed, and the chauffeur’s voice came through the intercom. “We’re at the clinic, but there’s nowhere to pull over. I’ll have to stop in the street and let you out.”

  “No problem,” Max said, already sliding across the seat to push open the door beside Diego. “Let me get out first, and I’ll help you so the dog isn’t jostled too much.”

  Diego exited the car without evoking another whimper from the injured dog. As Emily scooted to the door, Max bent and offered his hand again. She wished she didn’t have to touch him, because she knew it would send another wave of distracting sensation skittering through her. But it would be rude not to lay her hand against that broad palm and feel the power of his grip when he closed his fingers around hers.

  This time it felt as though an electric current surged through her. Without thinking, she looked up at his face and found him staring at her with that same arrested expression he’d worn in his office.

  Could the electricity have shot up his arm, too?

  Emily put her feet on the ground and allowed him to pull her upright. He dropped her hand as soon as she was standing, so she must have been imagining things.

  Max glanced toward Diego, who was ahead of them on the sidewalk, before he lowered his voice. “That dog is hanging on to life by a thread. I hope like hell your vet is a miracle worker, or your kid is going to be crushed.”

  “Diego is tougher than you think. He has to be,” Emily murmured back. She hurried between two parked cars. “I’ll get the door.”

  The clinic was in a storefront with plate-glass windows covered by metal grilles. Emily sighed as she saw how crowded the waiting area was. The clinic was always busy because Dr. Quillen was well respected and her prices were flexible, depending on the client’s ability to pay.

  Emily hated to make these people with their ailing pets sit here even longer, but Max exhibited no such qualms. He ushered Diego through the door and straight to the receptionist’s desk, looking neither right nor left. “We have a seriously injured dog here. He was first tortured and then hit by a car.”

  Carla’s head jerked up, and Emily waited for the no-nonsense receptionist to snap back at Max, as she often did when pet owners got too pushy. However, after Carla eyed Max for a split second, she nodded and hit the intercom call button. “I’ll get a tech right away.”

  A young woman in electric-blue scrubs appeared almost immediately and cast an inquiring gaze over the three of them. “Is it your dog?”

  “It’s a stray,” Emily said. “But Diego here rescued him.”

  The tech smiled at the boy. “Good work!” She looked at Emily and Max. “There’s not really room for all of us.”

  “I’ll come with him.” Emily looked up at Max, his height making her tilt her head back.

  “Go ahead,” Max said, his voice tight with some sort of tension. “I’ll wait.” He glanced around the room that seethed with animals and people. “Outside.”

  She nodded and followed the vet tech and Diego down a corridor floored with cracked gray linoleum but painted a soft green and hung with posters of adorable baby animals.

  They turned into a small room where most of the space was taken up by a stainless-steel examination table with a spongy blue cushion padding the top. Diego laid his bundle on the table, and the tech peeled back the sweatshirt. The little dog whined and opened his eyes for a moment.

  “Easy, little guy,” the tech said as she scanned his external injuries. When she saw the jutting bone, she frowned. “I’ll get Doc.”

  Emily stepped closer to the table as a fist of fear clutched at her chest. The dog lay on his side, his breathing shallow and rapid. He had a square head and nose, long floppy ears, and the gangly legs of a dog just past puppyhood. His ribs showed clearly through his matted black coat. Emily winced at the number of wounds on his small body and averted her eyes when she got to the exposed bone. Diego had said the kids had done mean things to the pup. Her anger flared at the wanton cruelty.

  She met Diego’s worried gaze and smiled reassuringly. “The doctor will know how to help him.”

  The door swung open, and Dr. Jessica Quillen strode in, wearing a white lab coat over bright pink scrubs. Her brown hair was wound into an untidy bun that always seemed about to unravel, and she had the softest, kindest gray eyes Emily had ever seen. The doctor gave Emily her usual serene, unruffled smile but went directly to the dog on the table.

  “Poor fellow, he looks like he’s had a rough time of it.” She ran her fingers lightly over the dog’s head and body. “We have an open fracture here,” she said, inspecting his broken back leg. “We’ll need to take an X-ray to see what else might be injured. And we’ll get him on fluids right away.”

  “Is he going to live?” Diego asked, his dark eyes clouded with concern.

  The vet’s face softened. “I’m not sure yet, but I’ll do my best. You were smart to bring him to me right away.” She slid her hands under the sweatshirt the dog lay on. “Is this your sweatshirt?” she asked Diego as she lifted the little creature in her arms.

  He nodded.

  “You were kind to wrap your friend here in it. I’ll get it back to you.” She turned toward Emily. “Carla has your cell-phone number, so we’ll call as soon as we have news.”

  “Can’t we wait?” Diego asked after the doctor walked out the door.

  His caring made tears well up in Emily’s eyes. “It will take some time to figure out what to do for the dog, and they need the chairs in the waiting area for people whose pets haven’t been seen yet.”

  Diego looked down at the empty examination table. “They won’t do noth . . . anything to him without calling first, will they? I mean, like—” His voice hitched, and he swallowed hard.

  Emily wanted to wrap her arms around Diego, but instead she said gently but with confidence, “They would only put him to sleep if they thought he was in terrible pain, and you would want them to ease that.”

  Diego nodded. “But he only whimpered once.”

  “Trust Dr. Quillen to do everything she can for him. She’s a really good vet.”

  The boy wiped the back of his hand across his eyes and nodded again.

  “Let’s find Mr. Varela and go back to the center. And, Diego, thank you for showing him what a great person you are.”

  Diego gave her a level look that was old beyond his years. “I can’t see an animal hurting and not try to help it. At least me being so big is good for that.”

  He’d once told her that he wished he wasn’t so tall and broad shouldered, because it meant his father wanted him to scare people. Which had led to Diego’s refusal and exile from his home, such as it was.

  “Maybe that’s why you’re so big, so you can be a protector. Like a knight in the old days.” Emily waved toward the door to get him moving.

  “Sir Diego.” His lips curved up in a tiny smile as he started walking. “Got a ring to it.”

  As they entered the reception area, Emily sent Diego outside while she stopped at the front desk. “Would you send me the bill at home?” she leaned in to ask Carla in a low voice.

  Carla gave her a strange, knowing smile. “Consider it taken care of, honey.”

  Puzzled by the woman’s response, Emily started to clarify, but the door swung open, letting in a blast of the December chill. “Emily, the car is waiting.” Max’s voice carried across the room, causing all heads to turn.

  She tugged her borrowed jacket around her and hurried to the door. “Sorry.”


  “No need to be.” He braced the door open with his arm high so she could pass under it. Her shoulder brushed against his chest, and she caught the clean scent of starch and warm male. A shudder of longing ran through her, and her body softened and swayed toward him before she forced herself to move forward onto the grimy sidewalk.

  The limo was double-parked, so Max put his hand on the small of her back to guide her between two cars. She could swear she felt the heat of his palm through the thick layers of Powell’s jacket, but that was impossible. Her imagination kept running away with her.

  Max held the car door for her as she ducked away from the distraction of his touch.

  The sight of Diego’s face dispelled her reaction to Max. The boy was fighting back tears as he said, “It’s my fault that dog got hurt. He was afraid of people until I started to make friends with him. I made him think he could trust people, so he let those kids get near him.”

  Emily’s heart twisted so hard she nearly whimpered like the puppy. “You can’t blame yourself for other people’s cruelty. Showing the puppy friendship brought happiness into his life, happiness he might not have known before.”

  “Happiness ain’t worth getting killed for,” Diego said, staring out the window.

  “It’s worth fighting for.” The rumble of Max’s voice pulled her attention back to him. She found his dark gaze fastened on her. “Don’t you agree?”

  Chapter 4

  Standing beside Emily in the main lounge of the center, Max surveyed the children of various ages, sizes, and ethnicities wedged in or stretched out on the motley pieces of furniture. The melody of Emily’s voice flowed around him as she described the center’s programs and goals.

  What a difference a place like the Carver Center would have made in his own young life. He’d never had any sense of security, because his father gambled away their money with the sports bookies. So he’d uprooted Max and his mother every year—or sometimes more quickly—to outrun the latest landlord when the rent hadn’t been paid.

  “You offer sanctuary,” Max said. “A true center for their lives. Like the eye of a storm.”

  She looked startled by his interruption. “I suppose we do. But also food and help with schoolwork and medical attention.”

  He nodded. “Have dinner with me, and we’ll talk more.”

  “Have dinner with you?” she repeated, blinking before hope dawned in her eyes. “Does that mean . . . um, let me see if the babysitter can stay.”

  “If she can’t, I’ll find another one for you.” On top of canceling the dinner meeting he was supposed to be attending tonight.

  She blinked again. “It’s not that easy on short notice.”

  “I have an executive assistant who can find virtually anything on short notice.”

  “I prefer someone Izzy knows already.” There was an edge of irritation in Emily’s voice.

  “Understandable,” he said, feeling the corners of his lips turn upward without his willing them to.

  She started to say something more, but pressed her lips together and took a breath. “Why don’t you use my office while I make arrangements for Izzy?”

  He nodded and followed her to the stairs that led to the third floor. She’d given him a tour of the building, pointing out where the dogs would live on the ground floor. Then she’d stood at one of the windows that looked onto the vacant lot beside the center and conjured up an imagined paradise of raised planting beds and grassy play areas where dogs and children would romp freely.

  He’d spent more time covertly watching her than visualizing the lot’s transformation. Her brown eyes glowed with passion, her hands sketched graceful arcs in the air, and her mouth—that soft, seductive mouth—shaped words that brought her vision to life. The narrow window had given him an excuse to move closer to her as she pointed at the lot’s corners, so he could see the texture of her glossy hair and the intriguing laugh lines beside her lips.

  She wasn’t the same Emily he recalled from those intoxicating, tortured days at Camp Lejeune. She’d been softer then, maybe because her soldier husband had cornered the market on toughness. Now the steel of her character was more in evidence.

  The scent of a light floral perfume drifted up to his nostrils, the remembered fragrance pulling him back to the hot humidity of the North Carolina summer when she’d waltzed around the kitchen barefoot, a cotton sundress floating around her, as she cooked dinner for the three of them. Little curling strands of her hair would cling to the perspiration sheening her forehead and throat. He had wanted to lick her damp skin to taste it.

  He felt a tightening in his groin and dragged his thoughts back to the present. Which wasn’t so bad, as he watched the dark fabric of her skirt pull tight over the curve of her bottom with each step she took up the narrow staircase in front of him.

  His inability to keep his thoughts under control unsettled him. However, when it came to the Carver Center, he had no trouble with his decision.

  *

  Emily had the ridiculous sense that Max Varela was staring at her backside. The man who had been nothing but courteous and attentive as he listened to her blather on about the Carver Center could not possibly be interested in the movement of her hips. Still, she did everything she could to keep them from swaying as she climbed the flight of gray linoleum steps that seemed much longer than usual.

  Shoving her absurd self-consciousness aside, she tried to interpret his comment about discussing the center over dinner. That had to be good. If he wasn’t going to give them money, he would just say no and leave. Discussion was progress. She crossed her fingers that Lateesha would be able to stay with Izzy, because she needed that grant money yesterday.

  With relief she reached the last step and led Max to her office. It was small but had a window that looked out over the street. She offered him the only chair other than the one behind her desk, a solid wooden piece with bright orange upholstery that had come in an odd lot of miscellaneous office furniture donated to the center. He sat with a controlled energy that vibrated off the walls and made it hard to breathe.

  “Would you like some water or coffee?” she asked.

  “Water would be much appreciated.”

  “I’ll be right back.” She hurried to the minifridge that was tucked under the stairs and grabbed two bottles. The heat from the clanking old radiators dried out the air so much that she wasn’t surprised Max was parched—although it was better than no heat at all, as they’d discovered when the boiler cut out the previous week.

  When she came back to the office, she expected to find Max working on his cell phone. Instead, he stood in front of the framed photo of Jake, Izzy, and herself that hung on the wall across from her desk. It had been taken by one of Jake’s fellow Marines during the last trip their little family had made to Wrightsville Beach before Jake was killed. She and Jake each held one of Izzy’s hands and were swinging the five-year-old up in the air between them as the surf broke around their knees. The slanting afternoon sun touched their laughing faces with gold, while it brushed light and shadow over the rippling muscles of Jake’s bare torso. Even then, she’d known it was a moment of pure happiness that she should imprint on her memory.

  “Jake was the kind of man who made you want to live up to his standards.” Max said. “He was a hero in more than the military sense. He showed you how to be a better person in every aspect of life. I was honored to have him as a friend.”

  Tears burned behind her eyelids. “He was a good man. A great father. A wonderful husband.” And he was gone.

  “I wish I had known . . .” Max twisted the cap off the water bottle and took a drink. “I would have come to his funeral. To honor him.”

  “I’m sorry.” She didn’t know what else to say.

  He pivoted on his heel so she could see the shadows in his eyes. “No, I am. I knew what kind of job he did. I should have . . .” Once again his voice trailed off.

  She understood what he was thinking. He should have known that Jake could b
e killed at any time. He should have kept track of the Camp Lejeune obituaries.

  She wanted to ask why he hadn’t answered the e-mails she and Jake had sent, if he felt that way. It had hurt and baffled both of them. She bit back her question, though. The center needed Max in a positive mood.

  He rolled his shoulders under the fine wool of his suit jacket. “Can your babysitter handle this evening?”

  “Oh, right. Let me call her.” She hustled out of her office and down to an empty tutoring room.

  Once it was settled that Lateesha could stay for the rest of the evening, Izzy got on the phone. “Where are you going, Mommy?”

  “Out to dinner with an old friend. You knew him when you were two.”

  “Is this a date?”

  “No, it’s not.” Emily’s denial was definitive. “We’re discussing business.”

  “So it’s about the center.” Izzy loved spending time with the kids at the center, but she sometimes complained about how much attention Emily devoted to it. Which was why Emily took off all day Saturday to spend with her daughter. Parents volunteered to take up the slack so the staff could catch up on their own lives on the weekends.

  “Mr. Varela has a foundation that might give us the money to buy the empty lot.”

  “Really?” Izzy’s voice rang with excitement. “Does that mean the center can adopt lots of cute dogs?”

  “We’re having dinner to figure that out.”

  “I think I like him. Did I like him when I was two?”

  Emily thought back to her daughter’s first encounter with Max. Izzy had just been released from her high chair after her father fed her dinner. Jake had forgotten to take the food-covered bib off, but Emily didn’t notice that as she let Max in the front door. Izzy had dashed down the hallway and wrapped herself around Max’s leg, smearing multicolored leftovers all over his blue jeans. The expression of shock on his face had sent Emily and Jake into paroxysms of laughter, making it difficult to stammer out their apologies.